Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

"Staff techniques?" Chung Chu-hsiung was taken aback.

"Love is like a battlefield; isn't the strategy for pursuing girls just a matter of 'striking the snake while it's hot'?"

Zhang Wenjie smiled, a smile that carried a meaning that all men understood.

"Packaging, rhetoric, timing, courage, and 'hard power' at crucial moments are all indispensable. I can transform you from an ordinary prison guard into a 'killer hero,' and I can also package you into a 'handsome man' who can catch the eye of that spoiled rich girl."

"This..." Zhong Chuxiong's heart raced, and his mouth went dry. A fierce battle raged within him between immense temptation and unknown risks.

"What's there to hesitate about?" Zhang Wenjie's smile faded, his eyes sharpened, and his tone took on an undeniable, cold hardness. "To do it or not to do it?"

He paused for a moment, leaning slightly forward, creating an oppressive atmosphere.

The feeling made Chung Chu-hsiung gasp for breath.

"If you don't want to do it, I can find someone else. You're not the only prison guard in this prison who wants to climb the ranks and has some potential."

Zhang Wenjie's voice was even lower, with a metallic quality, "However, Ah Xiong, now that you know so many of my plans..."

He raised his right hand, slowly closing his five fingers, his knuckles making a soft "clicking" sound.

Then, he pinched his thumb and forefinger together, mimicking a blade, and made an extremely slow and clear horizontal slash across his neck.

The actions were silent, yet the meaning was laid bare before our eyes.

Zhong Chuxiong froze, cold sweat instantly breaking out on his back. He knew Zhang Wenjie all too well.

That look, that gesture, is no joke.

If I refuse, and potentially become the leak point of the plan... given Zhang Wenjie's ruthlessness and scheming, I will definitely not have a good ending.

The air in the ward seemed to freeze.

Only the annoying buzzing of the incandescent bulb and the silent standoff between the two could be heard.

A few seconds later, Chung Chu-hsiung put on a smile again, a smile that was somewhat stiff but "sincere" enough.

"Hehe... Brother Jie, whatever you say! If you tell me to go east, I'll never dare to go west! If you tell me to pursue the warden's daughter, I... I'll risk my life to win her over!" He patted his chest, his tone resolute, "My future depends entirely on you, Brother Jie!"

Most importantly, thinking about it carefully... he's not at a disadvantage at all! A shortcut to promotion, a beautiful wife (though she might have a bad temper), and behind him, there's an unfathomable "strategist" like Brother Jie giving him guidance.

risk?

What is risk-free?

Working within the prison system is inherently risky.

Seeing his "I've figured it out" expression, Zhang Wenjie's face once again revealed that calm smile that conveyed a sense of complete control.

He leaned back against the pillow, took a drag of his cigarette, and the rising smoke blurred his face.

"Smart." He uttered two words, which temporarily brought the conversation and the plans for the future to a close.

Outside the ward, Stanley Prison was shrouded in the thick darkness of night, with only the searchlights on the guard towers, like the eyes of a giant beast, occasionally sweeping across the cold, high walls and electric fences.

Within the high walls, a new game of chess has just begun.

"Hey!" Zhang Wenjie's voice broke the brief silence in the ward. He touched his flat stomach, his face showing undisguised disgust. "Where's the promised midnight snack? Where's the pork kidney congee? Fighting really drains your energy, you idiot!"

The solemn atmosphere, which had just been filled with discussions about promotions, wealth, and future plans, was instantly shattered by this down-to-earth request for food.

Zhong Chuxiong was engrossed in Zhang Wenjie's grand plan when he heard this. He paused, his confident expression instantly crumbling, replaced by embarrassment: "This... we don't... we don't have any pork kidneys. At this hour, the kitchen only has oyster congee left. I'll ask Ma Zhixiong to bring it over..."

Zhang Wenjie glanced at him sideways, his eyes conveying a "you're unreliable kid" message, but he said, "Oysters? Chicken Xiong, don't you know that eating too many of those makes you feel hot and bothered, and young people can easily lose control? You're... really bad!"

He drawled out the words, but then waved his hand, looking reluctant: "However... never mind, this is the last time. Remember to get me a dish of ginger, scallion, and soy sauce. Make sure it's good quality soy sauce, don't try to fool me with that watered-down stuff."

"Alright! Brother Jie, please wait a moment!" Chung Chu-hung nodded hurriedly as if he had been granted a pardon, and turned to walk out.

The moment he turned around and faced away from Zhang Wenjie, the lazy, playful expression on Zhang Wenjie's face vanished without a trace.

He leaned against the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on Chung Chu-hsiung's back like an icicle.

His eyes were sharp and deep, with a hint of scrutiny and assessment that was barely perceptible, as if he wanted to see through his brother, with whom he had grown up since childhood, inside and out.

The ward door was opened and then closed.

The corridor outside the door leads to the medical area on the underground level of Stanley Prison. The lights are slightly brighter than those in the cell blocks, but still dim.

The walls were a mottled light green, and the floor was covered with old tiles whose original color was no longer discernible. The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant, medicine, and a faint musty odor.

The empty corridor ended in shadow, so quiet that the echo of water dripping from some distant pipe could be heard.

Zhong Chuxiong had only taken a few steps when he suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck, as if he were being stared at by something cold. He couldn't help but shiver slightly.

He subconsciously looked around; the corridor was empty except for his own long shadow cast on the cold wall.

"Damn it, this basement is so cold and damp..." he muttered under his breath, rubbing his arms and attributing the inexplicable chill to the environment.

As for such a trivial matter as getting soy sauce, of course he, the dignified head of security, didn't need to run errands himself; his subordinates would naturally take care of it.

He strode toward the duty room, where the lights were on.

A short while later, the ward door was pushed open again.

Ma Zhixiong carried in a small, covered earthenware pot, which was still slightly steaming and well-sealed.

Behind him, Chung Chu-hsiung, with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips, strolled in slowly, his gaze falling on a small, transparent plastic bag hanging next to the casserole.

Inside was a similarly sealed white dish, with glimpses of brown soy sauce and bright green minced ginger and scallions.

Zhong Chuxiong nodded in satisfaction.

What pleased him was not Ma Zhixiong's thoughtfulness and meticulousness, but rather this attitude—an unspoken understanding and respect that only exists between "one of their own."

"Good, take it in." Zhong Chuxiong exhaled a smoke ring, gesturing for Ma Zhixiong to serve the porridge to Zhang Wenjie.

He leaned against the door, watching Ma Zhixiong diligently put down the casserole, lift the lid, and the aroma of oysters mixed with rice porridge immediately filled the ward, which was filled with the smell of medicine.

However, some old memories involuntarily flashed through his mind.

His respect and obedience to Zhang Wenjie went far beyond mere "brotherly affection".