Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

Just as he lost his balance and fell forward, Zhang Wenjie moved!

He raised his right foot with lightning speed, and with his heel, he stomped down hard on the part of the crocodile man that had just been "treated"!

At the same time, he grabbed the crocodile man's left leg, which was being held captive, with both hands, and suddenly exerted force with his waist, using the momentum of the crocodile man's forward lunge to perform a clean and neat 360-degree twist!

"Snap! Snap snap—!!!"

The sickeningly loud, rapid cracking of bones and dislocations, like popping beans, filled the air!

To everyone's horror, the crocodile man's thick left leg was twisted into a pretzel shape at an angle completely contrary to human anatomy!

The stark white bone fragments even pierced through the skin and trouser leg, exposed to the air, and blood gushed out instantly!

"Ugh...hoarse..." The crocodile man couldn't even scream anymore, only making meaningless hoarse sounds in his throat. His body convulsed violently twice, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted from the pain, collapsing like a lump of mud on the cold cement ground.

The entire chaotic square seemed to fall silent for a moment in response to this ruthless and lightning-fast scene.

Many of the prisoners who were fighting stopped and looked over in horror.

On a bench in the distance, Big Mi, who had been staring intently at the scene, witnessed firsthand how the infamous Crocodile Man was rendered useless by Zhang Wenjie in just a few seconds, as if he were crushing a toy. The schadenfreude and anticipation on his face instantly froze, transforming into a chilling fear that seeped into his very bones.

Looking at the crocodile's twisted and deformed leg, Da Mi suddenly felt... that she had only lost a leg, and it didn't seem so hard to accept?

At least, the parts are still there...

"Squat down! Everyone squat down immediately! Cover your heads!"

"Disobedience will be severely punished!"

Chung Chu-hsiung's roar was like a thunderclap. He led his deputy Ma Chi-hsiung and a team of fierce prison guards, wielding heavy, solid wooden clubs, and charged into the chaotic crowd like a warship cutting through the waves.

As the wooden sticks were swung, they mercilessly struck the prisoners who were still in a daze or trying to resist. Wherever they passed, cries of agony filled the air, and the crowd quickly crouched down like wheat cut down by a sickle.

Order began to be rapidly restored under the violent suppression.

But the pervasive stench of blood, the screams, and the crocodile man sprawled on the ground, his legs twisted like pretzel, silently proclaimed that Stanley's tranquility was never truly peaceful.

The name Zhang Wenjie, and his ruthless methods, will be etched even more deeply into the hearts of every prisoner in Stanley after today's events.

Stanley Prison, Medical Area, Special Care Room.

This is a relatively "high-end" private ward.

The walls were painted a slightly worn beige color. There was an iron-framed hospital bed, a small table, and two chairs.

The windows were small and fitted with sturdy iron bars, but some afternoon sunlight still managed to get in, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant and a faint stench of blood, mixed with the aroma of burning tobacco.

Zhang Wenjie lay half-reclined on the hospital bed at the back, with a small white bandage on his forehead, a scrape that had been caused by someone during the chaos.

He held a cigarette between his fingers, slowly puffing out smoke, looking completely relaxed, as if he wasn't the one who had just brutally crippled Crocodile in the exercise yard.

He turned his head to look at Robinson on the other bed next to him.

The old man's right leg, from ankle to mid-thigh, was wrapped tightly in bandages, making him look like a white mummy—the "treatment" he received after being hit hard by the crocodile man's punch.

At that moment, Robinson was also leaning against the headboard, a cigarette between his fingers, his brows furrowed, as if he were pondering something.

Occasionally, medical staff or patrolling prison guards in white coats would pass by the ward, but they ignored the sight of people openly smoking in the ward, hurrying along and even deliberately avoiding eye contact.

This place is less a hospital ward and more a tacitly accepted, temporary "safe haven" or "negotiation room".

The guards were lax, or rather, there was a tacit understanding of "turning a blind eye and a deaf ear."

"Old man," Zhang Wenjie exhaled a smoke ring, his voice laced with a lazy sarcasm, "at your age, after navigating the treacherous waters of the world for most of your life, you still can't see through it all? That kid named Qian Wendi clearly came in with an ulterior motive; the timing and his actions were too perfect. Do you really think he had a change of heart, or was just hot-bloodedly trying to help someone in need?"

Robinson took a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the pungent smoke swirl in his lungs before slowly exhaling.

He didn't answer Zhang Wenjie's question directly; instead, his expression became even more somber, as if he were lost in some deeper worry. He flicked his cigarette ash, his voice low and hoarse.

"Just now... that crocodile guy you crippled has been urgently sent out for 'medical parole'. The procedures were ridiculously fast."

He paused, his gaze piercing through the smoke as he looked at Zhang Wenjie.

"My damned 'turtle son-in-law'... he's really persistent. One plan fails, another comes up. It seems he's really desperate, and really... scared."

His words, seemingly directed at Crocodile Man, actually revealed a more crucial piece of information—Liu Yaozu outside had never given up, and his methods were becoming increasingly direct and ruthless.

Zhang Wenjie raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance: "Oh? So you really do have something on you that keeps your cheap son-in-law up at night? Something more important than silencing you forever...?"

Robinson glanced at him, remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly weighing his options, or perhaps making his final mental preparations.

Then, he slowly opened his mouth, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying endless weariness and a hint of barely concealed resentment.

"Money. A lot... a lot of money. It's what I, Robinson, have accumulated over half my life in the business world, using every means at my disposal... my savings for my funeral, and also a guarantee for my daughter."

How many?

Zhang Wenjie seemed intrigued. He sat up slightly, stretched out his left hand, and raised each finger one by one, his tone carrying an exaggerated guess.

"Fifty million? One hundred million? Two hundred million? It can't be...three hundred million, can it?!"

When he held up three fingers, his voice was full of "This can't be right."

Robinson interrupted him, took a deep breath, and uttered the number that made the air freeze: "About... but the unit is... US dollars."

The ward fell silent for a few seconds, with only the faint hissing sound of burning cigarettes remaining.

"Wow--!"

Zhang Wenjie let out an exaggerated, drawn-out exclamation, his eyes widening, but deep down he remained calm!

"At the current exchange rate... that's worth... three billion Hong Kong dollars? My God! No wonder, no wonder you, in your old age, still can't find peace, being chased all the way to Stanley Prison to be hunted down... Wealth can move people's hearts, let alone such a huge mountain of gold!"