Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

"A fine young man, with hands and feet, what's he doing hanging out in gangs..." Dong Biao muttered to himself, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Does he really think that going to prison will make him rich and powerful? Stanley... that's a place that eats people up."

That inexplicable unease in his heart resurfaced.

Inside the interrogation room.

Zhang Wenjie lowered his head, as if in repentance, but in reality, his mind was completely absorbed in his thoughts.

system!

With a soft "ding," the simple interface appeared on my retina.

The interface has a rustic (or rather, rudimentary) style. Apart from the grayed-out, unclickable "Upgrade" option at the bottom, the main feature is the prominent number in the center: "Current Morality Points: 108".

Next to the numbers, there's a barely visible line of light gray text: [Moral points are earned through effective "persuasion" and "deterrence" of those with malicious intent. The degree of malice and the effectiveness of the "persuasion" affect point acquisition.]

Zhang Wenjie sneered inwardly. This system, with its grand-sounding name, "Winning People Over with Virtue," actually had such simple and brutal rules—if someone harbored ill will towards him, he could physically "extract" so-called "moral points" from them.

Hanayagida is a case in point.

When he acts arrogantly and maliciously towards me, I "retaliate" in return, and my moral compass begins to rise.

But once you beat him into submission, until he completely loses his will to resist and his malice, he's like a towel that's been wrung dry—you can't squeeze any more oil out of him.

As for killing him... for example, that dark-skinned, skinny old man, "Fen Youming".

Zhang Wenjie felt nothing, let alone any pang of conscience.

In his previous life, he had witnessed too much darkness and knew that being merciful to the enemy was being cruel to himself.

However, under the current circumstances, he does not want to cause any deaths unless absolutely necessary, as that would bring unnecessary trouble.

The system also seems to favor "effective persuasion" rather than "complete elimination." The points given to situations like Fan Youming's are one-time and generous, but they do not encourage unlimited killing.

He needs more "malice" and more opportunities for "persuasion" to gain morality points and unlock more functions that the system might have, such as the grayed-out "upgrade" or "exchange list".

In the club, it may seem like there's fighting and killing, but in reality, unless it's about seizing territory or fighting for interests, most of the time it's just bluffing, and there aren't many opportunities to actually fight and draw blood.

After all, who will pay for the medical expenses and resettlement allowance?

The big shots are very shrewd.

But Stanley Prison...that's completely different!

It was a concentration camp of malice, a breeding ground for violence.

Gangs are everywhere, it's a dog-eat-dog world, small fights every three days, big fights every five days, and during holidays there might even be whole-prison riots as "entertainment"...

For Zhang Wenjie, who desperately needed "moral points," that place was simply a "golden land" tailor-made for his development!

Going to Stanley was no longer a necessary punishment, but rather a "score-farming dungeon" that he actively chose!

Thinking of this, an indescribable joy, a mixture of anticipation and coldness, quietly welled up in my heart.

He slightly raised his eyes, taking in his reflection in the dim light of the iron table in the interrogation room—disheveled hair, a young, even slightly immature face, and his features…

Hmm, from the left he looks a bit like a handsome guy surnamed Chen, and from the right he has a cool vibe like someone surnamed Xie.

With his "handsome" looks, it would be a miracle if he could survive the first day in Stanley, a place where people fight like dogs.

It's unknown how many "hungry wolves" will covet and harbor ill will this attract.

But isn't this exactly what he wanted?

A walking moral compass...

The muscles on his face twitched slightly, revealing an extremely subtle, cold, and eerie smile, like a shadow underwater, that flashed by in an instant.

Almost at the same moment.

Inside the observation room, Dong Biao, who was about to leave, inadvertently caught a glimpse of Zhang Wenjie's eerie smile through the one-way glass.

That smile held no regret, no fear, not even the usual numbness or despair; instead, it exuded a chilling... anticipation?

Dong Biao paused, his brows furrowing tightly, and a sudden, intense sense of foreboding rose within him.

Facing the sea, with spring flowers in bloom—this should be a pleasant scene in a poet's writing, but when these eight characters are associated with Stanley Prison, they reveal an unspeakable irony.

The metal of the transport vehicle reflected a blinding white light in the afternoon sun, and the interior was filled with a sour smell of sweat, cigarettes, and rust.

Zhang Wenjie sat back in the carriage, his hands handcuffed to the rings behind his back, his wrists already rubbed red by the metal edges.

He turned his head and, through the gap in the steel-welded car window, glimpsed the distant blue sea surface shattering into countless golden scales under the sunlight.

Three hours ago, he was signing and affixing his fingerprint in the surrender room of the West Kowloon Police Station; three hours later, he was already in this swaying transport vehicle, listening to the clear and articulate Cantonese broadcast on the radio.

"...The Tsim Sha Tsui police assault case, which has garnered significant public attention, was solved this morning, with the suspect, Cheung Man-kit, surrendering to the police. Superintendent Wong Chi-hung, Commander of the West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit, stated that the police have a zero-tolerance policy towards violent crimes, and the swift resolution of this case demonstrates the Hong Kong Police Force's determination to uphold the law..."

"Hehe...haha..." Zhang Wenjie suddenly chuckled, the laughter squeezed out from his throat, with a rough texture like sandpaper polishing iron.

The biggest cancer is sitting in an air-conditioned room in a uniform reading a press release. This world is truly fascinating.

"What are you laughing at, you bastard!" He Zhikang, a middle-aged prison guard sitting on the opposite bench, was smoking a half-smoked cigarette when the laughter made him furrow his brow.

He raised his hand and flicked the cigarette butt at me, the sparks drawing an orange-red arc in the air.

Zhang Wenjie dodged to the side, his cigarette butt hitting the car wall, sending sparks flying before rolling into a corner. He looked up, a mocking smile playing on his lips: "Laugh at my mother for being toothless! Hit me then! Go ahead and hit me if you dare!"

These words were like a needle, precisely piercing He Zhikang's most sensitive nerve.

In his middle age, he had worked as a prison guard at Stanley Prison for fifteen years, spending his days surrounded by scum, and when he got home, he still had to face his wife's cold face and the neighbors' gossip.

What he hated most was that kind of contemptuous look, especially when it came from the eyes of a scoundrel who was about to spend his life in jail.

"Damn bastard! I'll fucking beat you to death!" He Zhikang suddenly stood up, the solid wooden stick at his waist already in his hand, the veins on his arms bulging like earthworms.

The carriage was already low, and when he stood there, his head almost touched the roof.

"Brother Kang! Stop!" The young prison guard Jiang Wen quickly grabbed his waist. "The rules aren't a joke! Hitting a prisoner will get you punished!"