I bought a prison in the United States.

The last item on the tour was the prisoners.

Harmon led Ringo into the cell block corridor and reminded him:

"Don't get too close to the iron fence. These guys are very restless. Keep an eye on their hands and feet."

The prisoners on both sides of the iron fence began to stir; some whistled, and some banged on the fence.

"Quiet!"

Harmon's voice had an indescribable sense of oppression.

The commotion quickly subsided.

Ringo began to walk slowly down the corridor.

He had to recognize everyone's face, name, and crime as much as possible; if he couldn't remember them, he would use code names.

The first cell held a white boy who looked no more than twenty years old, as thin as a bamboo pole.

He was wearing an orange prison uniform, sitting on the upper bunk with his legs dangling in the air.

Convict: Burglary, five-year sentence, already served eight months.

Hamon whispered:

"His name is Randy, and he stole a television set."

By 1984, color televisions were widespread in the United States, and a television cost around $500.

Normally, the maximum sentence is three years, but Randy was sentenced to five years because he was involved in the serious crime of burglary.

The next cell held a black man in his forties, bald, with a thick beard, and very strong.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding a paperback book in his hand. Ringo glanced at the cover; it was Stephen King's *The Shining*.

Hamon lowered his voice even further:

"His name is Marcus Wayne, second-degree murder."

"He got into a fight at the bar and accidentally pushed the other person down the stairs."

"The sentence is 15 years, and six years have already been served."

He is the "mayor" here.

"mayor?"

"The prisoners have their own hierarchy, with Marcus at the top. He did indeed serve as mayor before."

"He can make prisoners obey, but he can also make them cause trouble."

"If you want to manage this place well, you'd better get along with him."

Ringo stopped in front of the second cell and looked directly into the "mayor's" eyes.

There was no hint of flattery in those eyes; instead, they held a hidden patience and composure, as if waiting to see what mistake you might make.

The mayor put down his book and slightly raised his head:

"Are you new here?"

"I'm the new boss."

The mayor's lips curled slightly upward, revealing a half-smile:

"Then good luck, boss, you'll need it."

Harmon led Ringo away quickly, and judging from his expression, he seemed to have no way to deal with this "mayor".

As he passed a cell, a white man with a goatee caught Ringo's attention.

He was about thirty years old and looked like he had just come off work rather than being in prison.

Because this person was sitting at the table, drawing something on a piece of paper with a pencil.

As Lingo approached, he saw that the drawing he had made was an extremely detailed mechanical structure diagram.

"Craig Miller, 12 counts of forgery and fraud, sentenced to seven years in prison."

Hamon explained:

"He used to work as a draftsman at Lockheed, but later became addicted to drugs and started forging checks to make ends meet."

Lingo lingered in front of the cell longer than in the other cells because this "draftsman" was exactly the kind of talent he needed.

He stared at the drawing for a long time. It was a structural diagram of a stamping machine, with the dimensions of every part clearly marked.

"Can you repair that stamping machine?"

Lin Ge suddenly asked.

The draftsman looked up, his eyes somewhat dazed, as if adjusting to being suddenly interrupted.

Which one?

"The one in the factory."

"That old machine from the 1970s?"

The draftsman shrugged.

"Give me the tools and parts, and I can fix it in a day."

Ringo glanced at Hamon.

Harmon's expression remained unchanged, but Ringo noticed that the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, clearly indicating that he had guessed what Ringo was planning.

The two then walked to a cell deep inside, where an old white man lay, his hair gray and his face deeply wrinkled.

He lay on the lower bunk, staring at the ceiling, motionless.

Hamon looked at the manual and read aloud:

"Bertron Foster, second-degree murder, sentenced to 25 years, has already served 19 years."

"So, he's one of the elders here?"

Lin Ge remembered that this correction center had only been established for twenty years.

"This old man doesn't like to talk, doesn't cause trouble, and doesn't participate in any activities."

"He just lies there every day, waiting for the days to pass, hoping that he'll get out when the prison closes down."

During the time the two were talking, the old man didn't even look up once.

Passing by cell number twenty-eight, I saw a young Latino man, about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, with regular features and bright, lively eyes.

He leaned against the fence, a faint smile playing on his lips, seemingly indifferent to everything.

Hamon's tone became more cautious:

"Hector Rivera, convicted of drug trafficking, rape, murder, and robbery, deserves a life sentence!"

"Before he joined, he was a member of the 18th Street gang in Los Angeles, codenamed 'Ghost Fang.'"

"Don't be fooled by his face, he's already killed two people in here."

"You mean he killed two more people after he came in, and he's still locked up here?"

Hearing this, Lin Ge felt a chill run down his spine.

"He killed criminals; once in an argument, and once in self-defense."

"He's very capable; he can make the other prisoners fear him."

"Sometimes this skill is very useful, but it's also very dangerous!"

Harmon glanced at Ringo and said seriously:

"I know you have some ideas, but I advise you to think it over carefully. A criminal is a criminal, and you may not be able to control them."

"Ghost Fang" winked at Lin Ge, a naive malice in its smile:

"Boss, is this the new guy?"

"I just arrived this morning."

Lingo's two lifetimes of experience allowed him to barely maintain his composure at this moment. In the end, a wolf locked in a cage can only frighten people with its appearance.

"Ghost Fang" lowered his voice so low that only Ringo could hear him:

"You'd better listen carefully. The rules in this prison aren't written on the walls; the rules are here with me!"

He tapped his temple with his index finger.

Lin Ge ignored him and continued walking forward, while "Ghost Fang" sneered behind them.

We passed several empty cells, with mattresses rolled up and placed to one side, and a layer of dust on the stainless steel toilet.

After a long time, I saw a black man who looked to be in his early thirties, with a haggard face, clearly suffering from long-term malnutrition.

He was crouching in the corner, hugging his knees, his body trembling slightly.

Lin Ge couldn't help but ask:

"Is there still abuse here?"

"Of course not, at least the prison guards didn't do that."

Hamon quickly denied it.

"This is the drug rehabilitation area. His name is Jerome Washington. He came in with more than thirty needle marks on his body."

"He spent three months in there to quit, and he's gotten past the worst part, but he still relapses from time to time."

Jerome looked up, his eyes unfocused, his lips trembling as he uttered incoherent words.

Lin Ge discovered that the other person didn't seem so thin; even though he had been severely affected by drugs, the lines of his former muscles were still visible.

He continued walking down the corridor, which contained 72 cells, 19 of which were empty, with most prisoners living in single rooms.

He paused for at least ten seconds in front of each inhabited cell, memorizing every face.

Since transmigrating, he seems to have gained an extraordinary memory.

Lingo knew very well that in the days to come, these faces and names would become stories.