Chapter 157: Xiao Bai, Come Here
Nan Xun quietly wiped his face and resigned himself to being his little turtle.
There were twelve and a half laps in total. Nan Xun managed to finish them all, then briskly walked one more lap and slowly walked another. Only then was he no longer gasping for breath.
He glanced around. Yan Luo was already nowhere to be seen. Maybe he thought this little turtle was too slow to wait for and had left first—or maybe he hadn’t considered Nan Xun one of his own at all.
Since it was within expectations, Nan Xun didn’t feel disappointed.
Third Brother was carried over by Fourth and Fifth Brother. The guy had thrown up all over the place as soon as he finished running.
Then he looked at Nan Xun, who—despite it being his first run—was perfectly fine, and felt so aggrieved he couldn’t say a word.
“It’s okay. Run more often and you’ll get used to it. Look at Fourth and Fifth Brother—they’re fine. This is all trained,” Nan Xun said with a toothy grin. It sounded like comfort, but the smug little look on his face made people want to throw a punch.
A group of grown men panted heavily, lying or sitting on the grass in the middle of the field. Some even scratched themselves shamelessly—scratching their junk, no less—with movements that were disturbingly suggestive.
Nan Xun looked up at the sky, suddenly feeling a bit heartsore. Maybe it was because he’d turned into a man, but the masculine part of him had been amplified severalfold—being a man felt completely natural now.
Still, he was at least a “fresh and clean” kind of guy among men for the time being. He was honestly afraid that if he stayed around these rough brutes too long, he’d turn into one of them.
Just imagining it was terrifying.
Not long after the morning run, it was time for breakfast. Having learned his lesson, Nan Xun dashed back to the cell, quickly washed up, grabbed his mess kit, and hurried to the main cafeteria.
The cafeteria had eighteen serving windows in total, but since there was no soup for breakfast, six were closed. The usual staple-food windows had two huge vats of rice porridge and a long row of steaming baskets of mantou, with six windows open. There were also windows for pickled vegetables and eggs—another six. Twelve windows in all.
At this moment, every single one of those twelve windows already had a long line in front of it.
Nan Xun was startled by the dense crowd of heads. He’d forgotten—only two or three hundred people went for the morning run, but A Block and B Block together had nearly a thousand inmates. When those who skipped the run all showed up at once, there was bound to be a crowd.
Nan Xun quietly joined the line for porridge and mantou.
You could only choose one—either porridge or mantou. Nan Xun liked mantou, so he decided he’d go with that.
Before long, as he waited patiently in line, he noticed a disturbance around him. Following everyone else’s gaze, he looked toward the cafeteria entrance.
Yan Luo had arrived.
The man had one hand in his pocket and the other holding his mess kit, strolling over at an unhurried pace.
His eyes went straight to the first person in line at the staple-food window. That man shuddered in fright and hurriedly moved aside, bowing and scraping. “Lord Yan, you’re here. This spot—this one’s for you. Please, please—hehe.”
Yan Luo flicked him a glance and unceremoniously took his place.
When the server saw it was him, the hand holding the ladle trembled. Wordlessly, he added two extra scoops of porridge and threw in two more white-flour mantou.
Yan Luo glanced at the server and said flatly, “Thanks.”
After getting his staples, Yan Luo used the same approach to get his pickles and eggs, then strolled unhurriedly toward his usual window-side seat.
Nan Xun, still quietly waiting in line: …
No matter what, he was the guy who’d just beaten Scar, right? His reputation should’ve spread by now. So why wasn’t anyone letting him cut in line?
What Nan Xun didn’t know was that he looked far too harmless. On top of that, he didn’t go out of his way to stir up trouble. After observing him for a while, people had already categorized him as an A-type. As long as he didn’t speak up first, others were happy to pretend they hadn’t seen him.
In Meihuan Prison, inmates were broadly divided into five types.
The top tier was S-type—people like Yan Luo and Scar. When you saw them, you didn’t wait for them to speak; you backed down first and gave way. Otherwise, once they turned vicious, you’d be looking at blood and broken bones.
Second were A-type—people like Ji He, the boss of B Block, and Nan Xun. They were formidable and vicious fighters, but didn’t seem to like stirring up trouble. If they spoke, you gave way; if they didn’t, you pretended you hadn’t seen them.
Third were B-type—those who clung to S-type or A-type figures, like Scar’s lackeys or Ji He’s followers. Classic bullies who borrowed others’ power.
Fourth were C-type, the most common. They bullied the weak and feared the strong, cowering before S-, A-, and B-types. Only with the fifth type—D-type—could they find the pleasure of bullying.
D-types were the weakest group in the prison. They had no backing and no ability. Everyone wanted to step on them. In Meihuan Prison, the highest suicide rate was among D-types.
The servers worked quickly—clang, clang, and your food was dished out. So Nan Xun didn’t actually wait that long. But when it was finally his turn, the soft white mantou were already gone. Only porridge remained.
After getting his food, Nan Xun joined another line for pickled vegetables. By the time it was his turn, all three kinds were gone as well.
“Xiao Liu, over here!” Du Pan waved at him from afar.
This guy had finally learned his lesson—at least he’d saved Nan Xun a seat.
Nan Xun carried his tray over. Du Pan and Boss Tie were already seated. At a four-person table, they and Third Brother had arrived first; everyone else had to find their own seats.
The porridge was thick and hearty. One mouthful later, Nan Xun’s empty stomach felt much better. But when he glanced at the mantou in Boss Tie’s tray, he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit envious.
Just as Nan Xun was about to dig in, his movements suddenly froze.
“Xiao Bai.”
From afar, someone suddenly called his name.
With that single call, the noisy cafeteria went dead silent—utterly, eerily quiet.
Once Yan Luo spoke, no one dared make a sound, afraid their loud voice might drown his out.
Du Pan, sitting across from Nan Xun, swallowed and darted his eyes, signaling for Nan Xun to look behind him.
Nan Xun slowly turned his head, peering along a forty-five-degree diagonal toward the large cafeteria window opposite.
Beneath the window, at the center table surrounded by four empty tables, Yan Luo sat slanted in his chair, his body angled toward Nan Xun. His long legs were propped on the empty seat beside him, one knee bent, the taut lines making his legs look even longer and straighter.
His elbow rested on the tabletop, his head propped on his hand as he looked at Nan Xun.
After a moment, his thin lips moved again. “Xiao Bai, come here.”
As he spoke, those long, pale fingers lifted and curled slightly at Nan Xun in a beckoning gesture.
Hearing that dog-like nickname and seeing the very dog-calling gesture, Nan Xun’s mouth twitched.
When Yan Luo made a move like that—called out and crooked his finger—countless gazes instantly snapped onto Nan Xun.
