Chapter Three: The Battle of Black and White

The evening news on the prison’s communal television had gone mad these past few days, reporting incessantly on the disappearance of billionaire Tony Stark.

Some claimed he’d been spirited away to Mickey’s clubhouse by a dozen magazine cover girls; others insisted Stark was playing a game of hide-and-seek with the world.

Speculation ran rampant.

Even within the prison, inmates gathered in small groups after meals and during idle hours, spinning imaginative tales about the billionaire.

But Zhong Shenxiu, well-versed in the Marvel storyline, knew the truth.

Tony Stark had been kidnapped by the terrorist group known as the Ten Rings after demonstrating the Jericho missile to the US military in the Middle East. They demanded he build them a missile, but Stark, a genius, spent three harrowing months in captivity, forging the first Iron Man suit and ultimately escaping.

Soon, Stark would announce at a press conference that Stark Industries would cease weapons manufacturing, and at that point, the company’s stock would plummet. Zhong Shenxiu vaguely recalled it dropping by more than fifty points.

That would be his prime opportunity to make a fortune.

The more Zhong Shenxiu reviewed the Marvel narrative these past days, the more he realized how extraordinary his knowledge of future events was.

If only he could get out of prison.

He was confident he could live a better life in the Marvel universe than he had in his previous one. For instance, buying Stark’s stock at just the right moment, or investing in New York real estate after the alien invasion—low risk, high return.

But… that all depended on him getting out.

The countdown at the corner of his eye now read:

[31 hours 42 minutes 23 seconds]

It had been thirty-two hours since his last conversation with White, and he'd had two periods of free activity.

Now, at most, he had one day and one more free period left.

Originally, Zhong Shenxiu planned that if White didn’t bring any news, he’d follow his initial plan: injure someone during his last free period and then heal them.

But—

At the end of dinner today, White, whom he hadn’t seen in ages, finally appeared. He whispered excitedly in Zhong Shenxiu’s ear:

“Shenxiu, don’t sleep tonight. Wait for the show.”

And then hurried off.

Nearly an hour had passed since lights out at half past nine, and in the pitch-black prison, Zhong Shenxiu sensed something unusual.

It was too quiet.

Normally, even at night, the prison echoed with the creaking of beds and all manner of howls and noises.

Now, all of it had vanished.

The entire prison was as still as stagnant water, carrying the ominous calm before a storm.

He didn’t know how White had managed it, but it seemed he was about to fulfill his promise.

Tonight… the gang war might truly begin ahead of schedule!

Zhong Shenxiu rose from his bunk and walked to the cell door, peering through the slits to study Xingge Prison’s night vision surveillance.

It was easy to spot in the darkness—each glowing red dot marked a camera.

Although there were plenty of blind spots, Zhong Shenxiu deduced several locations outside the cameras’ view, though these spots were mostly staffed by guards.

But once the chaos started, the guards would surely be too preoccupied.

Those would be the perfect places for him to heal.

As for whom he would heal, Zhong Shenxiu planned to adapt—whoever was closest to these ideal spots would be his target.

All the inmates were human; he wouldn’t accidentally pick an alien and fail the task.

That possibility was too remote to factor into his plans.

He waited another three hours.

It was half past one in the morning; most of the guards on duty were nodding off, fighting sleep.

The prison remained eerily silent.

Zhong Shenxiu even felt an illusion that all the prisoners were dead, and he was the only one alive.

But—

A piercing buzz suddenly rang out, and all the cell doors swung open at once!

Lights blazed, turning the pitch-black prison into daylight.

“Ahh— Ooh— Woo— Ha—”

Amid a cacophony of howls and screams, a swarm of inmates, clearly prepared, surged from their cells almost simultaneously, targeting the guards who hadn’t yet realized what was happening.

It was a rout.

The guards didn’t even fire a shot before they were overwhelmed and subdued by prisoners from all sides.

Stripped of uniforms, disarmed, and bound at the center of Xingge Prison’s first floor.

The entire sequence unfolded in one swift motion.

Then, the prisoners divided neatly into two factions—on the east, the Redneck Gang composed entirely of white men; on the west, the Black Gang of African-American inmates.

Both sides lined up.

At the command of their respective leaders, the Redneck Gang and the Black Gang launched a fearless charge!

It was like the wars of ancient China’s Spring and Autumn era—both sides had agreed on the time and place, and now engaged in an honorable melee.

But the guards, bound at the center of the conflict, suffered most.

Trampled amidst the fighting, they were left scattered across the floor, red and white alike.

Zhong Shenxiu stepped out of his cell and moved to the eastern corner of the first floor—one of his predetermined healing spots.

He lay prone, quietly observing the epic battle.

The longer he watched, the more puzzled he became.

Why were these inmates doing this?

They had already subdued the guards; instead of working together to escape, they chose to brawl.

What sense did that make?

Despite his confusion, Zhong Shenxiu remained vigilant, watching for any injured—preferably unconscious—person appearing nearby.

He would then drag that wounded inmate to his healing spot amidst the chaos and complete his novice task.

The battle grew ever more intense; the stench of blood permeated the entire prison as bare-handed inmates fought viciously.

Many had fallen.

Yet those left seemed possessed, fighting relentlessly as long as they could stand.

Fists, teeth, anything at hand was wielded as a weapon.

Thanks to this, Zhong Shenxiu soon identified several candidates for healing.

After some thought, he chose a small, unconscious white youth about ten meters away.

Unconscious meant secrecy; small meant easy to carry.

The ideal candidate.

But—

Just as Zhong Shenxiu moved to retrieve him, he caught a glimpse of two furtive figures heading deeper into the prison.

He looked closely.

It was the leaders of the Redneck Gang and the Black Gang!

Normally mortal enemies, now walking side by side, blending into the chaos.

Zhong Shenxiu, ever watchful for variables, noticed them.

They were headed toward the southwestern underground cellblock.

Zhong Shenxiu knew of this place—it held mysterious inmates, and never during free time had he seen anyone emerge from there.

Why were they going there now?

Combined with the oddities of the gang war, Zhong Shenxiu suddenly realized—the brutal battle between the two gangs was likely a smokescreen to hide the leaders’ true goal.

And their destination: the underground cellblock.

Zhong Shenxiu didn’t need much imagination to guess there was some secret hidden within.

But he suppressed his curiosity, waiting until the two leaders disappeared into the underground cellblock.

He crawled toward the small youth.

Amidst the chaos, he was unremarkable; no one noticed him.

Without hesitation, he dragged the unconscious youth to the nearest corner in a surveillance blind spot.

He breathed a sigh of relief and examined the youth.

There were no obvious wounds on his body, but his head had clearly been struck by a blunt object, blood pouring from the injury. That must be why he’d lost consciousness.

After ensuring no one was watching, Zhong Shenxiu whispered in his heart, “Healing Spell—” and a faint green light appeared in his palm.

Without further delay, he pressed his hand to the youth’s wounded head.

Success or failure hinged on this moment—