Chapter 17

The office was empty. Norton froze for a moment before spinning around to yell at Berrick. “Why aren’t you out there searching for him already?!”

“Searching for who?” a clear voice asked from nearby.

Norton turned to see Mo Zimu standing in the corner. He scanned him up and down and demanded, “Where were you just now?”

“I… just went to the restroom,” Mo Zimu replied, holding up slightly damp hands.

Norton’s expression softened slightly. “What’s your business here?”

Mo Zimu glanced at the others in the room.

Norton took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and asked coolly, “Berrick, do you have any other business here?”

Berrick, visibly flustered, exited the room awkwardly, while the butler disappeared without a word.

Norton loosened his tie slightly, the earlier scare leaving him feeling constricted. With an icy tone, he said, “Now, Seven, you can speak. But if you’ve come here for nothing, don’t blame me for—”

“Ivan is planning a riot,” Mo Zimu interrupted.

Norton blinked in surprise but quickly regained his composure. He didn’t look shocked, just cold and calculating.

The chill in the air made Mo Zimu’s spine tingle.

Norton tugged at his tie again, drawing out his response. “A riot, you say? Explain.”

Mo Zimu replied, “He’s got Sticks rallying people, inciting them to prepare for a prison-wide uprising.”

Norton’s face darkened. “Rumors? Speculation? Seven, when did you start relying on gossip to make yourself valuable? Next time you hear such nonsense, I suggest you use that supposedly sharp brain of yours before running to me with it!”

As Norton finished berating him, the phone rang. Huffing in irritation, he picked it up and growled a curt “Hello” into the receiver.

Mo Zimu remained stoic, watching as Norton’s expression twisted into a furious scowl, his eyebrows knitting tightly together.

“I’ve never approved any changes to the shipping schedule, and I never will!” he barked into the phone before slamming it down.

His earlier good mood was now completely ruined. He glared at Mo Zimu, his voice venomous. “Seven, I’ve admired you to some degree. There aren’t many people I find worth my attention. But let me be clear, I won’t risk anything for that admiration. The tattoo on your body may look better on you than anywhere else, but I wouldn’t hesitate to use your corpse as a model for it if I have to!”

Mo Zimu frowned slightly. “Boss, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You altered the shipping schedule, didn’t you?” Norton accused.

Mo Zimu responded calmly, “What schedule are you referring to?”

Norton took a deep breath. “Seven, I’m giving you one last chance. Did you change the shipping schedule? What are you up to?”

Mo Zimu replied, “If you’re so sure, what’s the point of asking me?”

Norton’s face twisted into a snarl. He pressed the intercom button, summoning two guards into the office within a minute.

Pointing at Mo Zimu, he commanded, “Take him to the basement. No food until he’s ready to talk. Round up everyone in C Block 204 and interrogate them one by one. Make sure no one else finds out!”

Mo Zimu was forcibly restrained, his arms twisted behind his back, and marched to the dark, damp basement. Berrick stood there, looking smug.

“Do you know what I hate the most?” Berrick sneered. “Arrogant brats like you.”

He swung his baton, striking Mo Zimu repeatedly. The blows rained down without mercy until Mo Zimu lay motionless.

Breathing heavily, Berrick finally stepped back and spat, “You’re finished. Rot like the rat you are in this sewer, you yellow pig!”

He slammed the door shut and left.

Mo Zimu slowly lowered his arms from where they had shielded his head. His entire body ached, swollen and bruised. Lying on the cold, damp floor, he let out a soft chuckle.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his pocket watch.

It was 2:35 PM.

Time in darkness stretches infinitely.

At first, every second feels as though it lasts ten. Then it becomes an hour, a day, and finally, an endless, unbearable expanse. This is why many can endure physical torture but not the suffocating combination of darkness, hunger, and cold. Even the calmest of minds can crumble under the weight of solitude.

This wasn’t Mo Zimu’s first time in the pitch-black cells, but this time was different. This time, he was so close to freedom.

Waiting at the edge of hope is the most torturous kind of waiting.

Mo Zimu endured the longest night of his life. When dawn finally broke, the door creaked open.

Berrick, his face dark with displeasure, grabbed him roughly and hauled him out, escorting him straight to Norton.

—

Norton was already seated at the breakfast table. Warm sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, bathing the room in soft hues. The table was laden with a lavish breakfast, the rich aroma of butter mingling with the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

He glanced up at Mo Zimu, his brow furrowing slightly. After taking a deep breath, he said generously, “Sit. Have some breakfast.”

Mo Zimu shook off Berrick’s hand, took a seat at the table, and grabbed a piece of bread, shoving it into his mouth. His dirt-streaked clothing made Norton frown again.

Picking up his napkin, Norton dabbed at his lips before addressing Berrick. “What about you? Haven’t had your breakfast either, I assume?”

Berrick, clearly flustered, stammered, “N-no, Boss. I’ll take my leave now!” He left hurriedly.

With only the two of them remaining, Norton sighed. “Seven, you could’ve told me yesterday that Adolf secretly altered this week’s shipping schedule. You wouldn’t have had to go through all that.”

Mo Zimu poured himself a glass of milk and replied, “Can I get some water too?”

Norton tilted his head slightly, signaling the butler to fetch it. The butler, annoyed, turned to get the water.

“If I’d told you then, would you have believed me?” Mo Zimu asked calmly.

Norton shook his head, pointing a finger at Mo Zimu. “Seven, you lack the most basic trust in me.”

At the word “trust,” Mo Zimu chuckled. Norton joined him in laughter, saying, “In any case, your old cellmates didn’t end up in last night’s Hunter. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He paused before continuing, “Seven, I trust that this minor friction won’t affect our working relationship, right?”

“Once the final list is done, can we still call it a relationship?” Mo Zimu asked flatly.

Norton smiled easily. “Of course not. But by then, both of us will be free.”

Mo Zimu carefully spread butter on his bread before asking, “And when will that be?”

“Soon,” Norton replied with a smile. “Take the day to rest. Tomorrow at six, we’ll finish the remaining lists. For now, go relax. Ivan’s been waiting for you.”

—

Back at the main block, Berrick’s attitude toward Mo Zimu seemed to have undergone a noticeable change.

As they climbed the stairs, he hesitated slightly before extending his hand. “Seven, let’s leave the past behind us. Let’s be friends. Maybe someday soon, I’ll be able to help you out in a small way.”

Mo Zimu looked at Berrick’s hand. Its fingers were short, the pinky especially stubby. Smiling faintly, he reached out and shook the square-shaped hand. “Boss, you’re too kind.”

Berrick, surprised at how approachable the once aloof and cold Mo Zimu could be, felt a rush of joy. “It was all a misunderstanding before. From now on, we’re friends, looking out for each other!”

Mo Zimu withdrew his hand with a polite smile. “Thank you for your care, then.”

—

The cell door swung open. Ivan’s deep-set eyes scanned Mo Zimu from head to toe, a flicker of anger flashing in his gaze.

Mo Zimu’s wrist was firmly grasped by Berrick, who, in a rare show of sincerity, said earnestly to Ivan, “I hope you’ll be gentler with Seven, so we don’t make things difficult for everyone…” He paused, then added, “You know, Warden Norton holds Mr. Seven in high regard.”

After Berrick left, Ivan wrapped an arm around Mo Zimu’s waist, smiling. “Looks like you’ve tamed that horse-eyed guard too.”

Mo Zimu gently pulled away from his hold and walked toward the bathroom to shower. Ivan seemed to understand how exhausted he was. Though he stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with a lecherous gaze, he surprisingly held himself back. That alone was unexpected.

After his shower, Mo Zimu lay down on the bed. Ivan might look scruffy on the outside, but his bed was always immaculate, with soft sheets that were fresh almost every night. The contrast was odd yet strangely fitting.

For someone who had endured twenty years in prison as a scapegoat for the Bonanno family’s heir, Ivan had remarkable patience. But here in Mammon, he refused to live like a prisoner. Everything around him was carefully maintained, as if he were making up for lost time.

He was indeed a man full of contradictions.

This thought lingered in Mo Zimu’s mind as he drifted into sleep.

In his dream, it was cold and dark. He wandered aimlessly through the night, lost and uncertain. Suddenly, two arms encircled him from behind, pulling him into a warm embrace. The chill left his body, replaced by a sense of security and steadiness.

In that moment, he realized that all his aimless wandering was simply to find that one embrace.

He woke up in the morning under Ivan’s gaze. When Mo Zimu saw his mischievous eyes, he furrowed his brow slightly. His personality was usually quite composed, yet fate had bound him to this reckless and unruly man.

Ivan smiled, sliding his hand under his shirt to caress him. Mo Zimu flinched but couldn’t evade Ivan’s nimble fingers. The rough palms left a ticklish sensation wherever they touched, making Mo Zimu involuntarily laugh. His body softened, and Ivan took the opportunity to pin him down.

When their eyes met, Mo Zimu quickly looked away. Ivan, looking at his handsome profile, smiled. “How’s your plan going?”

“What plan?”

“Your escape,” he said casually.

Mo Zimu replied calmly, “When did I ever say I had an escape plan?”

Ivan, seeing the unflinching look on Mo Zimu’s face, suddenly leaned down and bit his earlobe. Mo Zimu winced, glaring at him angrily.

Ivan smiled. “You’re so contradictory. You want to be held, but you pretend you don’t.”

“I never said I wanted you to hold me!” Mo Zimu retorted.

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you? Let me check.” He slid a leg between Mo Zimu’s and unzipped his pants, letting his hand explore.

Mo Zimu panicked, struggling, but Ivan quickly grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head.

After a deliberate moment, Ivan said seriously, “Baby, you’re already hard.”

Mo Zimu seethed with rage, gritting his teeth. “Don’t you get hard in the morning? Are you even a man?”

“I am. But you’re not,” Ivan teased, looking down at him with a grin. “Seven, a real man says what he wants when he wants it.”

“That’s just an animal!”

“A real man satisfies his desires with actions, not fantasies,” Ivan quipped.

“That’s a beast!” Mo Zimu shot back coldly.

Ivan smiled faintly. “Darling, real men know how to let go, because they have the confidence to start anew.”

After a long silence, Mo Zimu asked quietly, “Would you forget about me?”

Ivan paused, then smiled. “Are you afraid of being forgotten by me?”

“Would you?”

Ivan replied lazily, “According to your philosophy of love, there’s a fifty-fifty chance.”

Mo Zimu exhaled deeply. “Great.”

Ivan smiled and leaned close to whisper in his ear, “But I’m not finished. Listen carefully, babe. I like making you happy, but that doesn’t include letting you shirk your duties as my lover. You’re mine. Remember that.”

Mo Zimu felt Ivan’s iron grip tighten around him. He sighed, ceasing his resistance, and turned his head to the side.

Ivan withdrew his hand from Mo Zimu’s pants, wrapped his arms around his waist, and kissed his earlobe. Then he murmured, “Let’s make a deal.”

Mo Zimu remained silent. Ivan’s playful gaze sharpened slightly. “If you refuse, I’ll detain you here and eliminate your three friends.”

Mo Zimu took a deep breath. “Fine. Say it.”

Ivan smiled and said lightly, “No need for risky plans. I’ll make sure your wishes come true.”

Mo Zimu replied seriously, “Being with you is the biggest risk I’ve ever taken, and the consequences are severe. So from now on, I’ll tread carefully. My current wish is to get rid of you. I hope you’ll help me make that come true.”

Ivan didn’t respond to Mo Zimu’s deliberate provocation. Instead, he repeated calmly, “Seven, I’m doing everything I can to make you feel free and happy. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life imprisoned, you’d better remember my words.”

Mo Zimu remained calm.

“Repeat my words, Seven.”

“If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life imprisoned, you’d better remember my words,” Mo Zimu repeated word for word.

Ivan sighed and shook his head, seemingly exasperated by Mo Zimu’s paradoxical blend of worldliness and childishness.

He leaned down and placed a light kiss on him. “I made some snacks for you. Someone will bring them over later.”

He jumped up, went to the bathroom for a cold rinse, and left the room.

The breakfast arrived shortly after, delivered by Kaspersky. The steaming meat buns were still warm in their container.

Mo Zimu sat cross-legged on the iron bed and took a big bite of the meat bun Ivan had made. As much as he found that man insufferable, he had to admit that he had a talent for making delicious snacks.

He was halfway through his second bun when Berrick appeared. His words wiped away any remaining appetite Mo Zimu had.

“A missionary named Merlin is here to see you,” he announced.