Chapter 27: The Warden's Enjoyment (Part Two)

So this was the legendary stinky tofu—no wonder the smell was so pungent, so unbearable. It was even the rarest, most exclusive kind. Although he’d heard that it was supposed to taste delicious despite its foul odor, this unique “fragrance” made Zhao Li instinctively shrink away, unwilling to have anything to do with it. “No, thank you, sir!” he said, nervously waving his hand, afraid the warden would insist on sharing this “supreme” delicacy with him.

“Young people really don’t know how to appreciate fine food!” The old man seemed genuinely disappointed at Zhao Li’s refusal, but not for himself—rather, he pitied Zhao Li for missing such a treat. “This kind of top-grade delicacy is rare nowadays. Especially authentic, first-class Wang Zhihe stinky tofu—ordinary people couldn’t dream of getting their hands on it.”

He picked up a slice of bread, carefully placed the tofu atop it, and took a bite, chewing slowly. The look of utter satisfaction on his face left no doubt—he was truly savoring every morsel.

“Ah!” After finishing a large bite, he smacked his lips in lingering enjoyment, then picked up a nearby wine glass filled with crimson liquid and took a sip.

Stinky tofu paired with red wine—Zhao Li had never seen such a combination before. And the way the warden indulged, as if this were the greatest pleasure in the world, was simply astonishing. Zhao Li was willing to bet that out of a million people, perhaps only one would enjoy this pairing so extravagantly.

“Oh, my apologies—whenever there’s good food, I forget the people around me.” Clearly, the old man had been completely absorbed in his meal. “This bottle of wine is at the perfect temperature. Would you like to try some?” It seemed he was quite eager to share his delicacies with others.

Zhao Li hurriedly declined. Even if he could manage a little wine, being alone with his superior, and with stinky tofu as a side, he simply had no appetite for such “peerless” flavors.

“Young people really don’t know how to appreciate the finer things,” the old man lamented even more. “This is a top-quality wine, sourced from a specific riverside plot in the Bordeaux region of Europe. The grapes are handpicked from a private vineyard, with sunlight strictly controlled at 1,300 hours from flowering to harvest. It’s aged ten years in carefully selected oak barrels, yielding only a few dozen bottles a year—and not every year at that. Such a rarity, and you don’t care for it? I really don’t know what to say.” He sighed, finishing his glass in one gulp, and poured himself another.

Listening to this, Zhao Li was dumbfounded. Who would have thought that in a prison so remote and cut off from the world, such treasures could be found? Had he known earlier, perhaps he would have endured the stinky tofu’s smell for the sake of a taste.

Then, the old man picked up a spoon and scooped out a small amount of golden spheres, gesturing to Zhao Li again. “Would you like to try this?” The spoon glinted, not like metal, but as if it were crafted from the shell of some oceanic mollusk.

Having refused everything so far, Zhao Li declined once more, though he couldn’t help but feel a growing curiosity. After such exquisite stinky tofu and fine wine, what could this be?

The warden closed his eyes in bliss, savoring the flavor, before finally opening them. “Caviar made from the eggs of a hundred-year-old, albinic Mediterranean sturgeon—the gold among gold!”

These three items alone left Zhao Li unable to imagine the cost of such an apparently simple lunch. Clearly, only the ultra-wealthy could ever hope to enjoy such luxuries, and even for them, it was a rare opportunity, not something one could simply buy.

Just who was this old man, to possess such wealth and power? While this combination might not be what gourmands boasted as the finest pairing, it was obvious the warden enjoyed things his own way, following no convention. If possible, Zhao Li would have preferred this old man to be a mysterious royal rather than the warden of a prison.

“I am the warden here, Sergeant,” the warden replied, sweeping away Zhao Li’s guesswork. But having his thoughts read so many times in a row made Zhao Li uneasy; was he so transparent that anyone could read his feelings?

“Welcome to my prison!” The warden took another sip of wine, still lounging in his deck chair.

“Your prison?” Zhao Li couldn’t help but mutter.

“That’s right—the Mountbatten Special Prison,” the old warden replied, catching his words but showing no anger. In fact, he seemed pleased. “The most dangerous military criminals in all of humanity—anyone not sentenced to death is serving here. In this place, I am king. No one dares defy my word; nothing can bar my will. This is my prison!”

“You’re new here, assigned straight out of basic training,” the warden went on, not waiting for Zhao Li to reply. “So I’m quite curious. Your family doesn’t have the clout to place you in the military. How did you come to my prison?”

“It was an assignment from above—I'm just following orders,” Zhao Li said, unsure how else to answer. From the warden’s tone, it seemed that even being posted here required special qualifications.

“That’s exactly what puzzles me.” The warden’s eyes were cloudy with age, yet seemed to see straight through Zhao Li’s thoughts, exerting an inexplicable pressure. “The inmates here are the most dangerous terrorists in the military. The lightest sentence is two hundred and thirty years—for most, it’s life imprisonment, incarceration until death.”

Zhao Li was stunned, but the warden continued. “To be posted here as a guard, you must have completed special forces training, served at least three years in special operations, and proven your loyalty and competence over a long period. Only then do you qualify. You, a sergeant fresh out of basic training—what makes you worthy of this post?”

Faced with this background, Zhao Li was left gaping, unsure if he could ever close his mouth again.

“The only explanation is this: guards assigned here must serve at least six years, with no leave and no family visits. Only after can they apply for transfer or retirement. Your assignment clearly means someone wants you here, isolated for a good long while.” The warden still looked feeble and ancient, but his tone now carried an undeniable authority. “Can you tell me—who did you offend? Or what are you hiding?”

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Second update. Competing for the rankings—please vote, click, and add to your favorites. I want them all—thank you, everyone!