Chapter 82: The Prison Cell

Lu Jia woke up to pitch darkness before her eyes.

The pungent smell of anesthetic still lingered in her mouth and nose, making her pause for a moment to let her sluggish thoughts readjust.

In just two seconds, from the faint light filtering through the narrow barred window on the door, she had already guessed her situation.

Her hands were bound behind her back. Lu Jia moved slightly and sensed no presence of her watch.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked down and saw that her clothes had been changed.

Her shoes… her shoes seemed to be her own pair.

Her gaze dropped quietly. Lu Jia only remembered the force hitting the back of her neck in the second before she passed out—it came from the person beside her.

The bodyguard had been in league with Song Lan. Lu Jia didn’t even have time to worry about her current predicament; instead, she thought of Sheng Shubai’s situation.

If only that one bodyguard had been bought off, it might still be okay. But if…

Lu Jia didn’t dare think further.

It probably wasn’t the case.

Otherwise, with her and the four bodyguards together these past few days, they wouldn’t have waited until now to make a move.

Song Lan had truly gone to great lengths to kidnap her.

Lu Jia wondered if that mother-daughter pair had been deliberately arranged or if it was just a spur-of-the-moment opportunity.

The dim, unfamiliar environment bred all sorts of chaotic thoughts. Lu Jia slowly exhaled, trying her best to calm the unease in her heart.

For a moment, she thought she heard a sound that didn’t belong to her.

Lu Jia’s heart tightened, and she focused intently to listen.

Separated by a door, the sounds from outside were faint. It took several minutes for a soft noise to come through, easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention.

The noises didn’t come from the same direction—sometimes from the left, sometimes shifting to the right. She couldn’t tell if they came from one person or several.

Was this on Song Lan’s island?

She recalled the information Sheng Shubai had mentioned.

The Sheng Family had gone to great pains to plant someone among Song Lan’s students.

But after more than a year, the trust gained was limited, with progress only made by the end of last year. The reports speculated that the students who had gone missing without word might have been sent to Song Lan’s private island.

In this unfamiliar environment, Lu Jia didn’t dare make a sound rashly.

But waiting without seeing an end was the easiest way to breed fear and the simplest method to break a person.

Unable to see the corners clearly, Lu Jia wasn’t sure if there were surveillance devices. Song Lan might be watching from the other side of a screen, trying to enjoy her panic.

She wasn’t really afraid, though she did feel fear.

Since Song Lan had gone to such lengths to bring her here, she wouldn’t kill her easily.

What worried Lu Jia more was Sheng Shubai’s current state. With her sudden disappearance, she wondered if that woman could hold up after receiving the news.

But there was nothing she could do now.

She sighed softly, closed her eyes, and began counting in her mind.

Silent counting wasn’t as accurate as a clock, but she wanted to know roughly how much time had passed—it was something to occupy herself.

She reached two thousand seven hundred twenty-four.

From about ten meters away to the diagonal left and slightly upward, there came the sound of a heavy iron plate being pushed open.

Two thousand seven hundred sixty.

Footsteps approached, heels clicking on the ground with an echo—unhurried paces that occasionally paused nearby.

Two thousand seven hundred ninety-three.

The sounds stopped at the door. The light from the narrow window was mostly blocked, leaving Lu Jia seeing only a dark silhouette facing her.

Click.

The light in the prison cell turned on.

The blinding white filled her vision. Having been in the dark for so long, Lu Jia instinctively closed her eyes.

“Student Lu, pleased to meet you.”

The door opened, followed by a calm, unhurried female voice.

Compared to that video where Song Lan had specially explained in Chinese for her, the voice lacked the distortion of recording and felt close at hand.

Lu Jia opened her eyes.

She was sitting slumped against the wall on a chair, her upper body and arms bound to the chair back.

The first thing that entered her view was a pair of deep black women’s low-heeled shoes.

The visitor looked almost identical to the photos: light brows and eyes, fine lines at the corners from years past. Her long hair was pinned up behind her head, and she wore a well-tailored cheongsam. She even extended her right hand toward Lu Jia as if to shake hands in greeting.

Seeing Lu Jia silent, her gaze fell on the girl’s bound upper body.

Song Lan curved her eyes and feigned realization. “My apologies, I forgot you’re not in a position to shake hands right now.”

Her tone was perfectly serious.

As if they weren’t in this prison cell, but in a bright, clean office.

Lu Jia ignored her, her gaze brushing over the woman’s face for an instant before shifting aside.

The cell wasn’t large. By turning her head slightly, Lu Jia could take in the whole scene: a bed and table occupied nearly half the space, with a wooden pillar standing in the remaining area, iron shackles and chains wrapped around its corners—their purpose obvious.

The four walls were all brand new, as if freshly painted recently to cover unknown marks.

And as she expected, cameras were installed in the two corners of the wall by the door, symmetrically matching the silver-white iron door.

The door was half-closed now, the narrow barred window on it the source of the earlier light.

“Do you like it? Zhi Wei prepared this especially for you.”

Seeing Lu Jia deliberately ignoring her, Song Lan wasn’t annoyed at all.

Every student who came here for the first time reacted differently.

Some panicked, some cried bitterly, others pretended to stay calm like Lu Jia. She was used to it and enjoyed observing them.

Seeing Lu Jia’s expression pause slightly, Song Lan helpfully added,

“Before she went to C University, she specifically told me to reserve this room for you.”

Two lunatics.

Lu Jia finally looked up at her. Seeing Song Lan about to approach further, she subtly shifted her foot back half an inch, her posture rejecting contact.

“By the way, I forgot to tell you—besides the tracker in your watch, this one in your shoe sole didn’t escape professional detection either.”

Song Lan raised her brow and tossed the dismantled micro-tracker in front of Lu Jia. The tiny red light that should have been blinking was now dim:

“It was removed within three minutes of you getting in the car. No one will find this place.”

This underground prison, built with countless efforts over years, was on her private island.

No one could enter here without permission.

Seeing Lu Jia still refusing to speak, Song Lan chuckled lightly. “No reply to messages? No matter—this time I’ve personally invited you over. Now we can have a proper chat.”

She, Song Lan, had lowered herself to invite a novice graduate student, only to be blocked.

Truly spoiled by Sheng Shubai, disrespectful to her elders.

But those bad habits would be corrected soon. She would personally mold Lu Jia into the world’s most perfect—and obedient—Muse.

“Let me guess what interests you. Printmaking? Collections? Or… the Sheng Family?”

Song Lan showed some patience, proactively bringing up the last topic, which her subordinates usually treated as taboo.

But she still got only silence in response.

Song Lan stepped forward, her slender right hand pinching the girl’s chin, forcing Lu Jia to lift her head. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Get lost.”

Her chin was pinched hard, making it difficult for Lu Jia even to speak.

The instant the woman touched her, Lu Jia’s originally calm, indifferent expression changed to one of extreme disgust.

This hand had no telling how much blood on it.

Filthy enough to make Lu Jia nearly retch; she instinctively wanted to struggle.

Perhaps the disgust in the girl’s eyes was too intense, scorching her vision.

Song Lan unconsciously furrowed her brow, her composure turning to irritation. As she flung her hand away, Lu Jia’s face was jerked hard to the side.

Pain lingered on her chin from the pinch, but Lu Jia stayed silent.

She had always been perceptive and could sense shifts in others’ emotions.

That momentary change in Song Lan just now—her own reaction had merely been the trigger, uncovering the woman’s suppressed irritability.

Seeing Song Lan turn and leave, the door left open as if she wasn’t worried about the bound person escaping.

Lu Jia took the chance to look outside.

Both sides were narrow corridors, with another tightly shut iron door opposite. Light filtered through its window, suggesting a similar layout—who knew if someone was inside.

Less than half a minute later, footsteps approached again.

This time, Song Lan held a slender cigarette between her fingers, the spreading smoke carrying a strange scent—not heavy tobacco, but something indescribable.

She also brought over a bottle of particularly familiar aroma diffuser, placing it on the table.

“Zhi Wei went to great lengths to bring it there back then.”

Song Lan’s tone had returned to normal.

She took a gentle drag, closing her eyes and tilting her head back in enjoyment. Then her fingertip tapped lightly on the table edge. “It’s a pity, though. According to Zhi Wei, you don’t like this scent.”

Combining it with the woman’s earlier reaction, Lu Jia vaguely guessed something.

As if unable to stand the smoke, she coughed softly.

“Can’t stand this smell?”

Song Lan glanced over, and out of pity—or mercy—she stepped back a couple paces and turned slightly sideways.

Clang.

A sudden noise came from the iron door opposite.

Lu Jia looked up.

A pair of skeletal hands—not quite hands anymore—suddenly gripped the narrow window bars, followed by a pale face with pupils threaded with red blood vessels.

Disheveled long hair stuck to the cheeks, the entire face pressed against the bars, divided into sections, as if desperate to push its olfactory senses out another half-inch, breathing in deep gulps.

The greedy gaze and constantly twitching nostrils.

Everything proclaimed it clearly.

Song Lan heard the noise too and glanced back indifferently, lightly exhaling a smoke ring toward it.

The person seemed even more frenzied.

Their forehead slammed against the bars with a thud, nostrils flaring even more wildly.

Lu Jia looked away, instinctively holding her breath.

Song Lan noticed her wariness and raised her brow slightly, kindly reassuring her. “Don’t worry—if you haven’t partaken of this before, it won’t affect you.”

The content in the smoke was minimal, negligible.

Only those starved for too long would have senses sharpened to this degree.

Even a trace of the scent could lure them like moths to a flame, willing to do anything.

Song Lan had no intention of using this on Lu Jia for now.

Such things could easily control a person, inducing hallucinations, but they also eroded true artistic inspiration.

“You have great talent, Lu Jia.”

Song Lan’s tone was relaxed. “Rest assured, I won’t let you touch this until your inspiration is completely exhausted—I wouldn’t bear it.”

With her final words, she raised her brow and took the last drag. Her whole demeanor showed pleasure, utterly different from her earlier irritability, back to her composed self.

She checked the time on her wrist. “Since you don’t want to discuss art with me, no matter. We have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

The tone of complete control stirred disgust from the depths of Lu Jia’s heart.

“Zhi Wei will be here soon after finishing her tasks. It’s been months—you two can catch up.”

Song Lan said meaningfully, “She misses you a lot.”

With that, the woman left gracefully.

Before going, she locked the door as usual and, out of kindness, left the light on.

The aroma diffuser stayed on the table, like a casual warning.