She couldn't afford to go head-to-head with them just yet.
After a moment's thought, she gripped the rusted little shovel and bent it with all her strength at the fracture point.
Fortunately, the metal was already weak there. With a sharp snap, a shard about two fingers wide and ten centimeters long broke off cleanly. She hid the jagged piece up her sleeve, then returned the shovel to its place in the corner, carefully covering it with dust and ash to make it look untouched—just a rusted tool that had chipped naturally.
No one would suspect anything.
Carrying a wooden bucket with a ladle tucked inside, she stepped outside.
She passed a few squat storage rooms. Their doors were ajar. Peeking through the cracks, she spotted a wooden shelf with soapberries and a basin—it was a bathing room. The other two were latrines.
She made her way behind the building, where a stone well stood tucked against the wall.
A wooden reel sat atop the well, wound with rope and a pail secured at the end.
Yan Shuixin walked to the edge and released the bucket. It plummeted into the dark, echoing hollow below.
The well was deep—maybe three meters. At the bottom shimmered a thin layer of water, barely a meter deep, and in it swam a few fish.
She knew why.
The fish were there to ensure no one poisoned the water. If the fish died, the water was no longer safe.
When the rope tightened, she gripped the crank and began winding it. The water-laden bucket rose slowly, painfully heavy. She gritted her teeth, muscles trembling with effort, until the pail finally crested the edge. She poured the precious water into her own bucket.
Her body was so parched she could've cried.
Damn it, she was so thirsty she could've drunk her own piss.
She plunged the ladle in, scooped out a small amount to wash her filthy hands, then scooped again and brought the water straight to her lips.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
The cool liquid rushed down her throat. It didn't taste sweet, but it was wet, and that was enough. Several ladles later, her stomach swelled with water, and only then did the gnawing hunger retreat a little.
At least now she could think straight.
There was a grindstone near the well. If she had time, she could smooth the sharp iron shard she'd hidden.
It would've been the perfect moment—no one around, water nearby.
But… high above, in the watchtower, a jailer stood guard. His gaze could reach this very spot.
No choice. She gave up on sharpening the iron for now.
A sudden thought struck her.
She still hadn't seen what her current face looked like.
She bent over the bucket and peered into the water's surface.
A reflection emerged—so filthy it made her recoil. Tangled hair, grime-caked skin, pale lips, pimples scattered across her cheeks. She looked worse than a beggar on the street.
Hideous. Absolutely hideous.
Back in the modern world, Yan Shuixin had been a knockout—an hourglass figure, smooth skin, bright eyes.
Now? She looked like something the cat dragged in.
It was like falling from heaven into the deepest pit of hell.
But as she squinted at her reflection, something shifted. The bone structure beneath the dirt… it was familiar.
Very familiar.
If she washed the grime away… if she ignored the acne…
She looked exactly like her modern self—only younger. Much younger.
She was twenty-six in the present.
This face? At most, sixteen.
She glanced down at her scrawny limbs.
If she treated the acne, ate well, and put on some flesh…
Her beauty would return. Her body could still bounce back.
She was a doctor—of course she could heal her own skin.
But here, in an ancient prison full of men, being too clean, too pretty… that was dangerous.
Best to stay dirty for now. Let them think she was ugly and useless.
Still—ten years younger.
That alone was enough to lift her spirits.
Carrying the now-full bucket, she made her way back to the prison.
The bucket was heavy. Even empty, it had weight. Filled with water, it dragged on her arm with every step. But she bore it, teeth gritted.
On the way, she grabbed a broom and dustpan from the supply room. The jailer in the tower above spared her only a glance. She was just cleaning—nothing suspicious.
Back inside the dungeon, shadows stretched long across the stone corridor. The hallway was about two meters wide, but it felt like a tunnel into the abyss. On both sides, iron bars loomed, separating prisoner from prisoner, misery from misery.
She placed the bucket near the first cell.
Instantly, a man rushed to the bars, thrusting a hand between the gaps. "Water! Please, give me some water!"
From the second cell, two more prisoners surged forward, reaching through the bars. "I'm thirsty! Please—water!"
Yan Shuixin looked around and finally saw it clearly.
Many of them were skeletal, sunken-faced, lips cracked and bleeding from dehydration.
But not all of them.
Some looked fed, hydrated. They stared blankly as others begged.
She understood in an instant.
Those half-dead prisoners hadn't just offended the jailers—no, their rations had probably been stolen by cellmates. The weak preyed on by the cruel.
She thought of Li Donghong, the woman beaten half to death for begging.
More voices joined the chorus.
"I need water…"
"I haven't drunk anything in three days… please…"
One young man, barely in his twenties, dropped to his knees behind the bars. "Please," he croaked, lips flaking with blood. "I'll die…"
Even though she'd read the novel, she couldn't recall the names of these background characters. The author hadn't bothered with them.
But looking at these desperate, broken people, her heart ached.
It was only water.
She pointed to the bowl in the kneeling prisoner's cell. "Pass me that. I'll give you a little."
The young man immediately slid his bowl through the bars.
It was filthy—caked in grime so thick it left a smear on her fingers.
She hesitated. If she dipped it in the clean water, she'd contaminate the whole bucket.
Instead, she carefully tilted the bucket and poured a half-bowl into it before passing it back.
The boy barely had time to lift it before a burly prisoner behind him struck.
"You think you get to drink without my say-so?!"
The bowl clattered to the ground.
"Brother Sheng, please! Let me drink… If Ah Wang dies of thirst, who'll serve you?"
Brother Sheng sneered. "Fine. You want water? Lick it off the floor."
Ah Wang dropped to his stomach, frantically lapping at the wet stone.
Before Yan Shuixin could even process what she'd just witnessed, she felt a sudden jerk—her wrist wrenched forward between the bars.
A prisoner had grabbed her arm, yanking her close.
Brother Sheng strolled over, patting the man's shoulder. "Well done, Xiao Liu."
"Thank you, Brother Sheng, for your praise. It's an honor to serve you," said a prisoner nicknamed Xiao Liu, groveling shamelessly.
Brother Sheng extended a filthy hand through the bars, reaching for Yan Shuixin.
She jumped back in horror. "Get your hands off me!"
If not for Xiao Liu restraining her arms, she'd have slapped Brother Sheng on the spot.
Brother Sheng spat to the side and laughed. "Damn. Skin and bones—barely any meat on you."
A mocking voice came from the cell beside his. "Idiot. That's what you get for being soft-hearted. These wolves haven't had a woman in ages. Even if you were ugly, they'd rip you apart and swallow you whole."
Yan Shuixin had trained in judo and taekwondo in the modern world—she'd even won third place in a competition. But she wasn't some flying heroine from a martial arts drama. Two or three men, maybe—but a mob?
With a sharp pivot, she twisted free from Xiao Liu's grip and took a few hasty steps back. Then she glanced toward the mocking prisoner.
He was tall and well-built, with bright eyes, defined features, and a small mole on his forehead. Even in prison, he stood with hands clasped behind his back, radiating a smug elegance.
Wait a minute… wasn't he the male lead from the novel? Bai Jinchuan?
Son of Chancellor Bai Jizhe, Bai Jinchuan was a renowned martial artist, infamous for his charm and countless romantic entanglements. In the novel, he'd been involved with the heroine Xia Chuxue and was a favored guest in both noble homes and brothels.
Now, this carefree playboy had landed in the same deadly prison.
She remembered only half the book—the careless author barely mentioned Bai Jinchuan, so she didn't know how long he was supposed to survive.
Thinking she was staring because she was smitten, Bai Jinchuan gave her a dazzling wink.
Naturally. This young master is irresistible—even behind bars.
In truth, Yan Shuixin only gave him a second glance because of his plot armor. But when he tossed that exaggerated flirtatious look, her disdain surged.
Still, it wasn't wise to offend the protagonists unnecessarily. So she merely looked away, indifferent.
Meanwhile, Brother Sheng, frustrated by his failed grope, barked, "You little tramp! I was giving you a blessing, and you dare run from me?"
He turned and struck Xiao Liu's head with a fist. "Useless! Can't even hold a woman still."
"Yes, yes," Xiao Liu muttered, rubbing his skull.
Yan Shuixin's glare was like a blade. She silently vowed: if he ever fell into her hands… she'd make sure he paid.
But now wasn't the time for vengeance.
After that incident, she kept her distance from the men's cells. She wouldn't be offering water freely anymore—not with hundreds of prisoners and only one bucket. No way she'd exhaust herself running errands for everyone.
She remembered how those same men had cowered earlier when she walked with the jailer.
Bullies—only bold when the weak are alone.
"I can't just fetch you water as I please," she declared loudly, standing in the corridor between the cells. "The water's for cleaning. If I run out, I'll be beaten. So no one's getting any. Ask all you want—I won't give it."
Her announcement silenced most of the voices begging for a drink.
With broom in hand, she swept the hallway. But cleaning meant getting close to the cells again—and sure enough, another greasy hand shot out to grab her.
She scowled and said coldly, "The warden said if I don't clean properly, I'll be beaten to death. If anyone touches me again and stops me from working, then I'll make sure to drag someone down with me. I'll name names."
That was enough. Between the vicious guards and her sharp tongue, no one else dared grope her.
Quickly, she finished sweeping and dumped the waste into a bamboo dustpan.
Finally, she reached the deepest cell—Cell No. 59.
It held only one man.
Xiao Yeheng.
Perhaps because of his broken leg, the guards didn't even bother locking the cell after letting her out earlier.
Carrying her tools and the bucket, she stepped inside.