Chapter Five: Days in the Detention Center

As soon as I stepped through the entrance of the detention center, I found myself in a spacious hall—likely the only way in or out, and probably where the guards switched shifts. I overheard an old guard addressing Officer Zhou, who had brought me in, “Are you processing for incarceration?”

Officer Zhou replied, “Yes, almost time to clock out, isn’t it?”

The old guard said, “Just sign here, let’s get the paperwork done. I’ll check him over.”

Officer Zhou responded, “What’s there to check? Anyone I bring in is uninjured.”

The old guard shook his head, “That won’t do. If anything slips by, I can’t take the blame. I’m nearly retired—no need to risk it, haha.”

Officer Zhou asked, “Is Officer Li on duty?”

The old guard answered, “Mm, he’s inspecting the cell block. He’ll be back soon, just have him take the kid inside.”

Officer Zhou said, “This one’s a minor. Once sentenced, he’ll probably be sent to juvenile detention.”

The old guard sighed, “So young, and already up to no good.”

“What did he do?” he asked. I stood up and replied, “Robbery and fraud.”

The old officer glared at me, “Who told you to stand? Squat!”

I startled and quickly complied.

Officer Zhou said to me, “This isn’t like outside. If you need something, announce it first.”

The old guard reassured him, “It’s fine. Once he’s inside, he’ll learn what rules are.”

Officer Zhou said to the old guard, “You really know how to make it easy for yourselves.”

The old guard chuckled, “With nearly eight or nine hundred inmates, we don’t have the energy to manage everyone individually. We let prisoners manage prisoners, haha!”

Officer Zhou said, “I’ve filled out the form, please sign for the handover.”

The old guard finished inspecting me—no injuries, sound mind—and checked the hospital report. He signed off, glanced at his watch impatiently, and said, “Xiao Zhou, you go ahead, I’ll take him in.”

Officer Zhou took his leave, and the old guard led me to cell 201. Every newcomer passes through here—the transition cell.

With a clang, the iron door swung open. Before I’d even stepped inside, a boot landed on my backside, shoving me through. The guard addressed a man inside, who seemed to be the cell’s boss, “Look after him. He doesn’t know the rules yet!”

Inside, the prisoner wore a badge labeled ‘001’—meaning Jimo Detention Center, inmate number one. Clearly not a newbie’s number. He grinned wickedly, “Got it, Officer Wang, understood.”

“Take care, Officer Wang!” the others chimed.

There’s an unwritten rule in the detention center—any inmate, upon seeing a guard regardless of rank, addresses them as ‘Officer’ plus their surname, as if they were all the head of the center. It shows just how low the inmates’ status is—if they have any at all.

Once Officer Wang left, it was time for my first lesson—learning the rules.

What does ‘learning the rules’ mean? It involves several stages: passing through, the eighteen slaps, mountain streams, golden seas, reciting regulations, ranking by seniority, and finally earning a spot as an errand boy.

Let me explain…

Cell 201 faces north-south, about twenty square meters at most. Seated at the southern end, near the bunks, was the cell boss, called the ‘head’. In the detention center, he’s also known as ‘Big Head’. Next to him was ‘Second Blade’, the second-in-command, followed by ‘Third’, who fetched meals and water for the boss—essentially his errand boy. The rest sat in order, ranked by economic means and previous social status. Two rows, all in yellow vests, facing north, legs crossed, not allowed to move. To use the restroom, you had to request permission—only the boss could grant it.

The boss spoke, “Squat.”

I squatted.

He said, “Horse stance.”

I didn’t dare protest; they seemed intimidating, so I complied.

The boss turned to Second Blade, “Go ahead, follow the procedure.”

Second Blade came over, grinning mischievously, and sat cross-legged in front of me, asking, “What did you do?”

I replied, “Robbery, extortion.”

Second Blade eyed me, “How much did you rob?”

I said, “Over eight thousand.”

He laughed, “Over eight thousand? Not bad, haha. How did you extort?”

I said, “There was an invoice—fifteen million.”

Second Blade glanced at the boss, silently asking if it was believable.

The boss said, “Possible. That kind of thing can’t be replaced, probably.”

Second Blade continued, “Where are you from?”

I answered, “Heilongjiang.”

He asked, “What are you doing in Qingdao? What do you do?”

I replied, “No job. Just drifting.”

Second Blade asked, “Who do you hang with?”

I said, “Tieguanyin is my sister.”

Second Blade looked to the boss. The boss sat up, moved forward, and asked, “Tieguanyin from Qingdao? Sister Guan?”

“Yes,” I replied.

The boss obviously knew her—I could tell. They must have had some connection before being locked up.

The boss asked, “When did you last see her?”

“About a week ago.”

The boss said, “Second, he’s one of us. Follow the rules, but go easy on him. Let him clean up, then sit next to me—I’ll ask him some questions.”

Second Blade immediately understood—the boss knew me, so he didn’t make things too hard, but still had me go through the eighteen slaps.

This meant stripping, bending over, exposing my bare backside. Second Blade took a big shoe sole and struck my butt—each hit had to leave a clear red print, or it didn’t count. Eighteen soles later, my rear was swollen like two peaches, impossible to sit, but I had to anyway. That’s the rule—letting you know this place doesn’t tolerate defiance. Whether dragon or tiger, you must submit.

I thought the beating was it, but then came mountain streams. It was winter, right after the New Year, bitterly cold—the pipes could freeze solid. Naked, I walked into the bathroom, followed by a kid, barely seventeen or eighteen. He told me to squat again, horse stance.

I complied. He started pouring water over me with a blanket, chanting something I couldn’t make out—like a monk’s incantation. The first cup, “Entering the detention center, only now is your life complete!” The second, “A man sheds blood, not tears. The cold makes your manhood droop.” The third, “Your wife sleeps with another man; never regret it again.” The fourth, “No matter how many years you’re sentenced, when you get out, you’ll have nothing!” The fifth, “Don’t boast about past glory—everyone here ends up ruined…”

He made up these rhymes himself, and damn, they actually rhymed!

He didn’t just dump a cup of water all at once; he poured it slowly, like a stream, each cup taking ages to finish. Each cup was poured this way—mountain streams. The cold made my teeth chatter uncontrollably, and my whole body shook from the chill, utterly miserable…

Luckily, I avoided the golden seas—cleaning the yellow urine crust in the toilet bowl, scrubbing commodes and such.

At least, I’d made it through.