The old wounds hadn't healed before new ones were added. Her ankles were already a mangled mess of flesh and blood, black scabs mixed with fresh blood, looking especially horrifying.
Jin Ningxin didn't know how long she had been locked up, nor did she know whether it was day or night now.
Locked in this small windowless room, her sense of time felt infinitely stretched out.
Every minute, every second, was sheer torment.
Both feet were shackled, the heavy iron chains making it almost impossible for her to move.
The hard metal rubbed against her skin with every movement, repeatedly scraping it raw; her ankles were already a gruesome sight.
When she was first locked in here, she cried and screamed every day, then gradually started begging for mercy.
But no matter how much she cried, begged, or admitted fault, it was all useless.
No one would pay her any attention. Other than someone coming once a day to bring food and water, no one ever set foot in here.
