The heavy iron door slowly opened, and Li Jiaqi continued to move forward.
The long corridor seemed endless.
A security guard opened a solitary prison cell.
After the lights were turned on, she was gently pushed inside.
A square room, all with crude concrete walls, with a chair in the center of the room.
It was a solid iron chair, seemingly welded to the cement floor.
On the pitch-black iron chair, a man was sitting.
His pitch-black trench coat was already in tatters, covered in tears, as if shredded after being tortured.
Torn strips of cloth mixed with blood and flesh filled the room with a thick stench of blood. Below the iron chair, a large pool of blood had already dried.
Heavy iron chains were fastened around the man's ankles, and he was slouched to the side, half-lying on the chair, as if he had endured extreme torture.
He was hanging lifelessly off the chair, seemingly ready to fall with the slightest effort...
