The middle-aged man was still smiling, seemingly fond of smiling. "You'll know what life is like here later. Of course, if you were to be executed tomorrow, just pretend I didn't say anything."
No one spoke again, and the room returned to silence.
Before entering, Yang Fan had many imaginations, thinking that the prison should be like Zhou Runfa's Hong Kong films, with various factions and endless power struggles, often resulting in fatalities.
Now here, he realized it was just his own fantasy.
Feeling somewhat tired, Yang Fan took a rest, half-reclining on the bed, his head against the wall.
Without a watch or a mobile phone, he didn't know what time it was.
Some time passed, the door opened, and Yang Fan was slightly startled. The middle-aged uncle, seeing Yang Fan's expression, immediately explained, "It's eight o'clock, time for dinner."
Following the officer outside, the other three followed closely.
