In a restroom on one of the upper floors of the teaching building, Zhao Le was standing alone in front of the mirror.
His hair was wet again, hanging down in clumps, and his lips were a bit pale—this was the result of forcing himself to endure the pain… He took a deep breath, both hands trembling as he slowly unbuttoned the front of his shirt.
With his clothes hanging open on both sides, the bruises on his chest and abdomen were visible… Zhao Le ran his fingers over these bruises… every touch brought a burning kind of agony.
Thud—!
Suddenly, Zhao Le slammed a fist down on the sink counter.
Thud—!
He once again used his fist, slowly pounding it against the sink counter—on the exact same spot.
Thud, thud, thud, thud—!!
He struck it again and again, while raising his head, staring unblinkingly at his own reflection in the mirror. Right now, he was silent, utterly silent.
