The Commandery Prison was dark and forbidding. Piercing screams echoed through its twisting underground passages. A few points of firelight struggled against the water-stained stone walls, scattered and broken.
Inside the Torture Chamber, a man with disheveled long hair and a body covered in blood was bound to an upright board. His eyes were shut, and he seemed to have lost consciousness. His clothing had long since been torn to shreds, and dark red fluid slowly seeped beneath the ragged strips. All ten fingers hung stiffly in the air, their tips a bloody mess, their nails gone. The stench of rotting flesh and blood was nauseating.
Two jailers were there, one sitting and one standing. The standing man had a coarse face and build. He leaned against the wall, relishing a bowl of noodle soup. His lip-smacking sounded especially grating in the deathly silence of the Torture Chamber.
The seated man had a fairer face. Frowning in irritation, he closed the case file in his hands. "Old Jia, do you have to eat in here? Doesn't it turn your stomach?"
Old Jia sucked a piece of noodle off his thumb and gave his colleague a sidelong glance. "Easy for you to say when you aren't lifting a finger. I've been working myself ragged all this time. What's wrong with having something to eat?"
Prison Clerk Li could not be bothered to argue. He urged him, "Eat quickly. Get back to the interrogation when you're done."
He pressed both hands irritably against his temples. Days of work had left him utterly exhausted. Such a simple case, dragged out until now! His otherwise perfect performance appraisal was about to suffer. He had hoped to move up next year. If he passed thirty-five and was still a prison clerk, his prospects would be