In a dark, damp cell of the Shi Fu County Yamen, a disheveled man knelt behind the door, both hands clutching the arm-thick wooden bars. He cried himself hoarse, "I've been wronged! I've been wronged! I didn't kill anyone! I didn't kill anyone!"
Before long, a jailer carrying a leather whip came over and cursed, "Howling again? It's been five or six days already. Can't you give it a rest? You've gotten me chewed out by the chief too." As he spoke, he raised his whip and lashed at the man, striking him head-on. Though the wooden bars stood between them, three or two out of every ten blows still landed on the man.
The man recoiled in pain and wept, "Big brother, please have mercy. Put in a good word with the county magistrate. We've been wronged! I'm begging you." As he spoke, he knelt on the ground and slammed his forehead down with loud thuds.
The jailer sighed, a trace of pity stirring in his heart. His tone softened. "Stop howling. The county magistrate can't hear you. Save your strength. Instead of wasting it, think carefully—do you have any relatives or friends who might be able to help you?"
Shaking his head, the jailer walked away. He had long grown used to such scenes.
"Hu Wa, I told you it was useless, but you wouldn't listen. Got yourself beaten, didn't you?" Another equally disheveled head poked out from the pile of straw, speaking weakly.
"What else can I do, Xi Zi? I don't want to die. I don't want to die..." A burst of sobbing followed.
The two men were naturally Liu Chuang and Zhang He.
Ever since they had been seized by the Wang family and tortured, how could the two of them endure it? They confessed