He turned himself in,
and changed into the shirt with blue pants and white stripes.
A fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy walked expressionlessly through the cold prison, the smell of disinfectant pervasive at the tip of his nose.
"Jiang Ding,"
"Accept the government's reformation honestly, and become a better person when you get out."
A chubby prison guard spoke sternly, "At your age, you should have gone to a juvenile detention center. I don't know why you're here. Study a skill well while you're inside; you can make a living with it once you're out, and it'll be useful when looking for a job."
A year had passed, and the initial interest spurred by "Cultivators" had long since faded.
The lifespan of ordinary humans wasn't enough for them to remember such distant matters, let alone something as niche as a scientific academic newspaper.
Television celebrities would be a more likely memory.
"Yeah, I got it."
Jiang Ding glanced at the guard and walked into his own cell.
