In the Ministry of Justice's Prison, dark, damp, and cold, an acrid stench of decay pervaded the space. Nearly every cell held one or two prisoners clad in tattered garments. These inmates huddled in the corners, their disheveled hair obscuring their faces, and at the slightest sound, they'd start like frightened birds, wishing they could retreat into their own bellies.
Overall, the conditions here were undoubtedly much worse than those of the cell where Mo Qingze had previously been confined.
The prison was stratified by status: those not yet sentenced or whose crimes were less severe, destined for transfer elsewhere, occupied cells with slightly better conditions; those guilty of heinous crimes, beyond redemption, were consigned to the vilest cells—once inside, there was no leaving, except in death.
