The cell was dark, cold and just… Discomforting. Dingy as it was, wet and moist the ground under his body, Hu Lijing did not breathe a word against it, making not a complaint as he sat there, braced against a wall.
His breath came faintly, chest barely moving up and down as he sat, back pressed on the cold, dirty wall. In the dark, there was naught but a single small window far above his head on the wall he sat against.
No source more than that was of light, no speckle of mercy for the imprisonment of his sins, only a single small window that too only allowed a small ray of light to fall in, even then the ray of light itself was rather sparse.
To Hu Lijing, however, the darkness mattered little. The cold affected him not, nor the bone-chilling shadows that loomed around him in the lonesome imprisonment while waiting for his inevitable execution.
