Interrogation room.
Inside, there are no pothos plants; it's bare.
The tiles around are all in cold hues, yet the air conditioning isn't cold enough, making the room uncomfortably hot and restless.
The iron bars in front can't help but inspire fear.
And the police behind the iron bars instill an involuntary dread.
Before the iron fist of autocracy slammed into their faces, many people thought they could endure it. But in reality, most had personally proven how heavy the iron fist was.
That was the state of mind Wang Song found himself in now.
He had considered the prospect of going to jail very carefully.
Originally, he believed he could withstand it.
He was young, and spending a few years in prison would make him come out as a seasoned veteran; by then, not only would there be promised money for himself, his position within the group would also change. He would no longer be an obscure logistics clerk, but someone close to the leadership.
