He lay down, closed his eyes, and began to think about his future.
He knew that prison life would be tough, but he was convinced that he would make it through.
He swore to work hard to reform himself, striving to regain his freedom as soon as possible.
Nightfall quietly descended, draping a mysterious black veil over the earth.
Li Xiaosheng lay on the narrow bed in his cell, his posture rigid, his gaze empty.
His hands were firmly shackled by coarse iron chains, and his prison garb was already tattered and stained with mottled blemishes and traces from the passage of time.
The air inside the cell was permeated with dampness and a gloomy scent, as though it could penetrate one's very bones.
Moss on the walls gave off a nauseating stench, while rats scurried about in the darkness, occasionally letting out sharp shrieks.
These sounds pierced Li Xiaosheng's ears like needles, preventing him from falling asleep.
