In a blink of an eye, two months have passed. It was now summer in Dulin. People switched to thinner clothes, especially ladies, who had their snow-white chests exposed under the sun, unbothered by men's gazes and the marks imprinted by chest binders.
Wutong trees bloomed, casting shadows onto the narrow streets. Not much attention was paid to the sun's heat and the fishy stench, except for passers-by occasionally throwing out complaints about Dulin's drainage system and the hot weather.
At the end of the city's drainage, the Private Prison under the Secret Service Department welcomed another day. The guards, people who had once committed mistakes or were unfavorable to their superiors, often vented their anger and stress of being placed in this hell on the prisoners. Because of that, these ugly pale people would come up with a variety of creative methods, enabling them to relieve their stress while achieving ulterior aims.
