Prison car, isn't it just a moving iron coffin?
Lin Mo huddled up in the prison car, with only a piece of rag on his body, which could not even cover his shame.
The shackles were so heavy that every time I moved, it felt like my bones were being worn away.
Looking out through the cracks in the iron railings, one can see the extremely desolate mountain roads in the North Territory.
This road is so bumpy that my butt almost fell apart.
There were dozens of unlucky craftsmen locked in the prison car with Lin Mo.
All of them looked ashen as if they had just emerged from the coal pile.
"Bah!" Lin Mo spat on the ground, his eyes filled with anger.
