The clatter of iron chains was mixed with the sound of the old prison cart rolling over stones, making people feel panicked.
Yuwen Luochuan squatted in the corner of the prison car. The wooden shackles on his neck were so worn that the skin was broken, and the sticky blood scab stuck to his collar. He was terribly uncomfortable. He didn't say a word, and he didn't howl like the other people next to him who were crying for their fathers and mothers. He just squatted like that, holding the iron chain in his big hands like two pieces of dead flesh, unable to move.
"Damn it, I was wronged!" A skinny monkey-like man next to him was holding on to the railings of the prison car with tears streaming down his face. "I just stole half a bag of rice. As for being exiled? That's not the case!"
No one paid any attention to him.
