Jinghai City, three hundred miles away from the outskirts of the city, is the Stanley Heavy Prison.
The heavy rain was pouring down, and the lead-gray clouds were pressing extremely low, as if they were going to completely crush this steel fortress that imprisoned countless big lords, murderers and madmen. The pale beams of searchlights shot back and forth in the rain curtain, splitting thousands of rain strands into flying silver blades.
The heavy hydraulic door made a heart-breaking roar and slowly retreated to both sides.
Lu Yuan was wearing a gray jacket that had been washed white, with one hand in his pocket, and he stepped out of the cordon unhurriedly. He didn't hold an umbrella, but the pouring rain fell just inches away from his body, as if slightly repelled by some invisible force field, sliding down in an arc that was imperceptible to the naked eye.
Ten meters behind him, in the shadow of the sentry box, stood the warden of Stanley Prison. This iron-blooded butcher, who was two meters tall and had half of his face cut off on an overseas mercenary battlefield, was lowering his head at the moment. His body was shaking slightly uncontrollably, and rain mixed with cold sweat flowed into his prosthetic eyes, but he didn't even dare to wipe them.
