Behind the fountain, shadows covered the ground.
Ji Tingzhou was slumped on the ground, his elegant suit jacket and tie discarded to the side. His white shirt was soaked, and the elegance he showed under the lights earlier had vanished, leaving only endless pain and suffocation as his consciousness began to drift away.
In Ji Tingzhou's mind, it was like an old movie playing repeatedly, blood-red filling the ground. He seemed to have returned to the day he least wanted to remember: the bedsheet hanging from the old beam, a body covered in scars, gently swaying.
It was as if Ji Tingzhou's neck was being strangled tightly by that bedsheet from that day.
Countless voices whispered blame in his ears, "Testifying against your own father in court, unfilial son!" "Would your mother have died if not for you?"...
Just as he was about to fall into a daze, he heard a voice.
"I believe in legal justice."
A firm and calm voice gradually pulled his drifting consciousness back.
