Prisons in the Commonwealth are obviously not as comfortable as the private ones in the United States.

The buildings were old and damp; whether it was the activity areas or residential areas, they all seemed very cramped and oppressive. The dim lighting cast an orange-yellow shadow, making one feel as if they had arrived at a medieval religious inquisition.

As a death row inmate, Xiami had his own private cell—an enclosure that was barely three square meters. There were iron bars on the outside, the bed was next to the bars, and at the foot of the bed was a wooden fence, about twenty centimeters wide, hiding a sit-down flush toilet. It offered a way for inmates to deceive themselves into feeling a sense of privacy while relieving themselves.

When the guard was leading Dean over, the guy was standing at the toilet, aiming at several newspaper portraits pasted on the wall, engaging in an ancient exercise.

Dean, through the bars, sized up the man inside who was jerking off.

It was different from what he had imagined. Xiami's first impression was one of scholarly gentleness and frailty. He was around just 1.6 meters tall, a fair bit shorter than his younger brother. Possibly due to three years in prison, an abnormal pallor covered his entire being.

It was hard to imagine that such a creature could wield an ax so insanely, murdering his own kind with such brutality.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

The guard tapped the iron bars with his baton, interrupting Xiami's release, and said unkindly, "Xiami, you bastard, stop making that disgusting glue at the toilet!"

Because of his height, the wooden shield around the toilet only covered Xiami's upper buttocks and waist area, exposing his dark butt crack and his openly jiggling testicles.

Facing the guard's warning, not only did Xiami not cease his actions, but he twisted his body, and his hands flew faster, hastening his 'draining'.

Seeing this, the guard turned to Dean with an embarrassed look. "Buddy, it's probably because Xiami's friend on the outside sent him a new newspaper again, so he's going crazy making that glue."

Dean was puzzled. "Newspaper?"

What did jerking off have to do with newspapers! Newspapers aren't pin-up posters; they're just black and white. Even if there's an image, it looks like a memorial portrait, probably less appealing than the sight of other inmates' backsides in the shower.

The guard shrugged and explained, "These convicts are allowed to receive letters from outside, but we don't provide them with things like glue to paste their letters on the wall. So if they want to do that, they have to make the glue themselves."

Dean fell silent. So... this guy was actually making glue?

...

Perhaps the presence of an outsider intensified the stimulus, as Xiami's glue-making didn't last long. A moment later, Xiami's pace suddenly quickened. He simultaneously grabbed a nearby newspaper and positioned it beneath him. Accompanied by the shaking of his testicles, Xiami let out a long sigh.

He gasped for air a few times. Only then did he pick up the newspaper he had just used, walk to a shadowy corner of the room, press it against the wall, and then, with both hands, carefully smooth it out over and over again.

If you looked closely, there were seven or eight such newspaper clippings on the wall, torn into small pieces, so they didn't take up much space.

Only after this newspaper was completely stuck to the ceramic tiles did Xiami pull up his pants. While carelessly wiping his glue-covered hands on his clothes, he turned his head and said in a sour tone, "Buddy, you violated my privacy. If..."

Suddenly, his words came to an abrupt halt.

Xiami looked at Dean in surprise, who was standing next to the guard. Then his gaze shot past Dean, fixating on Carol, who was curiously observing him.

He exhaled two plumes of hot air through his nose and lunged from the deepest part of the room to the bars. Extending his hands, still covered in sticky residue, toward Carol, he shouted hysterically with a deranged expression, "A woman! A woman still reeking of milk! Oh God, have You heard my nightly prayers? Let her in! I want to tear her apart!"

Carol was startled by Xiami's crazed reaction and instinctively hid behind Dean.

"Fuck!" The guard, angered by this display, grabbed his baton and smashed it hard onto Xiami's hands, which were reaching through the bars.

Xiami screamed in pain, but his gaze turned to Dean.

This pretty boy also looked tempting.

...

Dean didn't want to waste too much time here. He stopped the guard and said politely, "Could we have a moment alone with him?"

The guard gave Xiami a vicious look, nodded, and then moved to the side, ensuring both parties would remain within his line of sight.

"Sweetheart, you look unfamiliar?" Xiami pressed his face tightly against the bars, his tongue swirling over them. His bloodshot eyes blinked greedily as he gave Dean a very cringey, flirtatious look.

Dean was silent. What on earth had this guy endured during his three years of imprisonment?

Dean suppressed the urge to shoot Xiami on the spot and said expressionlessly, "I'm the officer currently in charge of your case. I've come bearing some good news."

"Good news?" Upon hearing his case mentioned, the frenzied Xiami calmed down. He took a step back from the bars, formally appraising Dean once more before saying with interest, "An officer, and a pretty-boy officer at that. Has there been a development in my case?"

"Sort of!" Dean nodded. "We've re-examined all the evidence and found that you had an accomplice at the crime scene. So, if you can give us their name, you won't have to die."

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