Chapter 59 (1/2)

Chapter 59 – The Eighteen Levels of Hell[1] (1)

Tonight, since no one would be able to rescue her, she should just rescue herself!

But how was she supposed to escape her doom in this heavily-guarded high-security prison?

Tu Yidao’s snake-like gaze landed on Ning Xuemo, and a hint of surprise flashed past his triangular eyes.

Many men with indomitable spirits and bones of iron had pissed their pants after seeing the states of the people in the cells. Even if it were those who managed to resist being scared to the point of being unable to control their bodily functions, they would still turn pale and break out in cold sweat.

As for Ning Xuemo, she merely pursed her lips a little and lowered her head. There was no emotion discernible on her small face.

With an ugly appearance, dwarf-like stature, a grating voice, and two lame legs, Tu Yidao was often suppressed by others.

But with his character, he was not content with being suppressed. His vastly different lifestyle had caused his character to become sinister and more perverted than other people.

Though his appearance could not compare to the large majority of people, he was immensely skillful with his hands and possessed extremely abnormal methods for interrogation with torture. That, added to his ability of understanding which way the wind is blowing and flattering people, he got swiftly promoted from a small, insignificant jailer, to the head of the prison.

His road to promotion was paved with the bones of countless souls…

His character was cold and his methods were extremely cruel. Regardless of whether the prisoners were innocent or not, all those who ended up in his hands would confess.

He had many tricks up his sleeve; each interrogation method was crueler than the others forcing people to confess anything.

In the Ministry of Justice’s Prison, he was called… King of Hell Tu.

So many years in this blood-soaked career caused his character to become more and more twisted. He had a strange hobby. He loved listening to the tried convicts’ blood-curling screams as they were tortured and looking at their embarrassed faces when they felt scared to the point of pissing in their pants.

To him, the sound of the prisoners’ miserable shrieks was the most wonderful music to his ears; to his ears the more miserable and wretched, the more soothing it sounded to him.

Furthermore, the ones he liked to torment the most were those young and pretty women. Seeing them break down into sobs beneath his torture methods allowed him to feel a sick sense of accomplishment.