While they were looking for the bus here, Wu Bin had returned to the detention center, specifically asking to meet one person.
"You've come," Su Haoran, who originally had a quite fashionable haircut, now also had a shaven head, wearing prisoner clothes, his face dull, and he had become considerably haggard, lacking much spirit.
"Yes, I've come."
Wu Bin sat opposite Su Haoran.
"I heard you might be sentenced to fifteen years?"
He spoke lightly, but to Su Haoran's ears, the words were piercingly harsh. Fifteen years, yes, fifteen years—where could one find another identical fifteen years in life? Moreover, he was no longer young, and by the time he finished serving his fifteen years, he would be old, nearly sixty, the time to settle into his twilight years, yet he would have nothing.
Having things come to this point, he didn't want to blame anyone because blaming was useless. This was the path he had chosen, his fate.