In truth, very few people believed his nonsense.
After all, what kind of sincere words could a gigolo offer?
Moreover, Justice had dragged him here and bound him in shackles; he was hardly a man of good character.
As someone already looked down upon, his words, which were clearly laced with sinister intent, naturally failed to evoke empathy from others.
Furthermore, most of the audience was still under the influence of the “frenzy” effect; they wanted to see blood flow like a river.
As expected, half a minute later, the man arched his back in agony like a boiled shrimp.
His entire body turned bright red, but the rapid circulation of blood only served to accelerate his approaching death.
The votes finally stopped at -982.
If the audience could have cast opposing votes, he might have been sentenced to die twice.
However, what Justice wanted to see more was the audience witnessing even more of the ugliness of human nature.
At this moment, the camera was practically shoved into the resentful faces of Number Two and Number Three.
Their aging faces were covered in wrinkles and spots, appearing even more terrifying as they contorted.
They looked like those typical, mean-spirited old people—disrespectful elders who often showed such expressions when harassing hospital staff or staging accidents for insurance money.
Now, they were filled with a chilling murderous intent.
Justice knew clearly that if he proposed a second trial for the two of them now, there would be a startling change.
However, he was in no hurry to rehash old news.
After all, there was a fresh lamb waiting for execution after Number Four, and he looked forward to such a controversial topic even more.
Overwhelming results were not worth paying attention to, and they hardly stirred the frenzy in people’s hearts.
Only conflict—conflict could awaken the death instinct deep within their bones.
The instinct to desire the death of others would rise alongside conflict; whether it was insanity, desire, or fear, each would climb until they swallowed all reason.
At that point, he would obtain an inexhaustible source of power, perhaps far greater than any time before.
By now, Number Four, who had struggled for a long time, had his heart completely pierced.
He was like a dead rabbit nailed to a stake, his body drooping limply yet forcibly pulled to hang against the back of the seat.
His eyes were gradually losing their color, and the foul odor emanating from him was diluted by the smell of blood.
The people in front of their screens could only see the edges of the display turning a slight blood-red.
They failed to notice that their own eyes, reflected in the screens, were also beginning to turn red.
They were all being swept up by the power, shouting for Justice.
“The pathetic lamb has gotten its wish and met its destined death. But we do not have much time to mourn it. Let us continue the trial for this last and most delicious one.”
The white hair at Number Five’s temples was graying, and her expression was sorrowful.
She opened her mouth as if to speak but did not know what to say.
She was shrouded in an unreadable yet clear filter of sorrow.
Even if people could not empathize with her situation, they were still affected by her expression.
Yet, she had dramatically appeared here, bound tightly and pushed to the front as a sinner.
It was undoubtedly ironic.
Perhaps she was simply skilled at pretending, or perhaps she was also a victim who had been deeply hurt.
“Begin. I know you have many reasons, so I will allow you to exonerate yourself. Let us see if you can persuade our Jury, as well as the two who have just crawled out of the Abyss…” Justice spoke sinisterly.
At some point, his eyes had ceased to be wooden, emotionless square pupils and had become spirited circles.
But appearing on the head of a goat, it only felt inexplicably eerie.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t understand.” After a moment of silence, the old woman spoke tremulously.
Her aged voice shook so much that she could barely pronounce the words correctly, and it was mixed with a heavy accent that was quite distracting.
It was unclear which mountain foothill she came from, but it was somewhere far from B City.
How had someone like her come to B City, become that old man’s wife, and then heartlessly abandon her son to escape?
All the answers to these questions pointed toward a single result — Human Trafficking.
“But if you want to hear my story, I suppose I can tell it. After all, having endured all these years, I’ve never seen an end to the bitter days.”
Wavering.
The moment she spoke, the people fell into a state of total hesitation.
Unlike the speech from the man who was Number Four, the old woman’s words were clearly filled with abundance and sincerity.
These words were not spoken to gain sympathy, but rather were spoken simply for the sake of speaking.
Driven by emotion, she began to pour her heart out.
Surprisingly, Justice did not place the lethal Execution Tool on her, which gave her ample room to build her emotions and tell a moving story.
“I was sold into the city when I was 10 years old, but that place was very remote, too. To this day, I can’t remember where it was. I also don’t remember if my parents’ eyes were blurry with tears when they sent me out the door. I only know that the family who bought me didn’t treat me too badly.”
“A few years passed, and just as I grew accustomed to being a servant, I reached the age for a woman to marry. I was sold again. It seemed the mistress was worried her son had designs on me, so I was sent here to B City to be with that old man.”
“On our wedding night, I was 17, and he was 50. We didn’t get a certificate because I wasn’t old enough to register, but there was a wedding. I was forced to consummate the marriage in the end. At the time, I was utterly despondent, thinking it would be better if I were dead than to be tormented by such an old man.”
“He didn’t have many years left to live. Once he died, I would only be in my 30s with a son to look after. Life would be even harder then. Besides, he would hit me whenever he got angry. He would aim for my face, beating it until it was swollen. At night, I couldn’t sleep on my side; I would just toss and turn all night long.”
“But he wouldn’t let me go, and I had nowhere else to go. I was undocumented. Without him, I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. What I feared more was that my son would also be undocumented when he was born. At that time, the whole family relied on that old man. If he died, my son and I would surely not survive.”
“The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to run. I begged him to get me an official identity, but he kept putting it off, saying we would wait until the boy was born. He wanted to use the child to tie me down. But he never considered that I didn’t actually have much affection for this piece of flesh that fell out of my body.”
“The month after giving birth, as soon as I could walk, I ran far away. I didn’t want to cling to him anymore. I went to work for others; I could survive that way. He was alone and couldn’t come looking for me. In this way, I finally lived a somewhat peaceful life. But I am a woman, after all. Living alone for a long time made me feel miserable, as if a piece of my heart was missing and could never be replaced.”
“By then, I could no longer find my son, nor did I dare to look for him. I knew he must resent me. I hesitated and hesitated, only to find out in the end that he was gone, too.”
She was stating her case, but even organizing such simple language seemed to be a great effort for her; she was not well-educated.
However, when a person narrates their own life, they can always find the most appropriate words to describe themselves and use the most fitting tone to express their inner feelings, conveying them to others—whether those feelings are glorious or pathetic.
“I don’t understand this trial business, and I can’t read. But it said someone is listening, so I’ll speak. What if someone understands?”
What if?
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