Finally, I saw Mùróng Zhuó in the prison cell. He was dressed in a plain robe, and though he was in this dark, damp, mold-smelling dungeon, he still could not conceal his refined and aloof demeanor.
Fortunately, the guards in this prison had not given him a hard time.
Right now, he was sitting in a corner of the cell, intently writing something on a piece of paper.
Chapter 118