When Yang Yi was heading to the dining hall, he walked with a limp.
Every prisoner looked at Yang Yi with that "I know what you did" look, and those who were familiar with Zhang Yong gave him a knowing smile.
Yang Yi really wanted to say it wasn't what they thought, he had just pulled a muscle, just pulled a muscle.
But there was no need to say it; it seemed nobody would believe him anyway.
He had made his bed, now he had to lie in it with tears.
Yang Yi, holding a tray, stood in front of the person distributing the food and said helplessly, "Please, can I have a bit more?"
After dolloping a spoonful of meat sauce onto Yang Yi's plate and seeing his pleading and helpless gaze, the Mexican server gave him a sleazy smile and added another half spoonful of sauce.
Yang Yi sat next to Zhang Yong and began to eat the disgusting-looking food in front of him, not leaving a single bit.