Qing Wanglai slowly opened his eyes. He watched the sun outside his window, waiting for his seven o'clock alarm.
His gaze shifted downwards, taking in his surroundings. He lived in a villa. It wasn't large—just over three hundred square meters—and was simply decorated in a predominantly white color scheme.
It's indeed a bit small, but it's enough for one person. I'm used to being alone, and it's comfortable. I have no intention of leaving my comfort zone.
RING, RING, RING. The moment the alarm went off, he sat up sharply from the bed and began to wash up and get dressed.
He left the house at exactly 7:20. After a thirty-minute drive, during which he managed to buy a savory crepe, he arrived at White Tower Prison right at eight o'clock.
Work here wasn't nearly as hectic as general surgery or obstetrics in a major hospital, but it was far from relaxed.
