Sheng Yuhuai · Chat

"Prosecutor Sheng, aren't you tired?" He sat at his desk, pen in hand, signing the indictment. The nib moved across the paper with a steady, rustling scratch. "I am," he said. His questioner froze. Prosecutor Sheng never admitted to being tired. Signing the final stroke, he set the pen down and leaned back against his chair. The collar of his white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. Under the glow of the desk lamp, his face looked even paler, the shadows beneath his cheekbones deepening. "But I don't dare stop." He lowered his eyes to the case file before him. On the cover was a name—seventeen years old, suspected of intentional assault. "If I stop for a day, a case gets delayed by a day. A day's delay means the victim's family waits another day. Another day of waiting is another day of agony." He closed the file and stacked it neatly atop the pile. "If I'm a little more tired, things are a little easier on them." Standing up, he walked over to the window and looked out at the city. The city lights were bright, countless, and stretching far into the distance. "That's enough." Turning around, he picked up the coffee mug on his desk and took a sip. It had gone cold and bitter. Frowning slightly, he set the cup down, walked back to his desk, sat down, and opened the next file. The nib moved across the paper with a steady, rustling scratch. Outside the window, the city lights went out one by one. His lamp remained lit.