Rewrite a Lifetime

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This place was like an impenetrable iron barrel, its surroundings sealed off by towering walls and electrified fences. In the sentry tower stood immovable armed guards, their automatic rifles a constant reminder of the strict security.

Zhuo Nan, bound in handcuffs and shackles, kept tracing something onto the cold wall with his fingers. Again and again, he wrote the same three words: “Why is this happening?” He knew his time was almost up. Execution—a fate that had always seemed so distant—was now about to befall him. He could not accept it, no matter how hard he tried.

That night, he had left work late. Walking through an alley, he came upon a woman lying on the ground. Motivated by a sense of justice, he hurried over, only to see blood streaming from her chest, a dagger thrown aside on the pavement. The woman was still barely alive. Zhuo Nan reached for his phone to call the police, but the woman sensed someone nearby and, with her last ounce of strength, seized Zhuo Nan’s hand and shouted, “Why? Why did you kill me?”

Shocked, Zhuo Nan fell to the ground, desperately trying to pull free from her grasp. “I didn’t, I didn’t kill you!” he cried.

He felt something under him, and in his panic, he picked it up—it was the blood-stained dagger. The woman died with her eyes wide open, fixed on Zhuo Nan. At that moment, two patrol officers, drawn by the commotion, arrived. “Drop the knife! Hands in the air!” Faced with the gaping barrels of their guns, Zhuo Nan knew his life was over.

He instinctively thr