I bought a prison in the United States.

After sitting in his chair for a long time, Hammond finally picked up the phone and dialed Baylors' number:

"Vernon, have you read those newspapers?"

"I watched it, it's pretty funny, isn't it?"

Bellus's voice was so relaxed, as if he had just heard a very funny corny joke:

"I just read that article in the Tribune and almost spat my coffee all over the table."

"What did that reporter say again... the prisoner's expression was like he was confessing in a church, is this a prison or a monastery?"

"...Do you think the reporter was paid?"

Hammond's feelings were somewhat complicated when he said those words.

"Of course I received the money."

Bayless seemed oblivious to the inconsistency in the judge's words, and said matter-of-factly:

"What's a few tens of thousands of dollars to bribe a few reporters when that Chinese guy can bribe a General Electric purchasing manager?"

Hammond turned his chair around to face the window.

Outside the window was a parking lot, where rows of cars lay quietly in the gray-white daylight, like a herd of livestock taking a nap.

"Reporters might be bribed, but a prisoner's eyes cannot."

"I've seen many bribed prisoners. If it's an act, there will be flaws, but I can't see any acting skills in these people in the photos."

Bellus frowned and asked:

"So what do you mean?"

"Do you really believe that those prisoners think they were wrong, and that a few days of solitary confinement and eating only white bread will make them repent?"

"Robert, you've been in court for so many years, have you ever seen a seasoned veteran who's spent over a decade in prison cry and beg the warden for a few days of solitary confinement?"

"I don't believe it. Unless Ringo cast a curse on them, it's absolutely impossible!"

Bayless never took that prison seriously from the beginning; if his old friend hadn't run into some trouble recently, he probably wouldn't have paid any attention to it at all.

Even Lin Ge, in his eyes, was just a guy who was slightly luckier, who started to act arrogantly because he made a little money.

Knowing Hammond as he did, dealing with a disobedient outsider would be a piece of cake.

Why worry about this?

Hammond did initially think that way, but now he thinks completely differently.

As a judge, he has witnessed countless prisoners weeping and begging for forgiveness in court over the years.

But 90% of those tears were because of fear of going to jail, and the remaining 10% were because of fear of spending even longer in jail.

Hammond never believed in tears. He would sentence defendants to the full amount they were supposed to receive, and he wouldn't reduce their sentence by a day just because they cried.

But the expressions of the prisoners in the newspaper reminded him of some memories.

He was not a religious judge, but for some reason, he had given admonitions in Catholic churches.

He would never forget the feeling of kneeling in the confessional and telling the priest behind the partition about the mistakes he had made.

Repentance may not be because of so-called faith, but simply because one wants to remove the stones weighing on one's heart and regain a sense of ease.

The prisoners had relaxed expressions on their faces.

Hammond didn't say goodbye to Bayless; he simply put the receiver back on the landline.

"Ringo Chen... what exactly did you do?"

……

Meanwhile, in Oklahoma City, in the office of the deputy commissioner of the state corrections department.

Boone laid the three newspapers side by side on his desk and marked each article with a marker.

The points he highlighted were also the areas he suspected. In his view, these reports were full of doubts and some were exaggerated.

He needs to distinguish what is true and objective.

After reading the three reports, Boone drew more than a dozen circles, seven question marks, and four wavy lines with his marker.

The one with the most circles is Gloria's story, with seven.

The article with the most question marks is the one from The Oklahoma City Daily, with four.

The article with the most wavy lines is the one in the Tulsa Tribune, with three.

"Strange...very strange..."

The assistant pushed open the door with two glasses of water. Seeing the deputy director's puzzled expression, he placed the water on the table without making a sound to disturb him.

Boone's office was on the third floor of the State Correctional Services building, with east-facing windows that let in direct morning sunlight.

But it's almost noon now, and the sun has moved to the south, leaving only a dusty chandelier burning in the room.

The assistant, seeing the deputy director remain silent for a long time, tentatively asked:

"Director, do you think those reports are exaggerated?"

"Of course there's moisture, but aside from that, there's something else that doesn't look fake."

Boone picked up the Tulsa Tribune, stared at the photo on the confession board, pointed to it with his finger, and pointed out what puzzled him most:

"Look at this, more than thirty confessions posted on the bulletin board."

"It's not unusual for prisoners to voluntarily write confessions; what's unusual is that so many of them appeared in one place at the same time, and each one was worded differently."

"Look at this one, the handwriting is neat and tidy, like it was written by someone who has been to school."

"This one is riddled with typos, but every single word was written with such force that it tore the paper."

"This one, I wrote half of it, then crossed it out and rewrote it, and I even pressed my fingerprint on the crossed-out part."

"This is not a standardized template; each person writes their own, so each one is different."

The assistant leaned over and took a look.

His gaze moved from one confession to another, and then from one to the next.

The handwriting was indeed different from one another. Some were so illegible that it was impossible to read what was written, and some had letters of different sizes, as if they hadn't written anything for many years.

The amount of content varied; some filled an entire page, while others consisted of only a few lines.

Each one had a signature on it, and some people even drew a cross next to their signature, presumably because they were religious.

"This doesn't look like... a fake," the assistant said, adjusting his glasses.

"That's right, there's no need to go to this extent to fabricate a story."

Boone slowly put the newspaper down:

"If I were Ringo Chen and wanted to forge a prisoner's confession to deceive the media, I would find someone to write a template and then have the prison guards copy it thirty times."

"This is quick and easy because few people have the patience to compare handwriting one by one, let alone delve into the emotions behind each piece."

"But he didn't do that. The handwriting and wording were completely different, which means that these things are real and were indeed written by each prisoner himself."

"Moreover, judging from the content, it is clear that no one gave them any guidance, and the prisoners wrote their confessions entirely based on their inner thoughts."

The assistant sat down in the chair opposite him, picked up the water in front of him, took a sip, and looked clearly puzzled.

"So you still think the report is exaggerated? These details seem solid enough."

"I suspect there's some exaggeration involved, not because the confession is fake, but because I find it unbelievable how quickly the prisoner changed his mind!"

Boone frowned, as if weighing the weight of the matter:

"The process it takes for a person to go from resisting reform to genuinely repenting is at least several months, and sometimes several years."

"This requires breaking down their long-standing defense mechanisms and making them confront their mistakes, which cannot be done with a few lectures or punishments."

"Ringo has only been in charge of McLean Prison for two months, and he got more than thirty people convicted of different crimes to voluntarily write confessions in just two months? That's simply unbelievable."

"You know, these are prisoners in jail."

"Most of them would feel wronged and would scoff at the so-called confession, thinking it was just a performance for outsiders."

"This is something that priests in churches have done for decades, and it takes countless confessions and guidance to barely achieve."

"How could a Chinese person who was new to the prison system achieve this in such a short time?"

"If he were a missionary, he could gather a group of believers in a short time with just this skill."

"But this is a prison. I need to think carefully about whether this kind of brainwashing influence is a good thing for prison management."

Boone looked up from the newspaper and out the window:

"So I plan to go check it out beforehand, a surprise inspection, without notifying anyone."

The assistant put down the water glass:

When do you plan to leave?

"This afternoon."

The assistant paused for a moment, then subconsciously glanced at the watch on his wrist; it was 11:40.

Driving from Oklahoma City to McLean County via Interstate 75 takes about two and a half hours if there's no traffic.

I arrived around 2 PM, took a quick look around the prison, chatted with some staff, and made it back before closing time in the evening—barely enough time.

"Then I'll arrange a car and driver right now."

"No need to arrange a car!"

Boone raised his hand to interrupt him:

"Just the two of us in my car, no driver, no entourage."

"With too many people, the target will be too big, and the news will be easy to leak. The other party will definitely make preparations in advance and make sure everything is watertight."

"What I want to see is the most authentic version, the details hidden beneath the surface, not the carefully staged illusions they create."

The assistant nodded, asked no more questions, and got up to go to the coat rack to get his coat and briefcase.

Before leaving, Boone gave him these instructions:

"I'll ask when we get there, you can come and see."

Write down every detail you see, even those that seem unimportant.

"I want to know what kind of magic that Chinese man used to turn a group of serious criminals into model prisoners in just two months."