Zhao Minghong sat in the overseer's chair, an Imprisonment Officer seated beside him, ready to record the confession.
He raised a hand to adjust the sleeve of his dark blue Prince's Robe, then propped his feet on the table in front of him. The injury on his right hand had yet to heal, and it was tightly wrapped in white bandages, the cloth strips wound with uniform precision.
But it was wrapped so many times that it looked bulky and restricted the hand's movement.
One glance was enough to know this wasn't the work of an Imperial Physician. Instead, someone had wrapped it with great care and precision.
Zhao Minghong spoke up, stopping the Prison Director.
"Wait."
He tossed over the red porcelain vial he had been toying with in his left hand. It traced an arc through the air. "Use this on him first."
The Prison Director caught it and held it in his hand. "Your Highness is truly thoughtful. Is this medicine to stop the bleeding?"
