A man was seen tied to a wooden stake on the right.
His hands hung limply along with his head, as if he had fainted.
But the light blue robe he was wearing made the He family father and son suddenly breathe harder.
"This, this is Chu Wei! Ah—"
"This is my Chuwei, Chuwei, Chuwei, Grandfather is here, what's wrong, huh?"
He Shanhu broke down.
Even if his own grandson were reduced to ashes, he would still recognize him.
Chu Wei left home in this outfit that morning.
Although He Shanhu's legs were trembling, he used all the strength he had ever had to run towards He Chuwei.
However, when he got close, he didn't dare to touch it.
"Chu Wei, Chu Wei—"
He Shanhu was already sobbing uncontrollably; he was terrified.
He feared that his grandson was already dead, so he didn't even have the courage to touch him.
He was afraid that the moment he touched his grandson, his skin would feel icy cold.
"Chu Wei, we're here, wake up!" Although He Wanjiang was also heartbroken, he didn't think as much as his biological father, only assuming that his son had been beaten unconscious.
Indeed, that is the case.
After He Chuwei was taken to the dungeon, he was tortured by the yamen runners.
Even though he had explained the whole story clearly, he was still whipped fifty times.
His clothes were already soaked in blood.
The person lost consciousness.
He Wanjiang rubbed his face and called his name several times in his ear.
That's how He Chuwei woke up.
"Father, grandfather, save me."
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