Chapter 3 — Five Years of Unjust Prison

I read the statement my father had prepared, gritted my teeth and recorded the video. After they left, I held the five hundred thousand card, but didn't feel any relief. I quickly packed my things and ran straight to the bus station. But at the ticket gate, the police stopped me.
"Co Tram, you are suspected of blackmail, please cooperate according to the law."
After being restricted from leaving the city, I learned that To Van had accused me of blackmail. And my parents are her defense attorneys. They want to personally put me in prison again. Before the trial, public opinion became the execution ground. My father used his law office account to post a long post:
“A father's painful choice: When his son turns blackmailer.”
Every word is soaked in blood, creating the image of a tragic father who is constantly hurt by his rebellious son. The last sentence of the article "As law makers, we cannot tolerate criminals" received tens of thousands of likes. My mother posted an analysis of the situation on the university forum:
“From teenage genius to blackmailer.”
In the article, To Van is an example of nirvana from adversity, and I am an example of a self-depraved villain. She characterized my search for the truth as a pathological attribution of the crime to the family of origin to avoid responsibility. The cyber navy immediately followed, and the hot search board was taken over. My back swept the toilet, he went to prison, even the photo on his student ID card when he was sixteen years old was dug up, accompanied by the most cruel interpretations. The phone was flooded with countless curse calls from strange numbers. Each sentence cut precisely into my already shattered nerves. The knife handle was in the hands of my parents. The last bit of attachment to intimacy disappeared completely. Before the trial opens, I would like to broadcast the trial live across the network. If they want me to die socially. Then I'll broadcast this whole thing. Trial date. When I entered the court, the audience immediately fell silent. Hundreds of hateful looks were pinned on me. Almost at the same time, To Van walked in accompanied by my parents, one left and one right. My father naturally reached out, smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on her vest, and then gently pressed it. It was a move he only did when he was extremely satisfied. My mother took out a thermos, turned it on, and naturally gave it to To Van.
"Drink some, it'll clear your throat."
My lips were chapped and sore due to stress and lack of water. No one asked. The trial begins. My father was the first to stand up and leisurely give evidence. The first copy is the confession letter I was tricked into signing when I was sixteen years old. His fingertips gently touched my immature signature, feeling extremely heartbroken:
"Sixteen years old. Handwriting is still like a child's, but the work done..."
He stopped just in time, leaving behind endless frustration and accusations. The second copy is the letters asking for help that I wrote when he visited me after I went to prison. He pulled out a card and read the most desperate sentence in it:
“Dad, mom, I'm about to die, help me…”
Then, he put down the paper and concluded heavily:
"This is not a request for help, but a performance. Since five years ago, he started burying the seeds for today's case. It can be seen how deep his intentions are."
The third version is a video explaining me forced to rotate. My father pointed at my numb face on the screen:
"Look at his eyes. There is no remorse, only stubborn resentment. This is not an apology, this is the second provocation against justice."
With each piece of evidence presented, the audience made a sound of contemptuous clicks of tongue. Livestream comments scrolled crazily: "Born to be ugly!" I sat there, feeling like I was being tortured. Then my mother stood up. Elegant demeanor, but every word is murderous.
“Your Honor, based on my close observation of the defendant for twenty-one years, along with the defendant's behavioral patterns in prison and after his release from prison, I confirm that the defendant suffers from a typical paranoid personality disorder, accompanied by severe delusions of persecution and antisocial tendencies.”
She even gave an example:
"At the age of seven, the defendant was jealous and tore up a neighbor's child's certificate of merit. At that time, we just considered a naughty child. Looking back now, that was the pathological seed of the desire to destroy and possess."
Then, she changed the subject to To Van, her voice became happy:
"Compared to the defendant, plaintiff To Van was still able to persevere in her position after being slandered. Her mental health and ability to adapt to society created a clear contrast with the defendant."
Finally, she looked towards the judge, her voice urgent but firm:
"With my dual identity as a mother and a professional scholar, I implore the court to severely punish the defendant, and at the same time forcibly conduct long-term psychological intervention and quarantine. This is responsible for him, and also responsible for society."
Having finished speaking, she turned her head away, as if she couldn't bear it, her fingertips gently wiped the corners of her eyes.
“Life sentence!”