Women in Cell Block RS11 7

"Heh, easy for you to say, you're not the one acting. On the very first day, they slapped a twenty-pound wooden cangue on my neck, and I had to hold it for an hour. My shoulders are bruised black and blue, you saw it yourself." Xin Ruolan's anger flared as she looked at him standing there without a care in the world. "Twenty pounds? No way. That wood looks like pine, it shouldn't be that heavy," Xia Yuan feigned ignorance, replying with a smile. "You don't think so? Come here, it's right there. Go try it yourself." Xin Ruolan pointed to the old, black-painted wooden cangue in the corner. Xia Yuan walked over and examined it closely. The cangue was a meter long and a meter wide. In the center, at the one-third mark, was a large circular hole, about ten centimeters in diameter, looking a bit thicker than Xin Ruolan's neck. Symmetrically, at the two-thirds mark, were two smaller holes, about five centimeters in diameter, much wider than Xin Ruolan's wrists. If placed on her wrists, her hands could easily slip out. The wooden cangue was only three centimeters thick, similar to the compressed board of a modern computer desk. Seeing Xin Ruolan's eyes fixed on him, Xia Yuan quickly bent down and gripped it with both hands to test its weight. As he suspected, although the pine wood was denser than poplar, its thinness meant it weighed only about seven or eight pounds, a far cry from Xin Ruolan's claimed twenty. He deliberately made a show of lifting the cangue with effort, walked over to Xin Ruolan, and slammed it onto the ground. "How about I put it on you again, and you can try it to see if it's as heavy as you say?" Xia Yuan smirked playfully. "You're trying to trick me into wearing it again, aren't you? Let me tell you, that's not all. This wooden cangue is only part of it. To make it fit snugly around my neck and wrists, there's also a set of iron bands, and these four sections are reinforced with iron sheeting." Xin Ruolan explained. The burly man in the lead, who was the strongest (not the executioner who had been licking his belly earlier), was holding that very black wooden cangue. The tall man beside him held the neck ring and wrist cuffs, the three-piece set for the cangue. All three iron rings were cast in one piece, black and gleaming. The moment they were placed on Xin Ruolan's wrists, she felt as if her body had been frozen. Moreover, these three iron rings seemed tailor-made for Xin Ruolan. Once the clasp snapped shut, they pressed tightly against her skin, leaving no room even for a strand of hair. More terrifyingly, these iron rings were a full centimeter wider than the wooden cangue, a full four centimeters constricting Xin Ruolan's fair skin. This stark contrast of black and white, while visually pleasing on camera, was also incredibly brutal. After the wrist cuffs and neck ring were secured, the wooden cangue was split in two and fitted around the iron bands, resting against Xin Ruolan's collarbone. At this point, Xin Ruolan only felt a dull pressure. The wooden cangue itself wasn't heavy, and even with the three iron rings, the total weight was only about ten pounds. Clearly, the director didn't intend for Xin Ruolan to earn her money too easily. In order to accurately portray historical cangues (unlike the flimsy plastic props seen in TV dramas), a layer of iron edging was added to the wooden cangue. This iron edging required two extras to hold each half. The moment Xin Ruolan saw it, her heart sank. She was in a predicament, with no way out. She could only watch as the two extras fitted the edging onto the wooden cangue, then secured it with a large padlock in the center. A long chain extended from the padlock, held in the胖子's hand. The weight of the iron edging combined with the wooden cangue. Xin Ruolan instantly felt as if her wrists, neck, and shoulders were being torn apart. Waves of intense pain surged into her brain, and she was so weighed down that she couldn't straighten her back. Large beads of sweat seeped from her forehead, shoulders, and back. In less than a minute, her outer garment was soaked through. "Walk!" The burly man in the lead pulled the chain, forcing Xin Ruolan to step forward. Her body instantly lost balance, and she stumbled towards him. Fortunately, the three people accompanying her noticed Xin Ruolan gritting her teeth, veins bulging on her forehead. They quickly reached out to grab her arms, and the man behind her wrapped his arms around her slender waist, preventing the cangue from opening a large gash on the胖子's back. The胖子 heard a clatter behind him – the sound of the iron chain hitting the wooden cangue's edging. He quickly stopped and turned around. "Are you... alright?" the胖子 asked anxiously. "Cut!" the director shouted. "Why are you improvising lines?" He walked over, pointing at the胖子's forehead, and yelled. "Me?" The胖子 was bewildered by the scolding, but he couldn't afford to argue with the director, so he swallowed his explanation. "Are you alright? Is the cangue too heavy?" After scolding the胖子, the director quickly went to Xin Ruolan's side and asked with concern. Xin Ruolan forced a smile. "No, I'm fine. It's just my first time wearing such a heavy cangue, I wasn't mentally prepared." "That makes sense. How about you take a break?" the director suggested. A break? Wearing such a heavy cangue, every extra minute was torture. How could she rest? She couldn't exactly find two ladders to prop her up like a standing cage, could she? "No need, Director. Let's just finish filming quickly." Xin Ruolan refused outright. "You two, help her wipe her sweat.胖子, keep walking forward, don't look back. We only have fifty meters to cover. Let's aim for a single take." the director instructed. "Okay, Director. I'm fine," the胖子 said, glancing at Xin Ruolan. He thought to himself, fifty meters. She'll be completely broken by the end of this. Hearing "fifty meters," Xin Ruolan inwardly groaned. She had initially thought she'd just take a few steps with the cangue and then cut to the courtroom. She hadn't expected the director to want a single take. Xia Yuan, oh Xia Yuan, I've been utterly screwed over by you. What to do? She could only endure. Xin Ruolan steeled herself, straightening her long, slender legs. Although she couldn't thrust her chest forward as she had before wearing the cangue, she tried her best to use the muscles in her back to shift as much of the weight as possible onto her shoulders, to spare her wrists and neck further suffering. "Action!" The clapper loader removed the scene marker in front of the camera.

Yes, this was a condition Xin Ruolan insisted on after being cast as the female lead, willing to halve her salary for it. The producer was overjoyed. The budget for this series was already tight, and if all the main actors were like Xin Ruolan, he wouldn't have to worry and could even pocket some extra cash. The execution board was eighty centimeters in total length, with an equilateral triangle of twenty centimeters at the top and an isosceles triangle of sixty centimeters below. If you added the pole, it was a full meter and twenty centimeters long. She knelt there, the execution board inserted at the back of her neck. The moment the execution board was inserted, she realized she had misunderstood the rope master. As the execution board slid down her neck, the ropes on her upper body instantly tightened, digging into her flesh. Every rope was pulled taut, especially around her joints, so tight that she didn't even have the courage to struggle. Pain, and only pain. Fortunately, her height of 1.68 meters meant the execution board pole reached all the way to her buttocks before stopping. Because of its presence, she, who could have bent over to await execution, was forced to hold her chest straight, minimizing the excruciating pain caused by the restraints. The director stood behind the camera, watching Xin Ruolan's resolute expression. She showed no shame befitting a condemned female prisoner awaiting execution; instead, she exuded a certain defiant spirit, completely different from the breakdown the director had envisioned for a heroine facing death. This made him frown. However, it was too late to ask Xin Ruolan for anything else. She had walked to this spot with her upper body bare and was now kneeling there, with only the scorching sun overhead and the ropes. The reason for her bare upper body was the historical setting of the script. Indeed, what was the film called? "The Last Female Prisoner Executed in Yuezhou." It was a recreation of the final case recorded in the Yuezhou County Annals, written by Mr. Xiong Dashi, a renowned folklorist and the younger disciple of Li Yan, the compiler of the Yuezhou local chronicles. You must understand that during the Qing Dynasty, the last feudal dynasty, the status of women was extremely low. Some might argue, "How is that possible? The last forty years of the Qing Dynasty were governed by a woman." However, Mr. Xiong Dashi explained that despite Empress Dowager Cixi's high status, it was only due to her deceased husband, Emperor Xianfeng, and her sons, Tongzhi and Guangxu. If she had been an ordinary concubine, let alone wield power, she wouldn't have known how she died. The status of women dictated that Xin Ruolan, as a female death row inmate, would certainly not receive good treatment, especially bearing the charge of murdering her own husband. In the mid-Qing Dynasty, such a crime wouldn't have simply resulted in beheading; it would have been punished by Lingchi, the slow slicing. The executioner would use a small knife to peel off the flesh piece by piece, using medicine to stop the bleeding to prevent the condemned from dying midway and thus failing to complete the three thousand six hundred slices. Fortunately, Lingchi was abolished as part of judicial reforms during Cixi's reign, leaving only beheading and hanging as methods of execution. This is why the county annals recorded that this woman was ultimately beheaded. Her bare upper body was actually a form of leniency. If it had been Lingchi, she would have been completely naked, especially her tender labia, which would have been sliced off and removed beforehand. However, as a film promoting legal awareness, no matter how much historical accuracy was respected, the female actress couldn't truly have her upper body bare, with her fair breasts exposed while being roped. Fortunately, it is now the twenty-first century. Besides the technical means of censoring, the more important development is the existence of invisible bras.

Sakura looked down, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest. The shackles, aside from the iron rings clamped to her ankles, had a chain in between that was as thick as a lamp post, with a diameter exceeding eight centimeters. With a length of forty centimeters, its weight must have accounted for half of her body weight. "Officer, officer, I was wrong, please let me go," Sakura pleaded repeatedly, lifting her feet, trying to move them off the chopping block. "Hmm, these shackles are good!" the female security guard praised the old woman, giving her a thumbs-up. She released her grip, allowing another female security guard to hold Sakura down, then crouched down, firmly grasping Sakura's two ankles. The old woman unlocked the original shackles on her ankles. In just over two hours, her ankles had already been chafed raw, the skin red, swollen, and streaked with blood. The old woman's fingernails scraped across them as if they were being roasted over a fire, causing her such pain that her gums were about to bleed. The old woman had no time to pity Sakura. She picked up the dark, lustrous locking rings and clamped them onto her feet. Then, she inserted the rivets and brought down the ball-peen hammer. Clang, clang, clang. Whether the old woman lacked strength or deliberately struck a few extra times was unclear. An overwhelming wave of pain surged into Sakura's mind. Her cheeks contorted like twisted dough, knotting together. Her brows furrowed so deeply they seemed to merge, forming a prominent ridge. Her once fair forehead was etched with wrinkles, like the deep ravines of a loess plateau after a rainstorm. Tiny beads of cold sweat, the size of soybeans, covered her forehead, constantly trickling down her cheeks. By the time both locking rings were hammered shut, Sakura's face had cycled through yellow, red, purple, and finally white. Her fingers were tightly intertwined, yet they couldn't stop trembling. Her eyes rolled upwards, showing only the whites. Her teeth were clenched so tightly she couldn't separate them. The pain was so intense she lacked the strength to even speak. Sakura was forcibly pulled up by the female security guards. The handcuffs on her wrists were moved to her back, changing to a rear restraint. "Move!" the female security guard commanded. Sakura's bare feet touched the ground. As she tried to lift them, her ankles felt as if they would break. She couldn't take a single step, her feet returning to the ground immediately. The female security guard, thinking she was deliberately refusing to move, kicked her in the backside. Normally, a kick of that force to the body would have sent her flying or at least caused her to stumble, requiring at least two steps forward to regain balance. Unexpectedly, this time, her feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground. They didn't budge, and only her body lurched forward. If another female security guard hadn't quickly grabbed her arm, her face would have made intimate contact with the ground, and her front teeth might not have been spared. While her face was spared, her arms suffered. As she fell, they were pulled taut, and both her shoulders felt as if they had been dislocated.

The burly men in white coats emerged, two of them carrying a stretcher. On the first stretcher lay an old woman, clearly in her late fifties or early sixties. Westerners age quickly and don't like to dye their hair. Her hair was a steely gray, her forehead, eyes, and mouth etched with wrinkles, and her large eye bags drooped. She was wearing a straitjacket made of white canvas, designed to restrain mental patients. The zipper on this garment was in the back, with no openings for the arms. The ends of the sleeves were fifty centimeters long and ten centimeters wide, meant to be tied behind the back. Her arms were secured inside, crossed over her chest and abdomen. Three vertical cloth straps were fastened across the front, while the side straps were pulled to the back, tightened, and then brought forward to hook onto metal rings on either side. In addition to her arms, separate cloth straps were wrapped around her neck and the upper and lower edges of her breasts, binding her body. She looked like a mummy unearthed from an ancient Egyptian pyramid. Her lower body was encased in restraint pants. These weren't so much pants as a canvas band, wider at the top and narrower at the bottom, with openings on the sides. They were fastened around her thighs, cinched tight with straps, leaving no room even for her knees. She lay stiffly on the stretcher, which was further secured with leather straps from head to toe, preventing her from even wriggling like a worm, let alone turning over. Her mouth was stuffed with a wad of flesh-colored stockings. While Americans have larger mouths than Chinese people, these stockings, likely from a pair of pantyhose or thigh-highs, pushed out her cheeks like steamed buns, yet still didn't fill her mouth completely. The lace trim of the stockings was visible. Despite America's economic development, its people aren't as cleanliness-conscious as Chinese people. They never take off their shoes when entering a house and often sleep in their socks. If they need to urinate in the middle of the night, they don't bother with shoes, heading straight for the bathroom. This results in their socks having a particularly strong odor. When she was attending an international school, the stench of her roommate's feet was so overwhelming that she couldn't even eat. At night, she had to keep her window open to avoid being woken by the smell of their foul socks. Now, with her mouth stuffed with stockings, the odor was unimaginable. If this were Wan Ting, she would not only be disgusted but also feel her stomach churning and be constantly gagging. The old woman was lifted onto the ambulance. The second person being carried out, judging by her facial features, appeared to be mother and daughter. She looked to be in her thirties or forties. American women tend to have children early. Besides strict abortion laws that force them to give birth once pregnant, they also start having sex with men as early as fifteen or sixteen and dislike using protection. Men don't like condoms, and women dislike them even more. Birth control pills require a prescription from a family doctor, certifying that the woman is unsuitable for conception, so

Sisma made her retract her head, ordering her to lie down like a dog in the cage until dusk. Only after feeding her a bag of milk was she released. The rope, though tied securely, was too troublesome. Sisma switched to a three-finger-wide leather strap, binding her thighs and ankles together. Her upper arms and wrists were similarly bound. To prevent struggle, she used thumb cuffs to lock her thumbs behind her neck and her big toes at the base of her buttocks. This time, to make her more like a bitch, Sisma replaced the leather padding with a dog suit that had metal lower legs and a circular steel plate on the upper half, covered in a material resembling dog fur. Sisma had her lie on her back, with her limbs fixed upwards like four dog legs. After putting it on, Li Meijuan's face turned pale. She tried several times to stand up but couldn't. It wasn't until Sisma helped her that she could barely manage to get into a quadrupedal stance. Sisma then fitted a small, exquisite muzzle that prevented her tongue from moving. She then took out a metal-lined dog head, covered in the same仿真dog fur as the legs. Li Meijuan finally understood. Sisma intended to completely transform her into a bitch and then take her out. She looked on in despair as the dog head was placed over her, limiting her vision to a world of two colors. The whimpers from her mouth, passing through the voice changer in the dog's nose, became barks. Next, Sisma produced a realistic dog tail, virtually indistinguishable from a Husky's. The anal plug at the end, seven centimeters long, was screwed tightly into her anus. Finally, a piece of dog skin wrapped the rest of her body, including her drooping breasts, leaving only her bright red nipples exposed. The structure in front of her vulva was complex, almost pressing inward, causing waves of itching to surge into her brain with every step she took. This forced her to open her dog mouth, revealing her bright red tongue. Sisma pulled the dog leash, and Li Meijuan began to trot out of the room on her dog legs. "Not off work yet?" the old woman asked as Sisma walked by, leading Li Meijuan, transformed into a bitch. "Overslept at noon, still have work to finish," Sisma replied without stopping, continuing forward. The old woman stared at Li Meijuan's swaying buttocks for a moment, then sighed inwardly. Li Meijuan got into a small car with Sisma, and they left the detention center. The car stopped at the largest department store in Yangpu City. "Sorry, pets are not allowed in this establishment," the security guard blocked Sisma. Sisma had forgotten about this. She pulled Li Meijuan, intending to take her back to the car. "Miss, you can leave it in a cage at the service desk," the security guard pointed to a cage on the side. This one was even smaller. Li Meijuan gasped. She could only crawl in, and her body would be pressed against the cage bars.