Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Holding an umbrella, I walked ten minutes to the market and bought some yams.

I shopped at this stall often, and the vendor was quite talkative, so we chatted for a bit.

He said business was dead because of the rain and everything being so wet. Then he asked why I had come out in such a downpour just to buy yams.

I told him my husband loved them. He happened to have the day off, so I was going to make yam and pork rib soup for him.

The vendor teased me, saying I treated my husband so well and that he was a lucky man.

Right on cue, I put on a bashful expression.

After buying the yams, I checked the time. Only fifteen minutes had passed, and the walk back would take another ten.

Our building was near the east gate, which saw little foot traffic. The complex’s main entrance was at the south gate, and if I wanted to buy cigarettes, that was where I had to go.

Getting from the market to the south gate meant taking a different road.

There were no surveillance cameras along it, and in this weather, hardly any pedestrians either.

The road had fallen into disrepair over the years. It was riddled with potholes and practically falling apart, and it had now been cordoned off for repairs.

On the pedestrian path was an open manhole.

The road had already been torn to pieces, so anyone taking this route had no choice but to pass the manhole.

To ensure there would be no unexpected witnesses, I lowered my head beneath my umbrella and stepped on a loose stone. I lost my balance and plunged heavily into the manhole.

The fall of several meters didn’t injure me as badly as I’d hoped. All I had were a few scrapes.

I hadn’t expected that.

After all, I had never tested it before.

Fortunately, my right leg seemed to have gone numb. I looked down and saw a huge swelling already forming.

I figured it was probably broken.

Thank God.

At last, I had an injury convincing enough to show people.

There was no water in the sewer, only piles of accumulated debris giving off waves of putrid stench.

Gritting my teeth, I slammed my head hard against the filthy ground.

There were several hard objects of some kind scattered there. It didn’t take much effort to split my scalp open and leave me bleeding profusely.

I checked my phone. It was 10:50.

Then I casually tossed it aside, letting the yams I had been carrying spill across the ground.

I stayed in the position in which I had landed, head against the ground. Then I closed my eyes and lay there as if unconscious.

The stench rushed eagerly into my nostrils, making me want to vomit.

It was every bit as nauseating as facing my husband.

My heart pounded. The sewer was pitch-black.

The only source of light was the open manhole above.

But now, my umbrella was blocking that light.

That’s right. I had deliberately brought an oversized umbrella meant for two, all to make sure it would get stuck over the opening.

Because that umbrella was the prop that would save my life.

I hoped no one would discover too soon that I had fallen into the sewer.

Every minute, every second, dragged on endlessly.

What felt like an eternity later, I faintly heard the wail of a fire engine’s siren.

My heart jolted. Could it be…

Had it worked?

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to jump to my feet and see for myself whether my husband was dead.

But I knew I couldn’t.

I had to be patient and remain “unconscious” until help arrived.