After the Missing Commander’s Wife Returned, She Had Me Dig Up a Nonexistent Iron Box

I stared hard at the woman in front of me.

That face, with willowleaf brows, almond eyes, and a small mole at the corner of her mouth, even the dimple on the right side that was a little deeper than the left when she smiled, was exactly the same. “What tin box?” I forced down my pounding heart and casually stuffed a wonton into my mouth.

She wiped her mouth and looked completely natural, even with a hint of warmth. “Did you forget?

The year our daughter was five and kept crying at night, we made it up together and buried it under the tree.” My back was instantly soaked with cold sweat.

Seven years ago, my wife had just been promoted to deputy battalion commander, and our little girl kept crying in the middle of the night.

Sophie made up a story that there was a magical tin box under the old locust tree in our yard, and that it held an important secret.

As long as the child behaved and went to sleep, the box would magically turn into endless candy. Our daughter believed it and went to sleep obediently.

The next day, we took out the candy we had prepared in advance and said the box had made it appear as a reward. But we had never buried any tin box at all.

No one knew about this, not even our daughter, except Sophie and me. There was absolutely no way a third person could know.

So who was this woman with Sophie’s face? “Oh, my memory is really bad.” I lowered my head and took a bite of white rice, hiding the coldness in my eyes. “It’s dark now.

I’ll dig it up for you first thing tomorrow morning.” “Dig it up tonight,” she said, lowering her voice a little. “So urgent?” I asked back. “The military needs it urgently.” She stared at me, her gaze deep and unreadable. “It concerns frontline secrets.

We can’t wait even a minute.” I met her gaze, my palms full of sweat, but I still grinned. “Fine.

After we eat, I’ll go get the shovel.” She nodded in satisfaction and picked up her bowl to keep eating the wontons. I stood up and walked into the inner room.

The moment I turned around, my face sank completely. If she wasn’t Sophie, then where was the real Sophie?

Three months ago, the organization sent word that she had disappeared during a secret reconnaissance mission, with no body found dead or alive.

I had spent night after night unable to sleep, hanging her uniform by the bed and drinking in front of her photo, thinking she really wasn’t coming back.

Now, a fake had taken her face and was sitting here eating wontons, and she even wanted some tin box that “concerned frontline secrets.” There was only one possibility.

Sophie had been captured. She had been brutally tortured, and the enemy had been interrogating her for the whereabouts of classified intelligence.

She had kept her mouth shut to the end, and finally made up this nonsense about a “tin box under the old locust tree” to lure the enemy here.

The only thing I didn’t know was whether she was still alive. Thinking about the suffering she might have gone through, I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm. “The water’s hot. Do you want to wash your face first?” I asked casually. “Okay.” She stood up and walked to the basin.

I handed her the towel. She took it and, out of habit, wrapped her hair in the towel first, then wiped the back of her neck. My eyes narrowed.

Even the habit of slightly lifting her pinky finger when wiping the back of her neck was exactly the same. She took off her old army jacket, revealing the white shirt underneath.

Through the semitransparent fabric, I could clearly see the black mole the size of a soybean under her right shoulder blade.

Even the faint scar on the inside of her left wrist, burned by the rim of a pot, was in the exact same place. The disguise was too good.

So good that if it weren’t for that tin box, I never would have recognized this as a fake.

Just how much effort did they put into surgery and imitation to create such a perfect copy? To get their hands on that socalled “secret,” the enemy really went all out.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” she asked after wiping her face, turning back with a halfsmile. “You’ve gotten thinner.” My eyes turned red, my voice thick with emotion, and the tears came instantly. “The front lines are tough.” She walked over and reached out to take my hand.

I quietly took half a step back. “Let’s dig it up tomorrow.” Her hand froze in midair. “Ethan, you’re not being obedient.” She stared at me hard, her voice completely cold.

I forced myself to meet her eyes and took a black metal flashlight out of my pocket. I switched it on. Nothing. “The flashlight’s broken.

The bulb burned out.” I shook it slightly, my voice calm. “It’s too dark by the old locust tree.

Without light, we can’t dig.” She pressed forward step by step. “Don’t we have a kerosene lamp at home?” “It’s windy.

It won’t light.” I faced her oppressive gaze. “What are you rushing for? It’s buried in our own yard.

It isn’t going to grow legs and run away.” “Fine.” She suddenly smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Then we’ll dig it up tomorrow in daylight.” I secretly let out a breath, but my back was already drenched through with sweat, soaking my shirt.

I had to find a way to send out a warning right away. But all the troops in town were fighting at the front.

The only two militia members from the local armed office in the village had been temporarily sent to the county two days ago to haul grain.

According to the original plan, they wouldn’t be back until the day after tomorrow at the earliest! What was I supposed to use to fight a trained enemy spy?

Especially when she still had a weapon? I was afraid that if she lost her temper in the middle of the night, she might just slit my throat. I wasn’t afraid of dying.

What I was afraid of was that my elevenyearold daughter would be coming back from boarding school tomorrow afternoon! “What are you thinking about?

So lost in thought.” She suddenly spoke and interrupted my thoughts. “Nothing.” I turned to clear the dishes. “Where’s our girl?” she asked casually while sitting on the long bench.

My heartbeat skipped instantly. “She’s at boarding school.

She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.” I tried my best to keep my voice normal. “That’s great.” She tapped the rim of the bowl with her chopsticks. “Perfect.

We’ll dig out the box tomorrow, and the family will be together again.” I suddenly got a chill.

It looked like if I didn’t hand over the box tomorrow, the one who’d die wouldn’t just be me, but our daughter too.

After washing up, she lay down on the earthen bed in the east room and patted the spot beside her. “Come here and sleep.” She looked at me with a halfsmile.

I clenched the dagger hidden in my sleeve. “I’ve had diarrhea for the last two days.

I’m dirty, and I’m afraid I’ll make you uncomfortable.” I said coldly. “And your shoulder has an old injury. I don’t sleep well.

I’m afraid I’ll bump into it.” She narrowed her eyes and studied me. “Ethan, are you avoiding me?” I gripped the cold metal inside my sleeve tightly, but on the surface I still forced out a miserable smile. “Avoiding you?” I pulled the blanket over onto my lap. “You were gone for two years with no word at all.

I’m a man raising a kid by myself, and I still have to watch out for the village gossip.” “Now that you’re back, you don’t ask about the hardships at home, you don’t care about the suffering I’ve gone through these years, and all you can talk about is some broken box!” Tears hit the back of my hand at just the right moment.

She froze for a moment, and the suspicion in her eyes faded a little. “I was wrong,” she softened her voice. “Go to sleep.

Tomorrow morning, we’ll dig it up.” That night, I stayed awake until dawn.

Just before daybreak, the rooster outside the yard crowed. She suddenly flipped out of bed, her eyes sharp as blades. “It’s light out. Let’s go.

Get the shovel.” My palms were covered in sweat, and I was still thinking of an excuse to keep delaying. Bang, bang, bang!

Suddenly, the courtyard gate was pounded so hard it shook the whole yard. “Ethan! I heard Sophie came back alive!” It was Old Mr. Lewis next door, shouting at the top of his lungs.

A wave of relief hit me like I’d grabbed a lifesaving rope. I hurried over and opened the gate. Outside, half the village had crowded together in a noisy mass.

Seven or eight men and women had come carrying eggs, brown sugar, and two jars of homebrewed liquor. “Sophie is the war hero of our county.

She survived the worst of it!” The villagers rushed into the yard all at once and instantly surrounded her. Her eye twitched hard.

But the next second, she immediately put on a simple, enthusiastic smile and shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with everyone. Even when Old Mr.

Lewis patted the old wound on her shoulder and cried, she answered without missing a beat. This spy had been trained to an extremely strict standard. Too terrifying.

Seeing that, I took the yard table out and placed several rough ceramic soup bowls on it. “Surviving disaster means greater blessings ahead! No one is leaving today.

We’re drinking at my house!” I popped the clay seal off the jar of homebrewed liquor, and the sharp smell of alcohol instantly spread through the yard.

This 136proof sorghum moonshine could knock down a bull with just three bowls. “Sophie, the villagers came to see you.

You should toast everyone with a bowl, right?” I handed her a full soup bowl of liquor.

She stared at the bowl, and for a moment her eyes went dark. “Ethan, I have an old injury on me, and... we still haven’t finished the work by the old locust tree.” She lowered her voice, speaking only loud enough for the two of us to hear.

I deliberately raised my voice. “Hey! What kind of work could be more important than toasting the villagers?

Are you trying to hurt everyone’s feelings?” The men around us immediately started egging her on. “Exactly! Sophie, you look down on us country boys or something?” “Drink!

You have to drink!” With more than a dozen eager eyes on her, she had no way out. She could only grit her teeth and take the bowl, then drink it all down.

After one bowl, her face immediately flushed an unnatural red. Just then, a shout came from outside the gate. “Dad! I’m home!” My heart clenched hard.

The crowd parted, and a girl wearing a patched blue school uniform and carrying a backpack stood at the entrance. Lily, eleven years old. Two years.

Ever since Sophie went to the front, Lily had been sent to a boarding school in the county seat, and she hadn’t seen her mother for a full two years.

Lily looked at the woman sitting at the table. The spy was stunned for a moment, then reacted. Her eyes lit up, and she opened her arms, her voice trembling. “Lily?

My good girl, come here and let Mom take a look at you!” Lily didn’t move.

She stared hard at that face, which was exactly the same as in her memory, her brows tightly furrowed, then turned to look at me.

I clenched my fists and looked at my own flesh and blood with nearly pleading eyes. Maybe father and daughter really were connected by heart.

Lily, who had been frowning a moment ago, suddenly smiled.

She dropped her backpack and strode over, picking up the second bowl of liquor that had just been poured on the table. “Mom!

These two years you’ve been out fighting, and your daughter has been waiting for you at school every single day!” Lily held the soup bowl high with both hands, her voice loud and clear. “Today you came back alive, so your daughter is toasting you with this bowl of liquor!

If you don’t drink it, then you’re not admitting I’m your daughter!” A flash of extreme irritation crossed the spy’s eyes.

But she didn’t dare expose herself at this moment, so she could only take it with a stiff smile. “Good girl, Mom will drink.” Glug, glug. Second bowl. Third bowl.

The men in the village took turns pressuring her, while Lily kept shouting “Mom” and forcing drink after drink down her. At last, the spy’s eyes started to go unfocused.

She staggered to her feet, trying to walk toward the old locust tree. “Ethan... box... bring it...” she muttered slurringly, grasping at the air. “Drink!

Mom, let’s have another one!” Lily grabbed her shoulder hard and, in one motion, forced the remaining half bowl of liquor straight into her mouth.

She coughed violently and staggered two steps. Finally.

She crashed heavily onto the eightseater dining table like a pile of rotten mud that had lost all control, and then stopped moving.

The yard was still noisy, but I felt like everything around me had suddenly gone quiet. I stared hard at her hunched back and cautiously shoved her shoulder. Dead drunk.

The sweat on my back had long since dried, leaving my shirt icy cold.

Lily walked around the table to my side and quietly tugged at my sleeve. “Dad,” the elevenyearold girl lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “My mom stopped drinking two years ago, after she went to the front.” “The villagers didn’t know, but she swore it to me back then.” My whole body shook, and I tightly grabbed my daughter’s hand.

I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. Now, she was dead drunk. It was time for the two of us to fight back.