The second day, evening——
Time flew by quickly, and the snow outside grew heavier, with the large flakes showing no signs of stopping.
Jiang Ting had spent the whole day tossing and turning in bed, conjuring up numerous ideas, yet unable to figure out how exactly to escape from this story.
Was she supposed to wait until the little girl passed away? Or until her own life ended?
Annoying.
Lying sprawled on the bed, the thought of possibly spending the next sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety years in such an unfamiliar country filled Jiang Ting with apprehension.
She had no clue how the little girl was doing; now that she had the money, she shouldn't have to come out again, right?
Getting up and bundling up in her clothes, she ventured out again.
"Return early, the Lord can't look after a ten-year-old running around outside at night." Madam Oran's voice came from behind, at a loss as she continued knitting.
