June 28, 2002, night. Fengjie Old Town.
The water level of the Yangtze River loomed in the darkness, and the river water slapped the stones on the shore, making a rhythmic gurgling sound. The night in the old city is quiet, with the occasional distant dog barking or the whistle of a passing freighter.
But that night, the sound came not from the surface of the river, but from the bottom of the river.
The explosion came at 2:17 in the morning.
It was not the sharp roar of explosives, nor the deafening roar of thunder. It was a dull, suppressed sound, like a burp deep in the earth, or like something huge turning over under the water.
The glass in the entire old city shook at the same time.
Lao Li Tou downstairs thought there was an earthquake, so he ran downstairs barefoot; Aunt Wang next door hid under the bed with her grandson who had just turned one month old; Zhang Laosan, the tofu seller, rolled off the bed and fell to pieces.
Li Chen was awakened by the sound.
