Touch the head.
The head is intact.
How is that possible?
Take another look at the rising morning sun.
Here is—
Morning?
A pot-bellied man emerged from the cabin, placed a clay pot in front of the young boy, and said:
"Eat, fish boy."
Augustus opened the pot.
Inside was shrimp paste and white rice.
Steam was still rising from the rice.
The young Augustus swallowed hard, instinctively reaching for chopsticks, ready to scoop up some shrimp paste.
Suddenly his hand shook, dropping the chopsticks on the deck.
"What's wrong? Feeling unwell?"
The fat man asked.
"Uncle Cheng, I'm fine." Augustus replied with a forced smile, instinctively touching his arm.
It's like someone—
A person with a vague face—
Cut his arm with a knife.
"What are you up to? Muscle cramp?" The fat man, called Cheng, asked.
Augustus moved his lips but was unable to speak.
—The arm was perfectly fine.
So it was just a dream?
Wait.
