He could smell the vivid, living scent on them.
It pricked at his instincts from time to time like a fine needle, making Lucian clench his teeth, his body trembling with the urge to simply lunge at them.
Granny Maggie seemed to sense something.
She promptly handed him a bowl of porridge.
Lucian quickly took it, and a few mouthfuls were always enough to suppress that stirring restlessness.
Time slipped by, and in the blink of an eye, several days had passed.
Over these days, he began learning the basic skills of taking care of himself.
For instance, Granny Maggie used a wooden spoon when eating, so he learned to use a spoon too.
At first, he could not grip it properly, and the spoon clattered to the floor.
Granny Maggie would simply pick it up and press it back into his hand, holding his hand to teach him how to apply the right amount of force.
She was always very gentle in teaching him all sorts of everyday common sense.
Throughout these days, the villagers consistently kept their distance from him.
The men, heading out to sea to fish, would pass by Granny Maggie’s house.
Sometimes they would stop, exchange a few words with her, their gazes sweeping over him with a probing look.
The women, gathered by the river to wash clothes, would lower their voices in conversation when they saw him come out to bask in the sun, their fingers occasionally pointing in his direction.
Lucian did not understand what those looks and gestures meant.
He only knew they were different from Granny Maggie.
The scent on Granny Maggie was gentle and warm, whereas on the others, aside from the smells of sunlight and seawater, there was something else hidden—something like wariness, and something like pity.
The weather was fine today, so Lucian tried stepping out of the house to take a walk around the village, until he reached the giant banyan tree at the village entrance.
Several old men were sitting on the tree roots, chatting.
When they saw him approaching, their voices stopped abruptly, and they all turned to look at him in a single motion.
Lucian froze on the spot, caught in an awkward position where he could neither advance nor retreat.
“Big brother, here, for you.” Just then, a little girl with pigtails ran over.
In her hand was a red fruit, which she timidly held out before him.
She lifted her small face and spoke a short sentence.
The syllables were very light.
Lucian did not understand them.
He just stared blankly at that tiny hand, then at the little girl’s bright, sparkling eyes.
Her gaze was full of curiosity.
Hesitantly, he reached out his hand.
The moment he took hold of the fruit, the little girl burst into a giggling laugh, turned around, and ran off.
The old men resumed their talking, their voices now somewhat gentler than before.
Lucian held that apple, standing beneath the banyan tree.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves and fell onto the back of his hand, bringing a faint trace of warmth.
The apple was hard, carrying a light, delicate fragrance, completely different from any “food” in his memory.
He brought the apple close to his mouth, hesitated for a long time, but ultimately did not bite into it.
He still did not know whether this thing could be eaten, just as he did not know why this sea was blue, why those people had to go out to sea every day, or why he himself had become what he was now.
As the days passed one by one, Lucian gradually grew familiar with the villagers, and the people in the village no longer shunned him.
The fishermen who had pulled him out of the sea in the first place also came to visit often.
Their leader was a burly man named Baru, whose arms were thicker than Lucian’s legs and whose laughter revealed two solid rows of teeth.
Every time he came, he always brought some seafood—sometimes a few silver-glinting fish, other times half a basket of shellfish.
He would set it down at Granny Maggie’s doorstep and then bellow a few words at Lucian.
Lucian could not understand most of what he said, but the goodwill in his tone was something he could feel.
Baru would clap him on the shoulder with enough force to make him sway, then point toward the sea and at his own fishing boat, letting out an excited laugh.
Lucian would just watch him, occasionally trying to imitate his words.
This always made Baru burst into roaring laughter, and he would then stuff a freshly peeled piece of sea urchin meat into Lucian’s hand.
The sea urchin meat was raw, carrying the briny, sweet smell of the ocean.
At first, Lucian resisted it instinctively, always feeling it was not “something he should eat,” but Baru pressed it firmly into his hand, looking at him with an encouraging gaze.
He tried putting it in his mouth, chewed a little, and unexpectedly tasted a clear, sharp freshness.
From then on, he fell in love with that flavor.
Every day, he would sit at the doorway gazing out at the sea, hoping that when Baru came, he would bring him sea urchin.
Today was no exception.
The afterglow of the setting sun shone upon Lucian, making his pale skin seem almost transparent, the dark blue veins faintly visible beneath.
At this time, Granny Maggie would sit beside him with a kindly expression, mending some clothes, her mouth never idle as she taught him a few simple words.
Lucian’s language learning, however, progressed slowly.
After all, he was like a babbling infant, having to start from the simplest words.
Now, Granny Maggie would point at the bowl and say “bowl,” and he would follow, saying “bowl”; she would point at the door and say “door,” and he would follow, saying “door.”
His pronunciation was always off, carrying a strange, peculiar quality, but Granny Maggie never thought him stupid.
She would only repeat the words patiently, over and over again.
Lucian discovered that the language here was different from every sound he had ever encountered in his “past.” This made his intonation always sound odd and twisted as he learned the tongue.
“Fish?” He used a strange, tongue-twisting tone, pointing at the sea fish in the bamboo basket as he looked at Granny Maggie.
“Yes, fish.” The old woman nodded.
“Boat?” He gazed at the fishing boats in the distance.
“That’s right, boat.”
Time passed in this back-and-forth exchange between the two of them.
It continued until dusk began to darken the sky, when Baru arrived with several young fishermen.
In his hand, he carried a huge tuna, speaking excitedly about something.
Lucian could not understand.
He just looked at the fish in their hands with some disappointment, then craned his neck to peer intently into the baskets on their backs.
There were none of the sea urchins he was hoping for.
He lowered his head, crestfallen.
One of the young men, named Toby, was very clever and seemed to grasp what he was disappointed about.
From the small pouch at his waist, he pulled out two sea urchins and held them out.
Lucian looked at the sea urchins presented before his eyes and managed to squeeze out a few words: “Thank…
sea urchin.”
The voice still had its strange, peculiar tone, but it clearly expressed the meaning.
Toby froze for a second, then burst out laughing and patted his arm.
“Yes!
Sea urchin!
Lucian’s pretty smart after all!”
Baru also grinned, using his rough palm to vigorously tousle Lucian’s hair.
Lucian stood where he was, surrounded by their laughter.
A strange feeling welled up in his throat.
It was not hunger, nor bewilderment, but something warm, like sunlight after a full day of basking.
He did not know what it was, but he did not dislike this feeling.
By now, the fishing village had entered nighttime.
The waves lapped against the sandy shore, producing a rhythmic, rushing sound.
He stood among the group, listening to that language which was still foreign but no longer grating.
In some stiff corner of his heart, a piece seemed to quietly loosen.
Baru and the others had only come to drop off the fish.
After doing so, they took the young men and headed back.
That evening, Lucian also got to eat the sea urchin he had been longing for all day.
Early the next morning, Granny Maggie placed a white T-shirt and a pair of black trousers at his bedside, gesturing for him to put them on.
Lucian clumsily pulled on the clothes.
Granny Maggie watched him, a kind smile appearing on her face, and said something he could not understand.
After Granny Maggie went to prepare the meal, he shuffled slowly to the mirror in the bedroom.
It was then that Lucian saw his own appearance for the very first time.
The person in the mirror had a slender, tall, and lanky frame.
Ear-length, messy black hair clung to his pale face.
His somewhat pallid, thin lips and the high bridge of his nose gave his entire person a very clear and handsome look.
But beneath his long lashes, those pair of pitch-black, hollow eyes lent his whole being an eerie, uncanny sense of horror.
Why does it feel different from before?
Lucian touched his own face.
He vaguely remembered that in the past, there had been dark bluish-black lines on his face and large and small festering wounds all over his body.
“Breakfast is ready.” Just as he was about to examine himself more carefully, Granny Maggie’s voice came from outside the door.
“Hm!” Lucian responded, then turned, pushed the door open, and walked out.
After finishing his meal, Lucian went to the doorway and watched the morning sun rise from the sea line, dyeing the ocean water a brilliant shade of gold and red.
The fishing boats in the distance had already hoisted their sails.
From the village rose a continuous chorus of shouts and calls, which he still could not understand.
A new day had begun.