On Chicken Island, the midday sun is as scorching as if it's blazing.
Wu Liuqi pushed his seafood cart down the street, the fish on it their eyes gleaming white from the sun. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "Seafood at 90% off! A fire sale price! Buy fish, get shrimp free—"
"Here's a shovel!" A market vendor splashed a ladle of water from washing fish at me. "Your fish is so stiff it's practically dead, even a dog wouldn't want to feed it!"
Ah Qi jumped up to dodge, her Sichuan accent spilling out in her haste: "Oh dear, Auntie, don't be so fierce! This fish is asleep, fast asleep!"
"Sleep your head off!" The broom came crashing down on his head.
Ah Qi scurried away, covering his head, and just as he turned the corner, he almost stepped on a white, fuzzy thing.