The child died with eyes wide open, the once lively spark gone from them. Yet they stared into the direction where Mo Yan stood, as if asking, "Why won't you save me?"
Even though she knew she was dreaming, Mo Yan still felt a chilling horror emanating from those eyes.
Right after that, her body uncontrollably floated towards another ordinary courtyard, a home that seemed warm and happy. But after the family had their dinner, they all vomited and had diarrhea, and when there was nothing left to vomit, they spat out large clumps of black blood...
Mo Yan was haunted by nightmares all night and woke up at dawn, drenched with sweat. Her mind was in chaos, dominated by images of people who had consumed moldy rice, innocently losing their lives, and each broken family.
"Is this dream foretelling something?" Mo Yan held her head in agony, her face unnaturally pale. The dream was abnormal, too real—she could even feel the heart-wrenching despair of those people losing their loved ones.
