When Yang Anbang woke up, he was back in 1983, in a fishing village scented with salty sea wind. His family had nothing, his parents were weighed down with worry, and his sister-in-law kept hinting that he should split off from the family. Having spent his previous life doing nothing of note, he clenched his young hands, rough with chilblains and fishing-net marks. This time, armed with a lifetime's worth of memories from the sea, he would start with a bowl of thin porridge slicked with oil and a battered sampan, then carve out a truly carefree life for himself.
Brother, you are writing a novel, not an essay. It's a headache to see so many modifiers. Come on.
Can red tide crabs be eaten 🤦