“An ounce of borrowed flesh… a pound of repaid flesh…”
Grandma’s aged voice echoed through the dark night, hoarse and eerie.
“Repaid flesh… repaid flesh…”
She seemed to have fallen into a daze, endlessly repeating the same words. A look of confusion gradually spread across the villagers’ watchful eyes.
“Granny Zhang, what do you mean by that? Oh, right! Back then, after Zhang Er’s family borrowed flesh, wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of… repayment?”
“But they never did it, did they? That’s why things ended up like this…”
Even Gan Tang could tell that the villagers hadn’t really understood what his grandma meant.
Or rather, in their fear, they didn’t have the energy to think too deeply about it. Upon hearing her mention repaying the flesh, most of them reacted with either thoughtful expressions turning to growing panic, or by hurriedly discussing how Zhang Er’s family should redo the “repayment” ritual.
In the countryside, things like this weren’t all that rare.
Most folk legends followed the same pattern—someone would go to a temple and make a wish, and when it miraculously came true, they would forget to repay the deity. Then, misfortune would strike their household, one calamity after another, until someone reminded them of their forgotten debt. Only then would the protagonist rush to prepare the promised offerings, bring wine and incense, and return to the temple to kowtow and fulfill their vow…
According to the usual script, once the debt was repaid, their troubles would come to an end.
Perhaps because the ancient “borrowing flesh” ritual had long fallen out of practice, the villagers simply assumed that the strange happenings in Fengjing Village could be resolved in the same way.
“They say an ounce of borrowed flesh must be repaid with a pound… How much did Lao Zhang Er weigh again? Hurry, hurry, someone go call his wife—no, forget it, get his mother to prepare the livestock. We’ll head up the mountain tomorrow night and fill the well.”
“Oh, right! What about Zhang Weiguo’s family? They lost someone too—should they contribute some flesh as well?”
“Wait, are we calculating this repayment by the old standards or modern ones? Granny Zhang, how much flesh do we actually need to repay?”
“Granny Zhang?”
“Granny Zhang, say something…”
…
The crowd surged toward the old woman, bombarding her with endless questions.
Among them, some began murmuring complaints—after all, in a poor village like theirs, the most common livestock were chickens, ducks, and a few pigs, all raised to be sold at market. If “repaying flesh” meant throwing all that into the well, it was a painful loss. Others whispered that many animals had gone missing mysteriously in recent days, but with all the strange deaths and incidents in the village, no one had had time to search for them. Otherwise, it would have been a big deal…
But no matter how urgently they questioned her, Grandma could no longer answer.
Gan Tang had been lost in thought, repeating her words in his mind—”An ounce of borrowed flesh, a pound of repaid flesh.” The more he thought about it, the colder he felt. Then, catching sight of his Grandma’s expression, his heart clenched.
Just as he reached out, her frail body suddenly collapsed into his arms.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Grandma had fainted.
Her eyes were half-open, revealing only a sliver of white, and her forehead was drenched in cold sweat.
Seeing her fall, Gan Tang felt his heart lurch violently.
Thankfully, someone quickly fetched her heart medicine and poured some medicinal wine, rubbing it onto her chest and brow.
After a while, the old woman’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
But though she had regained consciousness, her complexion remained frighteningly pale. Her breathing was labored, barely steady, let alone strong enough to continue guiding the villagers through the “repayment” ritual.
Seeing her in such a dire state, and with the faint light of dawn already appearing at the horizon, the village chief made the final decision—everyone should disperse for now, and they would discuss the matter again once everyone had rested.
…
Gan Tang barely paid attention to the village chief’s instructions.
He couldn’t even wait for him to finish speaking—he immediately supported his Grandma and hurried home.
The drying yard wasn’t far from their house, just a few steps away. In his panic, Gan Tang completely forgot how terrifying Cen Zibai was. His mind held only one thought—his Grandma.
Her hollow, vacant gaze, her fragile and powerless body… It nearly shattered his composure.
Please be okay.
He prayed desperately in his heart.
Grandma, please… You must be okay.
However, just before reaching home, Gan Tang’s footsteps uncontrollably halted.
He saw a dog.
It was just an ordinary village mutt—yellowish-brown fur, drooping ears, and sharp, watchful eyes.
Back when he first arrived in the village, the thing he feared most was passing by someone’s house and provoking their dogs into barking.
But tonight, that dog would never bark at him again.
It looked as if someone had skinned it—the fur was laid out flat on the ground, limp and boneless.
The dog slithered forward slowly on the ground. A single blood-red eyeball had fallen from its socket, hanging loosely by the dog’s mouth, rolling back and forth.
Thin, thread-like worms wriggled out from beneath the dog’s brown fur, forming a fine, hair-like layer.
The moment it saw Gan Tang, the dog’s movements froze.
Then, it wagged its tail at him.
“Huff… huff… heh… hiss…”
Gan Tang heard the wet, sticky sound of the worms rubbing against each other, their mucus-covered bodies making an eerie squelch.
Even though he remained motionless, the dog—no, the thing inside the dog—seemed to have been summoned. It began inching toward him.
“Tsk.”
Cen Zibai, who had been following beside Gan Tang, coldly fixed his gaze on the skinless dog still wagging its tail desperately. His expression grew even colder.
He let out a soft cough.
In the next second, the dog—or rather, the worms inhabiting its body—suddenly recoiled as if frightened. Then, in a swift motion, they darted into the shadows of the village, vanishing into the night.
“…”
Gan Tang unconsciously tightened his grip on his Grandma’s arm.
His palm was drenched in cold sweat.
The first thing he did was not look in the direction the dog had disappeared, nor at Cen Zibai, who had just spoken. Instead, he turned to his Grandma.
Had she seen it?
Did she know what it was?
Grandma…
Countless questions flooded Gan Tang’s mind, but the moment he met his grandma’s eyes, his heart sank.
Though her eyes were open, and she could still barely walk, she looked utterly lost—like a soul already gone.
She seemed unable to see anything around her anymore. Her dry lips continued to move, murmuring the same words over and over.
Gan Tang listened for a long time before realizing—she was still repeating those two sentences.
What did they mean? Why had they terrified her so much?
A storm of questions surged within him, but he forced himself to swallow them down.
He pressed forward, leading his Grandma home.
This time, it took only a few minutes.
The road was eerily quiet.
No more dogs appeared…
And yet, Gan Tang couldn’t shake the feeling that, hidden in the unseen corners of the village, countless tiny creatures were rustling—moving, squirming.
—
After arriving home, Gan Tang fetched warm water and gently wiped his Grandma’s face and hands before helping her into bed.
Fortunately, the lingering presence behind him—Cen Zibai—seemed to understand his thoughts this time and did not follow him into his grandma’s room.
“…Tang Tang, come out quickly, okay? Or else, I’ll feel very uneasy.”
With that same nauseating pretense, he spoke in a timid, bashful voice.
His face flushed red, but his eyes were like two bottomless, black wells.
“Bang—”
Suppressing the fear and despair surging within him, Gan Tang forcefully shut the wooden door to his Grandma’s room.
He carefully helped her onto the bed.
Wrapped in the blankets, the elderly woman appeared so small, like a frail child.
Gan Tang gazed at her for a long while before sniffing slightly.
He reached out and tucked the corners of her blanket in place.
He couldn’t break down.
That voice inside him warned.
If he crumbled, his Grandma would be in grave danger…
Gan Tang couldn’t explain why, but his intuition screamed at him—this was an undeniable truth.
So, he would be fine.
He could handle it.
He had to think of a way to deal with the thing outside—Cen Zibai.
But just as he was about to leave, a withered hand suddenly shot up, clamping tightly around his wrist.
“Grandma?”
Gan Tang gasped in shock.
He looked up, thinking his Grandma had woken up.
But when he focused on her face, he saw that her cloudy gaze remained dazed—she was still lost in a trance.
Her unfocused eyes passed right through him, staring into the distance.
“This place is no longer safe.”
Then, he heard her muttering, one word at a time.
“It can’t be repaid… it can’t be repaid… No one can repay it. Returning the flesh isn’t that simple. It is too greedy. Those words were a lie. I should have known… It’s my fault…”
“What do you mean? What do you mean it can’t be repaid? What lie? Grandma!”
Gan Tang pressed urgently, his voice unsteady with panic.
But she didn’t answer.
A cloudy tear slid from the corner of her eye.
Mumbling incoherently, she drifted back into unconsciousness.
Leaving Gan Tang standing motionless by the bedside, staring at her—silent, stunned.
And in that moment, he suddenly noticed something.
From inside his grandma’s ear, a pale, wriggling thing had just shifted—ever so slightly.
