Eaten Ch.11

Chapter 11: Vines

The rain poured down violently, causing the city’s water levels to rise significantly. Emergency warnings were sent to citizens’ phones every half an hour.

That night, most people couldn’t fall asleep—not just because of an animalistic instinct sensing imminent danger, but also out of worry for their future livelihoods.

The weather forecast had previously said the rainy season would end on Monday. Now it was already Sunday, and a light drizzle had suddenly turned into a torrential downpour. Whether it was God emptying all the stored rain on the last day of the season, or nature sounding one final alarm before disaster struck, no one could say for sure.

Wu Heng, however, was able to sleep—and slept soundly. The little creature curled up in his arms would occasionally wake up, stretching its neck to look around, as if making sure the surroundings were still safe.

In the middle of the night, flood warnings were issued across the country. The speed at which rainfall was increasing was unprecedented throughout the entire rainy season.

Granny Lin got up several times during the night, standing in the living room and saying, “Why is the rain so heavy?” Muttering to herself in confusion, she eventually went back to bed and fell asleep again.

Just past seven in the morning, Lin Mengzhi was awakened by the sound of shua-shua—a crisp slicing noise. He opened his eyes, thinking he might be dreaming.

Something seemed to cross his mind, and he abruptly sat up, threw off the blanket, and dashed outside.

In the kitchen, a slim, slight figure stood at the stove with his back to the door. His shoulders moved slightly up and down as he busied himself with something.

Lin Mengzhi swallowed hard. “A’Heng, what are you doing?”

Wu Heng turned around, holding a gleaming fruit knife in his hand. “Sharpening a knife.”

“……”

“You’re going out?”

“Mhm, the rain has let up a lot.” Wu Heng glanced out the kitchen window—people were already heading to work with umbrellas. He was never one to go back on his word; once he finished sharpening the knife, he left Lin Mengzhi’s home.

He returned to his own house.

Because even if the end of the world was approaching, he still had to make breakfast for the family. Fortunately, it was Sunday, and both Wu Shiming and Zeng Like didn’t have to go to work, so they could sleep in and breakfast could be pushed back by half an hour.

Half an hour later, the family sat down to eat.

“Wu Heng, have you been staying with Lin Mengzhi these past two days?” Zeng Like asked. She had noticed she hadn’t seen much of him lately. Although Wu Heng usually stayed in his room even when he was home and rarely came out, she would still catch sight of him from time to time.

“Mhm.” Wu Heng was biting into a steamed bun. After just half a bite, he put it down. These days, he found all flour-based foods tasteless—the texture of chewed dough felt like dried-up mud in his mouth.

“What did you two do? You should take Xiao Zhi along too!” Zeng Like said. Wu Heng glanced at Wu Zhi and nodded.

Feeling the boy’s gaze sweep over her, Wu Zhi quickly said, “I’m not going, I’m not going! I like staying at home with Mom and Dad.”

Zeng Like happily patted Wu Zhi on the head, then asked Wu Heng, “Are you going out again today?”

“Mhm.”

“It’s still raining,” Zeng Like glanced out the window, “Be careful on the road.”

Before he left, in a rare gesture, Zeng Like took out two hundred yuan from her wallet and handed it to Wu Heng. “Come home early.”

…

It was still raining outside. The people on the streets were walking briskly, hurried and tense. The streetlights remained on, floating in the air like fireflies. Wu Heng tilted his umbrella up and looked at the sky above—it was already nine o’clock, and yet the sky had yet to brighten.

He caught a cab at the entrance of the residential complex and headed to the knife wholesale market.

The teenager sat silently in the back seat, his expression gloomy and dark, his skin carrying a sickly pallor like someone seriously ill.

The driver slouched in his seat, lazily turning the steering wheel. The silence in the car made it feel like there was no passenger at all, which made him uncomfortable. So he took the initiative to strike up a conversation with the boy in the back.

“Hey, do you think the rain will really stop tomorrow?”

It took Wu Heng a while to realize the driver was talking to him. He replied honestly, “I don’t know.”

“I doubt it,” the driver said. “These weather forecasts are never accurate.” He briefly turned his head toward the back before quickly turning it forward again. “Look at the rain today. I saw several news articles—lots of places are flooded. If Han Zhou didn’t have a good flood control system, we’d probably be underwater too.”

“Would be nice if it did flood. Then I could finally take a break. Been working the early shift for a whole week—exhausting.”

With just a single “I don’t know,” Wu Heng let the driver chatter to himself the entire ride. While the driver rambled on, Wu Heng stayed lost in his own world, completely unengaged.

–

On the nearly empty street, only the occasional public bus passed by. Pedestrians were sparse, but nearly all the storefronts along the road had their lights on and doors open. Amid the rain and mist, a tall, thin, and weary figure appeared.

When the door was suddenly pushed open, the woman napping behind the cashier counter was startled out of her wits.

“I want to buy a knife.”

The shop owner snapped awake and quickly got up to greet him. “What kind of knife? The ones here aren’t cheap.”

The store lighting was dim, with only the shelf lights glowing, making the blades gleam even sharper and brighter.

Wu Heng’s eyes swept across several shelves. When he reached the far end, he stepped forward. Before him was a row of machetes in various lengths, none of them sharpened.

“Machetes, huh?” The shopkeeper followed behind.

Wu Heng’s fingers touched the knife handle and gently wrapped around it. Among the row of machetes, this one had the longest blade and the most intimidating presence—but it wasn’t convenient to carry. He released his grip and shifted his gaze elsewhere.

“What do you want the knife for?” the shopkeeper asked again.

Wu Heng paused, then said, “To slaughter a pig.”

“Uh…” The shopkeeper choked on his breath for a long moment before exhaling. “Well, even though this is technically a wholesale market, I don’t actually do bulk sales. The knives I have here are kind of niche. Pig-slaughtering knives? I don’t have those. But if you don’t mind, any of these can slaughter a pig once they’ve been sharpened.”

Wu Heng didn’t talk much, and he had even less desire to engage with strangers. After browsing for a while, he stopped in front of a short blade. A small plaque beneath it listed the specs: total length 47 cm, blade length 36 cm, made in Japan. He grasped the knife handle with his fingers. It was flat and had a delicately carved phoenix design—just the right size for his hand.

Sensing the boy’s clear interest, the shopkeeper leaned closer and whispered, “Fourteen thousand.”

Wu Heng slowly let go of the knife.

The shopkeeper quickly added, “If you spend over twenty thousand, I’ll give you a twenty-five percent discount.”

Wu Heng ended up choosing a boning knife and a slender, elegant paper-cutting knife as well. After paying, the shopkeeper generously helped him sharpen all three blades and threw in a full set of knife maintenance tools.

“Technically, I’m not supposed to sharpen them for you, but whatever—after today I’m closing up shop for good.”

Wu Heng thanked him. He wanted to ask why the shop was closing, but didn’t want to get pulled into a long conversation, so he picked up the shopping bag and turned to leave.

“Hey, kid!” the shopkeeper suddenly called out. Wu Heng turned his head. The man tilted his chin slightly. “Aren’t you even a little curious why I’m closing down?”

Wu Heng shook his head. “Not curious.”

“……”

With that, he pushed the door open, ready to leave.

The shopkeeper called out to him again and pointed to his right. “Don’t go that way—it’s weird over there, easy to trip.”

“Thanks.” Wu Heng stepped outside, opened his umbrella, and looked toward the right side of the street. Visibility was low in the rain—the air was filled with mist mixed with drizzle, making it impossible to see clearly.

The teenager stood at the same spot where he had gotten out of the car earlier, trying to flag another ride. The rain was just as heavy as before, but the fog had grown denser. If not for his watch displaying that it was 11:00 a.m., the current scene could easily have convinced him it was the middle of the night.

The main road stretched in all directions, the streetlights hazy, and though the stores were technically open for business, most had shut their doors. Wu Heng looked ahead, then behind. There were no buildings in the rear—only damp darkness.

When he glanced to his left—what had been the shopkeeper’s “right” earlier, since he was now standing across the street from the store—he could see nothing at all. No matter how hard he tried, the fog was too thick.

But then, the sound of a motorcycle came from behind. His hearing kicked in, and Wu Heng stepped aside instinctively to avoid being hit. A roaring engine and a group of boys laughing and shouting drew nearer and nearer.

The gang of riders didn’t pass him by. Instead, they pulled up right next to him.

“Got any cash?” one of them asked.

Wu Heng was shoved slightly, only then realizing they were speaking to him.

He looked up, confused, then reached into his pocket and handed over the two hundred or so yuan he had left.

“You think we’re beggars?” the red-haired guy leading them snapped. “Use your phone—transfer it. Now.”

Seeing how passive the boy was, the redhead grew more arrogant and aggressive.

Wu Heng had read online that, due to the recent increase in strange occurrences, the crime rate had risen sharply compared to previous years, with violent robberies multiplying rapidly.

But he was short on money himself. The little remaining in his mobile bank account was needed for essential supplies.

He could only shake his head. “No. I still need that money.”

As soon as he said that, the motorcycle next to the red-haired guy cut its engine. The person on it climbed off and walked straight toward him. Wu Heng took two steps back—and nearly stumbled into a drainage ditch.

Wu Heng had no choice but to pull the short blade out from his shopping bag. Maybe because the seven or eight guys in front of him didn’t take him seriously at all, none of them noticed his subtle movement.

A young man with tattoos on his face approached with hostility. He raised his fist, but before it could land on Wu Heng’s face, it froze mid-air.

“F—…” The young man looked down in disbelief, staring at the blade embedded in his abdomen. Then he looked up and met the boy’s pitch-black, lifeless eyes.

“Sorry, but I really don’t have any money.” Wu Heng pulled the knife out and kicked the man to the ground.

Blood dripped from the blade onto the pavement. The scent of blood filled the air around his nose. His vision spun wildly, and hunger roared within him like a beast.

Wu Heng didn’t realize that his face had turned a sickly bluish-green. His pupils looked as though they were mottled with mold. His body swayed, and his speech came out slurred.

“Shit, shit, shit! Rabies! He’s got rabies too!” someone shouted.

The group of guys watched in horror as the boy’s appearance changed before their eyes. Terrified, they scrambled onto their motorcycles and sped away with the roar of engines, leaving behind only the man who now lay at Wu Heng’s feet—barely breathing, more dead than alive.

Wu Heng returned the knife to the shopping bag. Gasping for breath, he crouched down, ran his fingers across the rough, uneven ground, then brought his bloodstained fingers to his mouth.

So fragrant. So hungry.

Overwhelmed by hunger, Wu Heng collapsed to his knees.

While he still had some awareness left, he forced himself to stand again and staggered in the direction of home. If he could just get through this, it might pass.

From a distance, his figure looked tall and straight at first—but gradually hunched over.

He still had his backpack on and carried a large shopping bag. His umbrella was long gone, no one knew where. On the entire road, there was only him.

If he could still be called a person at this point.

The roar of an engine came again.

A buzzing filled Wu Heng’s ears. It was as if something inside him had jammed, making his reaction slow—so slow that by the time he turned his head, a flash of metal passed by, and his body was wracked with searing pain.

“F**k your mother, watch me run you over and kill you—save others from getting bitten by your rabid ass!”

“He’s not dead yet—not dead—run over him again!”

“Hurry up, damn it!”

Righteous outrage echoed all around.

Several motorcycles took turns running over Wu Heng’s body. He heard the sound of his own chest and abdomen being flattened, the crack of ribs snapping. His crushed organs were forced up into his throat—he coughed up blood, and his vision blurred into a sea of red.

After several rounds of brutal trampling, the teenager’s body was no longer recognizable. None of the attackers dared to take his belongings; they shouted about “ridding the world of evil” and rode off, dragging their stabbed companion along, boasting triumphantly.

Time passed—slowly, but unmistakably.

Wu Heng squinted, unable to understand why he was dying so slowly.

Even though his back and chest were already a mangled mess of flesh, his hunger still compelled him to move, to crawl, to find something to eat. His fingers twitched. He even thought: maybe taking a bite out of himself wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Hungry. So, so hungry.

Something slithered out from the left—down in the drainage ditch—creeping up the blood-soaked roadside through muddy grass. It came to a stop beside the boy. Soft tendrils began to lap at the pooling blood.

Wu Heng heard a faint rustling. With great effort, he turned his stiff head—and through the swirling mist, he saw something like a section of pipe entering his field of vision. It swayed, clearly not an inanimate object—green, and flexible. A tentacle?

The next second, a tendril wrapped around his neck. With an overwhelming force he couldn’t resist, Wu Heng’s broken body was dragged off the wide road.

“Don’t go that way,” echoed the voice of the shopkeeper in his mind.

Wu Heng no longer felt any pain. He only knew he had been jolted and tossed about all the way—until finally, he came to a stop.

Beneath him was something soft, and the air carried a moist, fragrant scent.

His fingers felt as if they were being wrapped and gently sucked on by something. He couldn’t move his head, but he could sense it—whatever was beneath him was soft, yet constantly writhing, like some kind of worm. And yet it didn’t smell like insects; the scent was more like floral perfume—enticing, almost alluring.

Something seemed to be squirming around inside his belly.

Wu Heng lowered his eyes—and saw a scene that sent a chill down even his own spine.

His body had been pierced through by writhing green vines. The vine tendrils that threaded through him were stained red with blood, and scattered among them were sparse, black flower petals. The place he was in now resembled a thinly populated flower field.

Mutated plants. Wu Heng found the answer in his mind.

His abdomen had already been hollowed out. One vine burrowed into his chest cavity and extracted his heart. The moment it was pulled free, other tendrils swarmed in, fighting to snatch it away.

The boy’s eyes were half-lidded, his bloodless face splattered with crimson. Reflected in his pupils were the mutated vines tangled together in a frenzy over his heart—a grotesque ballet—and yet his expression remained detached and dull, so lifeless that it almost appeared beautiful.

He was nearly completely enveloped by the plants. There was hardly anything left of his body—

And yet, he was still conscious.

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