Before he even reached his doorstep, Old Yang heard the terrified screams of cattle and sheep from the street. Then, a flock of chickens and ducks actually fluttered their wings and flew out over the courtyard wall—impossible! How could domestic chickens and ducks fly that high?
What on earth had happened in the courtyard?!
Drawing a deep breath, Old Yang shoved open the courtyard gate.
The yard was utterly silent. There were no cries from his family, no wary shouts from the neighbors. This deathly stillness was more terrifying than any clamor.
Then they heard the crunch, crunch of chewing.
At some point, the black pigs that should have been in the sty had smashed through the railing. One of them had its head lowered, greedily tearing at a chicken carcass. With a toss of its massive head, it easily bit off the chicken's head and eagerly sucked the blood from its cavity.
It seemed to sense its master's return and slowly raised its head. Those eyes that should have been docile were now a solid crimson. A low, threatening snort rumbled from its throat as it reluctantly shifted its bloated body aside.
And so, Old Yang and Yang Dashan saw it.
They saw the mangled corpse lying in a pool of blood.
It was his old wife.
Her entire head was gone, and her chest cavity had been gnawed clean. Her graying spine was mixed into the thick blood, splattered in every direction, forming an ever-expanding pool.
Several goats, their bodies visibly swollen to nearly twice their size, were lowering their heads to lap at the blood on the ground. They too lifted their heads, gazing at the two trembling, deathly pale men—who were on the verge of vomiting—with the same crimson, emotionless eyes.
"Mother!" Yang Dashan let out