Wang Deyu was first. His trembling hand reached into the box. His fingers closed around the centipede. The body writhed against his palm. The legs tickled his skin. The mandibles clicked. He brought it to his mouth. He opened his lips. He placed the creature on his tongue.
He swallowed.
The centipede, alive, wriggling, slid down his throat. The legs scraped his esophagus. The mandibles clicked against his tonsils. The body, segmented and flexible, navigated his throat. He gagged. His eyes watered. His stomach convulsed.
Han Tianxiao followed. The scarred man, his face twisted with revulsion, placed the centipede in his mouth. He chewed. The body crunched. The fluid, dark and viscous, squirted across his tongue. He swallowed the remains. The legs, still twitching, scraped his throat on the way down.
