Grandpa Bought the Knife on Credit, and I Have to Pay It Back with My Life

Before my grandfather died, he left me a rusty paper knife and a yellowed account book. I thought it was the old man's fetish for relics, until a man in gray came to my door and mummified an old lady's three-year lifespan in front of me. There are forty-seven credit orders recorded in the ledger, and the ransom for each payment is life, memory, and luck. And in the last one, the credit recipient has my name written on it. The ransom was blotted out in ink. But the man in gray said: Don't ask what the knife cost, ask, it's because you can't afford it. Later I learned that for every knife my grandfather gave out on credit, someone had to pay for it with his life. He didn't pay it back, so it was my turn.