A bloody footprint gradually appeared on the rim of the well.
Then a second.
A third.
The footprints were wet. They stepped onto the bluestone slabs, leaving clear marks.
They circled the well, one step at a time, unhurried.
Their range slowly widened with them: one foot, two feet, three...
Old Liu stared wide-eyed as the footprints drew closer and closer. A guttural sound rattled in his throat, but he wanted to cry out and couldn't.
When the footprints reached him, they suddenly stopped.
Chen Mo backed up onto the steps, narrowing his eyes as he stared fixedly toward the well.
The moonlight was still blood-red, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something stood there, looking down at Old Liu on the ground.
A few seconds later, Old Liu's body suddenly stirred.
A bloody footprint appeared on his chest, as if someone had stepped on him.
Old Liu jolted violently, letting out a muffled groan.
Soon another footprint appeared on his stomach, then his legs, his arms, his face...
One after another, they covered him densely, as though an invisible person were pacing all over his body.
His eyes bulged as if they were about to split. His body convulsed violently, but all he could manage was a muffled whimper.
The ropes binding his limbs dug deep into his flesh, leaving purplish-red welts.
When the last bloody footprint landed on Old Liu's forehead, his body suddenly stiffened—and then vanished into thin air.
All that remained was a heap of hemp rope, lying empty on the bluestone slabs.
The courtyard was eerily quiet.
Whimpering came from the corner. The Sharp-Mouthed Clerk frantically tried to scoot backward, but the wall behind him stopped him.
Chen Mo frowned and stared at the heap of rope for a while, then looked up at