Beneath the ice, the skeleton's middle finger still stubbornly stuck upright. Lin Mo, squatting by the well, beamed. "Miss Zhou, I actually admire your temper." He fished a small porcelain bottle from his pocket and dripped two drops of clear liquid onto the ice. "Here's some hand cream for you. You wouldn't have had such a good thing back in the Republic of China."

The moment the liquid touched the ice, the skeleton's finger snapped back. Lin Mo was about to boast when he felt a chill on the back of his neck—

A damp strand of hair dangled from the back of his neck, its tip still dripping with black water.