Ball

The wind battered the wooden windows with loud clatters, scattering the xuan paper across the table and sending it flying all over the room.

A refined, bearded man of around thirty entered, hurriedly shutting the doors and windows and gathering the papers. Outside came the furious howls of the gale, the eerie sound of torn window paper, then the crisp crash of roof tiles falling. He did not know whether anyone had been hurt.

Dragon-stinking ink clouds rolled like banners beneath the howling winds of the nine heavens. Before such terrible weather, life and death felt as thin as paper.

Yuan Xiu brushed the dust from atop his head, stirring more dust inside the room.

"Cough, cough..."

Yuan Xiu did not dare use his real name at the fortress. He was also helpless about the karmic debt his ancestors had incurred by offending a flood dragon.

He clearly lacked even the strength to truss a chicken, yet he bore a grudge against the most powerful and savage demon beast emperor in the world. No one would believe it if he told them. The affairs of this world were often that strange.

The ink in the inkstone had already dried, and the clear water in the copper basin had turned muddy. Neither could be used.

Outside, the gale wailed, and heaven and earth were darkened.

While watching from the city wall, Yang Xiu had seen the gray death qi above the zombie horde. It blotted out the sky and sun, letting no light through. It was said that a strong body could resist Filth Qi invading it, but a frail scholar like him would either die if he got too close or fall gravely ill. It was thoroughly sinister.

Yet there was a storm on the fortress's side, and he had