What Era Is This, and You're Still Cultivating the Traditional Way?

What Era Is This, and You're Still Cultivating the Traditional Way? The next morning.

Lin Hao slowly opened his eyes, raising a weak hand to shield himself from the sunlight overhead.

What happened?

Why had he passed out again?

No!

Ghosts!

With a sudden jolt, Lin Hao sprang up from the ground. Spiritual energy surged through his body, and the longsword in his hand let out a roar.

But once he saw his surroundings clearly, his expression turned even uglier.

A village?

There was no way this could be a village.

Because all around him was a graveyard!

Gravestones stood one after another where the village should have been.

Strange, incomprehensible characters were carved into the gravestones.

A breeze swept past, carrying bone-deep chill.

Even Lin Hao, whose body was already wrapped in spiritual energy, could not help feeling a shiver run down his spine.

No energy fluctuations?

It seemed even the so-called sounds had vanished.

Carefully watching his surroundings, Lin Hao moved forward as he pondered what had happened last night.

Only after completely leaving that cluster of graves did he finally let out a long breath.

That place had been far too bizarre.

As he gently wiped the sweat from his forehead, Lin Hao's hand suddenly froze.

This is...

On the back of his left hand was a pale marking.

The pattern seemed to depict a person—a woman, at that.

Drops of crimson interwove across it in a scattered pattern, making it look utterly eerie.

A curse of some kind?

The voice of that thing from last night flashed through Lin Hao's mind. He lowered his gaze to the back of his hand and guessed.

He had never expected that simply passing through a place would land him in something like this.

There might have been plenty of