By the following evening, the typhoon was still raging.
Zhang Siyu had gotten ready first thing that morning, carrying her bulging backpack—it contained a raincoat, a flashlight, a power bank, a bottle of mineral water, a pack of compressed biscuits, and a can of pepper spray.
She had started calling for Wen Ning to get up shortly after six.
Wen Ning looked over the equipment Zhang Siyu had brought and fell silent for two seconds when he spotted the pepper spray.
"What did you bring that for?"
Zhang Siyu replied with perfect conviction.
"What if the flood dragon can't handle spicy stuff?"
Wen Ning realized he actually had no way to refute that.
After all, he had never seen a flood dragon eat chili peppers.
The Canglang River lay east of the city. It was the largest inland river in the region and connected to the sea. Usually, its broad surface and gentle current, with weeping willows lining both banks, made it a favorite spot for elderly people to stroll and play chess.
But when Wen Ning reached the bank that day, even he was shocked by the sight before him.
A dense layer of black vapor steamed above the river—a visible miasma formed when baleful energy condensed beyond a certain point.
It churned and rolled against the water's surface, like a pot of boiling water with ten bottles of ink poured into it.
Every so often, the glint of dark green scales flashed deep within that ink. Of course, ordinary people could not see the black vapor.
To them, the Canglang River was simply rough and windy that day, its water a little muddy.
But to cultivators with spiritual perception, the visual impact of that black vapor was intensely jarring.
An analogy sprang unbidden into Wen Ning's mind: it