In the County Seat, candles shone brightly inside a quiet, spacious residence.
Several cultivators sat around a table-Daoists, martial artists, and scholars-discussing how to deal with the Ghost Plague that had lately been running rampant.
Several documents lay on the table, their ink still fresh, densely recording recent traces of the Ghost Plague in the surrounding area.
A young cultivator stared at the paper in his hands, turning it over and studying it for a long while.
Unable to help himself, he leaned toward an elderly man in a gray robe beside him.
Lowering his voice, he pointed at the document.
"Fellow Daoist, I've been looking through this for ages. Why are there so few Heretic Cultivators around here? It's strangely peaceful."
The old man stroked his beard and smiled, the candlelight deepening the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, legend has it that a Celestial Person descended into this world. Heretic Cultivators from all over heard the news and pursued and intercepted them on the River. Who would have guessed there was a black Flood Dragon in those waters?"
"Some of the Heretic Cultivators died, others were injured. Things became even stranger afterward. Some went astray in their cultivation, some were bitten by venomous snakes while walking and died by the roadside, and others were sleeping perfectly peacefully in their rooms when a roof beam suddenly collapsed and crushed them to death."
"Gradually, things became peaceful."
He paused, lifted his teacup, and took a small sip.
"There's another rumor, too. Supposedly, those Heretic Cultivators were cursed."
The young cultivator's interest was immediately piqued. He was curious about what the Flood Dragon looked like and what that curse had been.
But they were discussing how to resolve the Ghost Plague. He would