On his first night after transmigrating to Cangwu Marsh, eerie shadows knocked against his boat, whispering at the door.
Countless deathly pale arms clawed at the gunwales, while the shouts of hundreds of rowers rose from beneath the water.
Jiang Long opened the tattered ancestral blueprint and recited the long-lost sacrificial verses:
“Let the boat bear the noble souls, and the waters welcome the pure spirits. Let the rites be properly observed, and may each find peace.”
The ghostly shadows withdrew.
But they also exposed him.
And tore open the truth the Blackstone Tribe had concealed for a thousand years: black wood was no evil thing, and the dead were no wicked ghosts. It was the blood sacrifice itself that fed this endless calamity.
From that day on, he became the only variable under the rule of false gods.
Gather eight artifacts, forge a dragon boat, cross the Star Abyss, and return to the Ancestral Court.
He just hadn’t yet realized that the note engraved at the end of the tattered blueprint had never been a prophecy:
It was a letter from home, sent a thousand years ago.
Good-looking, taking Dragon Boat Festival culture as the starting point and integrating suspense reasoning