Three months later, at Guangling.
Over a mountain, a crowd of villagers holding torches and farm tools as weapons slowly surrounded a patch of woods on the mountain.
There was a nameless graveyard atop the mountain, which hadn't been peaceful for the past few months. Having been continuously haunted by ghosts, the villagers down the mountain couldn't take it any longer and asked a few cultivators who were passing by to go up the mountain together and destroy the root of the hauntings.
As dusk fell, the chirps of insects grew even clearer. Rustles now and then came from within the waist-high grass, as though some unknown creature lurked within, ready to attack. But when one parted the grass nervously, casting the torch light on it, it'd prove to be another false alarm.
Holding swords, the cultivators led the villagers carefully across the grass and into the woods.
Right inside the forest was the graveyard. The tombstones made of either stone or wood were partly falling and partly fallen. Dark, gloomy winds blew across the scene. Exchanging a look, the cultivators took out their talismans and prepared to start exorcising the spirits. Seeing their calm composure, a few of the villagers let out a sigh of relief, inferring that the situation shouldn't be too difficult.
But before the were relieved for long, they heard a loud slam. A badly mutilated corpse crashed into a pile of dirt before them.
The villager closest to the pile of dirt shrieked, throwing his torch as he scrambled away. Immediately after, a second, a third, and a fourth bloody corpse had landed as well. Almost as if raining down from the sky, the corpses fell to the ground ceaselessly. Screams at once echoed throughout the woods. The cultivators had never seen such a situation before, but they remained unafraid despite the shock. The leader shouted, "Don't run! Don't panic! It's only a few small ghosts..."
Before he finished, as though his neck had been strangled, his voice was cut off.
He saw a tree.
A person sat on on the tree, dangling a slice of his black robes. A slim, black boot swung lightly back and forth, in a relaxed, almost amused way.
Beside the person's waist was a dark, gleaming flute, and below the flute hung a blood-red tassel, swishing slowly alongside his leg.
The cultivators' expressions changed at once.
The villagers had originally been losing their minds. With the shout, just as they felt somewhat soothed, they saw the pale-faced cultivators and bolted at once, rushing out of the woods and down the mountain like a gust of wind. They abandoned the cultivators with the assumption that there must be some terrible creature atop the mountain that these cultivators couldn't even manage. Within the blink of an eye, they scattered like a crowd of frightened animals. One of the villagers ran a bit slower, falling behind as he tripped on the ground, eating a mouthful of mud. He thought he was dead for sure, having ended up alone, but he suddenly saw a young man in white stand before him. His eyes immediately lit up.
Hanging a sword at his waist, the man seemed like he was enveloped in a hazy light, almost heavenly amid the dark forest. He didn't seem like the average person. The villager hurried to call for help, "Young Master! Young Master! Help me, there's a ghost! H-H-Hurry and..."
Before he finished, another corpse landed in front of him. The bleeding features stared straight into his eyes.
Just as the villager was about to pass out from fear, the man said one word to him, "Go."
It was only a single word, but the villager felt a inexplicable sense of ease, almost as though he was saved from death. Strength suddenly gushed back into his body as he crawled up and fled without looking back.
