He Yiming was naturally unmoved in the slightest. He let out a loud laugh and declared, "Are you perhaps losing your mind? What thousand-year catastrophe are you talking about?"

Though He Yiming desperately wanted to slay him on the spot, he was intensely curious about this "thousand-year catastrophe" that could drive the three of them to abandon everything, even the Coagulation Blood Bead. If he could extract the details from the man’s lips, He Yiming certainly wouldn't object.

Zhu Guanhao froze for a moment, clearly astonished that someone who had already entered Ghost Cry Ridge remained completely oblivious to the matter of the thousand-year catastrophe.

However, this brief moment of shock allowed his mind to cool down just a little.

As if sensing the stillness behind him, Zhu Guanhao abruptly spun around. He scrutinized the situation behind him and the density of the surrounding black mist. Slowly, the tension in his heart finally eased.

Yet, just as he managed to catch his breath, his heart clenched, and when he turned back, his eyes were suddenly clear and sharp.

"Who are you, and why do you stand in my way?" he stated calmly.

When He Yiming had spoken with them earlier, his entire body had been concealed within the black mist, and he had used the Forked Sword, altering his accent. But the figure standing before him now held a massive Guandao, and his voice had changed once more.

No matter how intelligent Zhu Guanhao was, he could not connect this man with the mysterious assassin from the mist.

He swung the great Guandao, unleashing immense power that surged through the air.

He Yiming announced loudly, "This mountain I cleared, this tree I planted. If you wish to pass this way, leave the toll money behind."

Zhu Guanhao’s mouth gaped open. After a long pause, he burst out in humiliated fury, "Your martial cultivation is unfathomably profound, yet you resort to the petty tricks of a roadside brigand? Do you fear no stain upon your honor?"

He Yiming chuckled darkly, "I rob travelers based on who they are. I only prey on those sneaky villains who only seek self-interest—I turn the black-hearted against themselves."

A flicker of an unusual light instantly crossed Zhu Guanhao’s eyes. His heart rate abruptly doubled. There was an unspoken meaning in the man’s words, suggesting he already knew of Zhu Guanhao’s recent actions, striking right at the core of his concerns, leaving him quite unnerved.

Hesitating briefly, Zhu Guanhao managed to compose himself. "Since you are blocking the road to rob me, how much silver do you require?"

He Yiming spat disdainfully, "I don't want silver. I want one specific item you possess."

"What do you want?" Zhu Guanhao’s face darkened. He gently caressed the fan in his hand, as if drawing strength from it—a rather unsettling gesture.

He Yiming’s eyes widened, "I want to borrow your head—to offer it as a sacrifice to those Three Flower realm masters you slaughtered."

A deafening roar erupted in Zhu Guanhao’s mind; his expression became utterly ghastly. At this point, he understood completely: the person before him truly knew every detail of their movements.

Instantly, fierce killing intent flashed in Zhu Guanhao's eyes. His elegant features contorted into something monstrous and terrifying. His figure blurred, and he struck first.

He stepped forward, and the fan in his hand snapped open with a swish, rotating in a peculiar manner.

His fan seemed imbued with a power capable of manipulating the very Qi of heaven and earth. Every slight rotation caused intense fluctuations. In mere moments, the nearby black mist began to swirl violently, as if a tornado had suddenly struck a vast ocean, whipping up monstrous waves that sucked everything into their vortex.

He Yiming’s eyes brightened slightly. He clearly perceived the forces at play within the fan: the power of wind, and the power of water. It was as if Zhu Guanhao, through this magical artifact, had merged the Flower of Wind and the Flower of Water—analogous to his own Wind and Fire integration—creating an entirely new Wind-Water technique.

Feeling the immense force relentlessly compressing toward the center, He Yiming snorted in anger. He raised the Guandao in his hand and drove it straight down into the ground.

The surrounding space seemed to violently convulse. The endless black mist, as if fiercely provoked, recoiled backward. He Yiming and the Guandao in his grasp stood like an unmovable pillar driven into the ocean waves, utterly unaffected by the gale and deluge.

Zhu Guanhao's eyes were filled with venomous hatred. If his former friends saw his expression now, they surely would not believe their own eyes. These were eyes that had become infinitely close to demonic, the colors of human emotion faded almost to the point of vanishing.

He gasped, drawing breath like a bellows being violently worked.

He Yiming’s heart faltered slightly, a trace of worry flashing across his gaze. He had seen this exact expression more than once since entering Ghost Cry Ridge. Each time, it had been linked to an unpleasant memory. He had witnessed this look on those who had lost their sanity and devolved into complete madness.

Instantly, He Yiming understood. Perhaps it was due to the prolonged exposure in Ghost Cry Ridge, perhaps a lingering kernel of guilt remained in his heart, or perhaps it was the influence of the so-called "thousand-year catastrophe" just mentioned—in any case, Zhu Guanhao could no longer withstand the immense psychological pressure, allowing the Yin Sha energy to invade his body, showing the initial signs of impending madness.

He watched the man silently, a wave of profound contemplation surging through He Yiming.

Good deeds are rewarded; evil deeds meet their consequence. Zhu Guanhao and his two companions had framed nine Three Flower realm masters, driving them all mad; now it was his turn—perhaps this was poetic justice served without fail.

However, Zhu Guanhao had not yet fully succumbed to madness; his consciousness had not entirely vanished. His sole remaining thought was to slay this man who knew of their plot right here and now.

The surrounding gigantic waves began to boil once more, the powers of wind and water perfectly intertwined at this moment. Just like He Yiming’s Flower of Wind and Fire Fusion, they formed a distinctly different, formidable power. Wind carried water; water carried wind, instantaneously forming a massive vortex within the black mist, radiating inexorable suction that thoroughly churned everything around it.

The jewel on the fan pendant began to glow fiercely, apparently reacting to the shock of the Wind-Water fusion. Its brilliance was now almost equal to the luminosity of the Hundred and Eight’s eyes.

He Yiming was inwardly alarmed. Witnessing Zhu Guanhao’s true strength, he realized this man’s martial cultivation had likewise reached the apex of the tripartite balance. If Hao Xue, Fang Sheng, and Zhu Guanhao could walk together and call each other confidants, there could not be a vast gap in their martial prowess. Zhu Guanhao had simply refrained from showing it, but when he cast aside everything and went all out, the sheer might of his Wind-Water amalgamation was enough to give any master a terrible headache.

The surroundings were saturated with Wind-Water energy. The boundless black mist surged like waves lifted by a great storm, threatening to completely overturn and drown He Yiming. If He Yiming had faced this barehanded, he certainly could not have emerged safely from this vortex that felt like the center of a raging sea. Even drawing upon the Heaven-Flipping Seal or the Nine Dragon Furnace now felt somewhat rushed.

But with the great Guandao in hand, He Yiming was filled with boundless heroism. Forget a mere fusion of Wind and Water—even if Hao Xue and Fang Sheng were both present, facing the three of them combined, He Yiming possessed the absolute confidence to fight them and emerge victorious.

This confidence manifested directly in his spirit. When He Yiming wrenched the Guandao free from the ground, his aura erupted like a volcanic explosion.

With a tremendous crash, He Yiming raised the Guandao high and brought it down in a strike aimed directly at the dragon's lair. The blade, held aloft, also shimmered with brilliant light, in no way dimmer than the jewel on the opponent's fan pendant.

Thirty-Six Styles of Mountain Cleaving, the Twenty-Fourth Style…

When this single blow descended, using the Guandao as its core, the sheer majesty of it seemed capable of cleaving the heavens and splitting the earth, cutting everything in two.

Zhu Guanhao let out a sound bordering on savage ferocity. Under normal circumstances, with his mind sound, even killing him would not have induced him to meet He Yiming’s technique head-on. But now, his mind was chaotic, his very consciousness severely impacted. Though his instincts recognized the extraordinary nature of the impending blow, he did not retract his move or retreat. Instead, he roared wildly, his eyes shining with mania, seemingly unable to wait to charge forward.

Chii…

It sounded like fabric being ripped by scissors, or a blade scraping against armor—an extremely grating noise echoed at that moment. The overwhelmingly powerful Guandao chopped down ferociously, cleaving the entire vortex from top to bottom in two halves.

A massive boom resonated outward, countless residual shockwaves spreading like ripples. Following this collision, even the black mist in the air thinned considerably. Under the pressure of the immense force, Zhu Guanhao’s knees buckled, and he nearly fell. He instinctively staggered backward, only to be hit by the powerful aftershock. His chest tightened, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.

However, the blood he expelled was pitch black, a horrifying sight. Yet, after spitting out this blood, a spark of clarity returned to his eyes. That look of impending collapse and mental dissolution completely vanished. He Yiming's strike had not only shattered Zhu Guanhao’s most cherished martial technique but had also shocked his consciousness back from the brink of losing control.

Even He Yiming hadn't anticipated such an outcome. But he felt no regret. Whether Zhu Guanhao was lucid or insane, He Yiming possessed the absolute certainty that he could leave him here forever.

He raised the Guandao once more and surged forward, tracking Zhu Guanhao like a shadow. The sharp blade light flashed, resembling the blazing morning sun illuminating the land, enveloping Zhu Guanhao completely.