The sound issuing from Feng Tian's mouth was merely a high-pitched yet lingering shriek, but quickly, both Kuang Feifan and Ji Ping found their vision blurring, the scene before them swaying precariously. Simultaneously, their ears were filled with a persistent ringing, stirring a sense of panic in both men. Why was this happening? Had Feng Tian's method failed, or was something else amiss?

Yet, Kuang Feifan could not concentrate enough to contemplate at that moment; he couldn't even feel his ears registering any sound—not even the sound of his own breath or heartbeat. Ji Ping was experiencing much the same, both men staggering drunkenly, feeling as if everything around them was relentlessly spinning.

Ji Ping had already collapsed onto the ground, trembling violently, his entire body locked in a ** state. Kuang Feifan seemed slightly better off, though his mind was utterly clouded. However, the prayer beads on his wrist suddenly began to grow intensely hot, preserving a sliver of lucidity in his deepest consciousness. Relying on this fragile thread of sanity, he bit down hard on his tongue. The sharp pain and the taste of salt and brine flooding his mouth made Kuang Feifan flinch involuntarily.

This bite did have an effect; the blurring scenery in his eyes gradually sharpened, and the heavy fog in his brain began to lift. Furthermore, the searing pain from his wrist counteracted the strange numbness creeping through his body. Before regaining full awareness, Kuang Feifan hurriedly checked the pavilion. His gaze snapped to Feng Tian and he saw the man, still hanging upside down, twitching spasmodically as if electrocuted. Feng Tian’s mouth was pursed, emitting the shriek, yet his eyes were wide open, filled with an indescribable terror—a look Kuang Feifan realized he had never seen on Feng Tian before. Did he not know what was happening either?

“Feng Tian, this…” Kuang Feifan managed to utter before clamping his mouth shut, realizing that for some reason, his voice was so raspy that even exerting all his effort, only he could hear it.

At that moment, he also noticed that Feng Tian’s wide-eyed stare wasn't fixed on him; his gaze was directed somewhere outside the pavilion. A thought struck Kuang Feifan, and he quickly followed Feng Tian’s line of sight. Instantly, a look of sheer dread crossed his own face. Standing stiffly not too far from the pavilion was a figure. Under the dim streetlight, it was discernible as a woman, though her attire was peculiar—it appeared to be a qipao.

Due to the poor visibility, the woman's true appearance remained unclear. Stranger still, the skin visible beneath the qipao seemed black, and she appeared so emaciated that only skin and bone remained.

Kuang Feifan couldn't help but shift his gaze to her face, but it was obscured by long, dark hair. In the hazy light, he thought he could glimpse a pair of pale white eyes hidden beneath the shroud of black tresses.

As his mind cleared further, Kuang Feifan simultaneously registered that the maddening shriek wasn't coming from Feng Tian alone. Within that indescribable sound, there seemed to be the blend of another voice—a screech wrenched out as if forced from the very depths of a throat—and this second source was the woman outside the pavilion.

With the situation having escalated, the willow branches were now useless. Gritting his teeth, Kuang Feifan staggered to Feng Tian’s side, maneuvered behind him, and after considerable effort, finally managed to untie the knot binding Feng Tian’s hands behind his back. He then snatched the prayer beads from his own wrist, spat the remnants of blood onto them, murmured an apology, and thrust the blood-soaked beads into Feng Tian’s still-pursed, round mouth.

In an instant, Feng Tian's look shifted from terror to utter despair, his facial muscles contorting in extreme pain. But Kuang Feifan could not focus on this. Losing the beads felt like losing his last shield. Even though Feng Tian stopped shrieking upon swallowing them, it did nothing to alleviate the agonizing sound tormenting them. It turned out the woman’s voice was the true weapon. A piercing screech echoed from where the woman stood, stabbing into the pavilion. Waves of searing pain shot through Kuang Feifan’s skull, forcing him to crouch down. Tears began streaming uncontrollably. He found it unimaginable; in all his memories, even fearing childhood vaccinations, he had never cried before the needle—yet here and now, he was weeping because of this horrific sound.

Of course, he had no time for reflection. All he wanted was for the sound to cease immediately. He longed to lunge forward, cover the woman’s mouth, or even strangle her.

In agony, Kuang Feifan instinctively gripped his own head with both hands, his fingernails digging deeply into his skin and muscle. He found that this self-inflicted pain seemed to lessen the suffering caused by the sound. Because of this relief, the fleeting thought that had crossed his mind moments before began to expand infinitely; the urge to kill the woman surged through his entire being like a tidal wave.

While Kuang Feifan remained hunched over, Ji Ping, who had been lying motionless, slowly began to push himself up. His expression was vacant, like carved wood or hardened clay. As he straightened, he suddenly lunged toward Feng Tian.

Unexpectedly, just as Ji Ping was about to reach Feng Tian, the crouching Kuang Feifan abruptly released his head, shot up, and bolted forward like a hungry tiger, intercepting Ji Ping. Without a moment's hesitation, he reached out and clamped his hands around Ji Ping’s throat. In that instant, he didn't realize he was choking Ji Ping; he only perceived the woman in the qipao. His sole driving thought was to make her vanish before his eyes, a notion that burned through him like a wildfire, radiating an aura of violent rage.

The moment Kuang Feifan’s hands connected with Ji Ping’s neck, Ji Ping reacted with surprising agility, twisting around to face Kuang Feifan, raising both hands, and clamping them around Kuang Feifan’s throat in return.

Thus, they seized each other’s necks almost simultaneously, showing no quarter, applying maximum force from the start, like two sworn enemies destined for mutual destruction. Both were fully committed to killing the other.

All this was witnessed by Feng Tian, still suspended upside down. Frankly, he felt a surge of regret, but there was no buying back time in this world. Fortunately, Kuang Feifan had unbound his hands. Forgoing the need to dislodge the beads from his mouth, Feng Tian exerted his waist, folding his upper body down towards his legs. He gripped the rope binding his feet, a movement so contorted it was agonizing, but the emergency demanded nothing less than all or nothing—a perfect description of their current predicament.

Fortunately, Ji Ping had never studied the art of knot-tying. Despite considerable effort, the binding knots finally gave way, and Feng Tian was finally freed from his inverted prison.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the world spun violently; the period of cerebral congestion had lasted too long for anyone to endure. His feet on the floor felt like stepping on cotton, and Feng Tian’s legs buckled, causing him to slump to the ground.

He desperately wanted to lie down and stay put, but the muffled grunts mixed with labored breathing nearby reminded him that two other men were striving to kill each other. The pervasive shriek echoing within the pavilion simultaneously told him that the woman in the qipao was still outside, and she was the cause of everything.

"I suppose, in the end, it falls to this old man to solve the problem alone," Feng Tian muttered inwardly. Pushing up with his hands, he crawled toward a pillar in the corner of the pavilion, where a small handbag rested. This was his streamlined toolkit. He left the prayer beads in his mouth; while admittedly revolting, it was the best solution. Even if it couldn't expel the residual soul hidden within him, the spiritual energy contained in the beads could effectively suppress it, preventing him from losing control of his own body.

Naturally, the prayer beads hadn't been fully effective because the purity of Kuang Feifan’s tongue-tip blood was insufficient. Feng Tian preferred not to dwell on it; thinking too deeply about the matter was simply too nauseating.

The immediate priority was separating Kuang Feifan and Ji Ping. This was difficult given his current physical state; those two possessed professional physical conditioning. At best, Feng Tian only exercised occasionally; in a straight fistfight, he reckoned he and Ji Ping combined wouldn't be a match for either of them.

Sometimes brute force fails, requiring intellect instead. Even with blood rushing to his head, he could still devise a plan. Feng Tian retrieved a long, large, high-intensity flashlight from the tool bag. The heavy weight of it in his hand immediately gave him a sense of security.

Glancing back, Feng Tian grimaced. Ji Ping currently seemed to have the upper hand, pinning Kuang Feifan underneath him, his hands clamped firmly around Kuang Feifan’s throat. The man beneath was no less ferocious, his own fingers nearly buried in Ji Ping’s flesh.

Both their faces were flushed crimson from suffocation, presenting a terrifying sight. In truth, had they not already been physically exhausted and weakened by their prior ordeals, one of them would surely have already died.

But if he didn't intervene immediately, death was imminent. Feng Tian was certain he lacked the strength to pry their hands apart. He needed a suitable weapon. He managed to pull himself up from the floor, clutching the flashlight, and raised it with a two-handed grip, preparing to smash it down onto Ji Ping's head.

However, just as he raised his hand, Feng Tian felt a surge of inexplicable force well up inside him, churning violently within his body. The unbearable discomfort forced him to double over, clutching his abdomen.

Simultaneously, the figure of the qipao-clad woman standing outside the pavilion abruptly vanished. In the blink of an eye, she materialized on the stone steps of the pavilion, and he hadn't noticed her arrival at all. He was left exposed, appearing ready to surrender, allowing the woman in the qipao to slowly approach him.