Ji Ping suddenly collided with Zhang Xiaohui; the event was truly unexpected. Zhang Xiaohui, naturally unprepared, cried out, "Ai ya," as she was struck squarely and tumbled to the ground, the stick of incense in her hand breaking, the bronze bell flying from her grasp.

Hearing Zhang Xiaohui’s cry, Wang Hai instinctively turned his head just in time to see both Ji Ping and her sprawled on the floor. Without a second thought, he turned and ran toward them, intending to help Zhang Xiaohui up.

But he hadn't anticipated that this movement would cause the four-person formation to instantly collapse. The old Daoist priest didn't even have time to grasp what was happening behind him before he sharply felt the pressure surge. At the exact moment Zhang Xiaohui fell and the incense broke and the bell was thrown, the snake-like grey smoke opposite suddenly expanded. The whirlwind previously contained within the sticky rice circle intensified rapidly, growing larger and larger. The sticky rice on the ground was scattered everywhere by the wind, and the talismans the old Daoist priest had cast seemed unable to suppress the fierce gale stirred up by the grey smoke.

Furthermore, as the grey smoke surged upward, the lightbulbs on the power lines overhead in the courtyard began to flicker incessantly. The candles arranged in the Bagua pattern swayed wildly in the wind, their flames blown almost parallel to the ground. Whether the candles were specially made or not, the leaping flames, which should have been easily extinguished by the strong wind, now struggled to maintain a meager burn.

The old Daoist priest pointed his dharma sword toward the candles, moved his hand through the air to sketch a talisman, and with another flick of the sword tip, hurled it toward the grey smoke.

The grey smoke, which had just lunged forward, was forced back by this very talisman.

Only then did the old Daoist priest manage to turn and ask, "What happened?"

Wang Hai had already helped Zhang Xiaohui up. He glanced with some dissatisfaction at Ji Ping, who was also getting up, and explained, "For some reason, Ji Ping knocked Xiaohui down."

Ji Ping lowered his head, brushing dirt off himself, and mumbled vaguely, "It felt like a force bumped me; I lost my footing."

In the haste, the old Daoist priest couldn't fully investigate the truth. He gritted his teeth, kept his dharma sword moving, and said through clenched teeth, "Wang Hai, sprinkle the rice. Xiaohui, go hide in the side room. Ji Ping, keep holding the banner."

As he spoke, he retreated behind the long table. Ji Ping reluctantly turned, retrieved the banner he had been holding, and continued to raise it, squinting at the old Daoist priest's every move.

Wang Hai watched Zhang Xiaohui run into the side room, then quickly hurried to the long table, picked up the small jar of sticky rice, reached in with a large hand, grabbed a handful, and scattered it into the wind.

The faintly howling whirlwind easily blew the scattered rice back. Wang Hai gritted his teeth, edged a few steps closer, and scattered another handful.

The old Daoist priest frowned: "Wang Hai, fall back, don't get too close."

As he was speaking, the grey smoke, which had been rising in the air, suddenly plummeted in a straight line toward the empty ground of the courtyard. What seemed formless now struck the ground with a deafening sound, as if it carried a thousand pounds of force. Everyone felt the ground beneath their feet shake violently, their footing nearly lost. All they heard was a rumbling sound, as if a localized earthquake had occurred.

Wang Hai was even knocked off his feet by the air current generated when the grey smoke hit the ground, feeling sharp pain in his ribs and elbow. The jar of rice clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces.

The old Daoist priest was greatly alarmed. Without another word, he shook his wrist, resting the sword against his back. With his other hand, he wiped across the table, revealing a yellow cloth that had been covering something. Beneath it lay five small flags of different colors. He snatched up a blue one, muttered a few words, and flung the small flag out.

The small flag appeared to be made of brocade. On the blue surface, obscure talismans were drawn in cinnabar. The entire flag was only the size of an adult's palm. To throw such a small flag into the howling, roaring whirlwind seemed impossible; even the large and sturdy Wang Hai probably couldn't manage it. The old Daoist priest, despite looking somewhat transcendent, had thin arms and legs, perhaps able to throw it only a few meters at most.

Just as this thought crossed Ji Ping's mind, he saw the small flag shoot out like an arrow, whistling as it cut through the wind, and in the blink of an eye, it flew directly to a spot not far in front of the grey smoke, embedding itself into the ground.

Perhaps his eyes were deceiving him, but Wang Hai, who had just gotten up, tilted his head to examine the small flag. It seemed to emit a faint, fluctuating blue halo, and the grey smoke recoiled sharply, as if afraid of the light emanating from the flag.

The old Daoist priest did not wait for the smoke's reaction; the second yellow flag was already hurled out, embedding itself to the left of where the grey smoke stood. Immediately after, the third green flag shot out, pinning itself to the right side of the grey smoke.

Instantly, the three small flags, with their three colorful halos, blocked the grey smoke from three directions, temporarily preventing it from advancing.

The old Daoist priest took up the last two small flags and threw them out, this time choosing the walls of the house.

Ji Ping then realized that when these two small flags struck the wall, the positions of the five flags completely sealed off the grey smoke’s forward path. Viewed together, it was as if the front half of the smoke had entered a pocket, unable to break through the front, left, or right—only able to retreat toward the roof.

However, the two flags stuck in the wall seemed to be sealing the smoke at its midsection. Although the grey smoke continued to writhe, the whirlwind gradually subsided.

Wang Hai narrowed his eyes, his expression fierce, and scooped up a handful of sticky rice from the ground, tossing it overhead toward the grey smoke.

This time, a large portion of the handful of rice struck the smoke.

"Roar..."

Unexpectedly, the grey smoke let out a sound upon being struck by the rice, sounding remarkably like an angry roar. Simultaneously, in the churning mist, a hideous human face suddenly appeared, vanishing in a blink, though the swirling fog continued its motion.

But the face in the mist startled Wang Hai. He instinctively retreated two steps and whispered to the old Daoist priest, "Daoist Priest, did you... see that?"

The old Daoist priest had been focused on the mist’s movements. Although the courtyard was lit only by the flickering candles in the wind, he had seen it clearly. Moreover, everyone in the courtyard had heard the roar filled with rage.

Previously, after exchanging blows with the grey smoke, Wang Hai's initial fear had gradually faded; he felt that ghosts and monsters were nothing special. But the sudden appearance of that bizarre face formed from the mist made him feel a chill down his spine; the hairs on his entire body stood on end. Asking that question was already a slight improvement in his courage.

The old Daoist priest stared grimly at the darting grey smoke, then turned to Wang Hai and said, "You take a banner and guard the rear; be careful of a counterattack."

Saying this, he pointed his dharma sword forward, sketching several talismans in the air and sending them toward the grey smoke once more.

Just before the talismans could reach the grey smoke, the courtyard suddenly brightened noticeably. Everyone instinctively looked up. A section of the dark clouds that had previously blanketed the sky had silently parted somewhere above, and a full moon appeared in the mid-air.

The moonlight illuminated a portion of the backyard, enveloping the windowless, doorless house. But looking up, the assembled group noticed that although the moon was large and round, seemingly close enough to touch, its light was dim and unclear, as if veiled by a gauze. Around the moon was a faint, dark red halo, looking extremely bizarre.

Wang Hai, who drove a taxi for years, understood some meteorological sayings. As the proverb goes: A moon halo brings wind, but that refers to a woolly moon, which also has a soft halo, not one that is dark red, resembling the color of dried blood.

The old Daoist priest's expression shifted as he looked at the full moon, and he blurted out, "Blood Moon..."

"When the Blood Moon appears, all evils arise."

This was merely legend, yet it manifested before them today. Before the old Daoist priest had finished speaking, the light in the courtyard changed, turning distinctly dark red. The halos emitted by the five small flags previously cast out were now barely visible under the scarlet moonlight. The previously confined grey smoke seemed liberated; in an instant, it split into several streams, breaking through the invisible barrier of the small flags and radiating outward in all directions, showing every sign of attempting to occupy the entire backyard.

At almost the same moment, the mass of dark cyan smoke entangled with the grey smoke suddenly separated from it, floating in the air like a pair of cold, observing eyes, watching the movements of everyone in the courtyard.

The old Daoist priest's expression showed unnameable astonishment. He swept his dharma sword through the air, drawing a fish-bone-like talisman, not aiming it at the smoke in the courtyard, but directly at the first small flag he had thrown.

Five successive talismans were shot toward the five small flags, and immediately, the halos emitted by the flags began to swell at a visible rate, seemingly on the verge of detaching from the flags and flying away.

The old Daoist priest continued drawing and casting talismans toward the five small flags, intending to enhance their power.

But just then, a sudden and shocking change occurred. Ji Ping, who had been standing braced against the wind holding the banner, suddenly dropped it and lunged toward the old Daoist priest.

The action was so abrupt that the completely unprepared old Daoist priest stumbled back several paces. However, the priest seemed practiced; this collision didn't make him fall, and he managed to brace himself with his feet to stabilize his stance.

But Ji Ping's intent wasn't just to knock the old Daoist priest down. After colliding with him, Ji Ping didn't slow down, heading straight for the spot where the small flags were embedded in the ground. He lifted a foot and kicked the first small blue flag away.

"You..." The old Daoist priest was startled.

Wang Hai was first stunned by Ji Ping's sudden move, then shouted, "Ji Ping, are you crazy?"

He started to move forward to stop Ji Ping from kicking the next flag, but he saw Ji Ping turn back, draw a gun from behind his waist, and point the black muzzle directly at Wang Hai, shouting, "Don't move."

The sight of the gun made Wang Hai involuntarily suck in a sharp breath. He instinctively halted, staring wide-eyed at Ji Ping, and asked unwillingly, "Ji Ping, what are you trying to do?"

Ji Ping narrowed his eyes, ignoring Wang Hai's question. He pointed the gun at Wang Hai, then at the old Daoist priest, and commanded, "Daoist Priest, I know you have abilities, but no matter how fast you are, you can't outrun a bullet. So... take it easy, don't overexert yourself, step back a bit."

The old Daoist priest's face turned extremely grim, but Ji Ping spoke the truth. He could only retreat two steps helplessly.

Ji Ping turned and kicked away the other two small flags. To the astonishment of the old Daoist priest and Wang Hai, the grey smoke seemed to recognize Ji Ping; as he passed, it actively parted to let him through. It was unclear how Ji Ping managed it, but he moved with ease amidst the chaotic whirlwind. He didn't seem concerned about the surrounding smoke, instead keeping a tight watch on the old Daoist priest and Wang Hai, wary of any move they might make to attack.

When he was about to destroy the small flags stuck in the wall, Ji Ping suddenly said to the old Daoist priest, "Daoist Priest, give me the sword in your hand; it's hurting my eyes to look at."

After destroying the small flags, Ji Ping kicked over the candles still burning in the wind, maintaining a defensive posture. Then he slowly walked back toward the vicinity of the long table with his gun raised, keeping a certain distance between himself and the old Daoist priest and Wang Hai.

"Why?" The old Daoist priest finally asked.

Ji Ping curled his lip: "Frankly, you don't need to know."

As they were speaking, a low gasp sounded from the side. Ji Ping glanced over and saw Zhang Xiaohui's silhouette flash inside the half-open door of the side room. At that very moment, the mass of dark cyan smoke floating in the air began to drift forward.

Ji Ping curled his lips upward and raised his voice, "Zhang Xiaohui, you had better come out, or I'll shoot your beloved dead."

Saying this, he raised his hand, pointing the muzzle of the gun at Wang Hai's head.