Ji Ping raised his hand, the muzzle of the gun pointing directly at Wang Hai’s head, which sent Zhang Xiaohui, hiding in the side room, into a state of extreme tension. The scene in the courtyard filled her with dread, yet looking at the dark, gaping muzzle aimed at her fiancé’s head, she was overwhelmingly worried for Wang Hai’s safety. Finally, she let out a soft gasp, “Don’t…” and hesitantly took small steps toward the doorway.

At the same time, the mass of bluish-gray mist, which had been slowly drifting toward the door, was rapidly closing in on Zhang Xiaohui, clearly intending to devour her.

An expression of anxiety crossed Wang Hai’s face, his eyes blazing with fury. He desperately wanted to lunge at Ji Ping, but the old Daoist priest intentionally or unintentionally stood in his way. Though the Daoist’s expression also showed urgency and anger, he spoke to Wang Hai in an extremely low voice, “Patience.”

Before Wang Hai could grasp the meaning of the old Daoist’s words, Ji Ping suddenly stiffened all over. He couldn't react in time as a sharp sound of air splitting abruptly pierced his ears—a "swoosh"—followed immediately by a heavy impact against his wrist from something hard. A jolt of intense pain shot through him, causing the gun to drop instantly.

Ji Ping’s face changed, and his gaze flickered as he realized the object that struck his wrist was a stone, about the size of a quail egg. Its sharp edges had already lacerated his wrist, which was instantly bleeding profusely. The force of the impact made his wrist throb as if it were broken. Instinctively, he clutched it with his other hand and looked up, trying to find the person who had thrown the stone.

Before he could locate the hidden assailant, another strange noise erupted from behind him, accompanied by a sudden rush of wind. Without turning his head, a dark silhouette shot out from behind him. A hand, flat as a blade, struck the gun in his injured hand, and the weapon, already unsteady due to the pain, was knocked to the ground.

Shock and rage warring within him, Ji Ping dodged a punch aimed at his face and, focusing his eyes, couldn't help but exclaim, “Kuang Feifan?”

His voice was startling in the night air. Wang Hai, not far off, instinctively looked over when he heard the shout. Despite the dire situation, he was startled by the person who had appeared beside Ji Ping. By the dim light remaining in the courtyard, he saw that the man’s clothes were tattered, riddled with countless large and small holes. His explosive hair stood nearly straight up, and his face was unrecognizable, mottled black and gray. If not for the pair of eyes that still shone brightly, one would never have believed it was a living person. This man was none other than Kuang Feifan, previously trapped in the unknown realm.

Seeing that Ji Ping had evaded his punch, Kuang Feifan crouched low, snatched the gun from the ground, flipped his wrist, and held it firmly. He stepped back two paces, raising the weapon to point it at Ji Ping.

However, the momentarily disadvantaged Ji Ping was not easily subdued. Before Kuang Feifan could fully raise the gun, Ji Ping straightened up and launched a kick directly toward Kuang Feifan, his face contorted in a ferocious snarl.

But just as his leg lifted, not yet exerting its full force, the sharp sound of air splitting echoed again. A stone accurately struck Ji Ping’s ankle bone. Another spike of intense pain made Ji Ping grunt, and he pulled his leg back, looking toward the source of the stone.

On the wall of the backyard, Feng Tianzheng sat astride the parapet, equally disheveled. A slingshot, clearly capable of delivering significant force, was aimed precisely at Ji Ping’s position, the rear elastic pulled taut, watching Ji Ping’s next move intently.

This sequence of events transpired in the blink of an eye. Ji Ping narrowed his eyes, still struggling to formulate a counter-strategy, when the dense gray smoke inside the courtyard seemed to sense the shift in circumstances. The whirlwind that had been circling on the ground instantly accelerated, and a howling roar filled the courtyard as it spun and darted around, its immediate target fixed on Kuang Feifan, who held the gun, and the old Daoist priest, who remained standing with his sword drawn.

Kuang Feifan raised an eyebrow but didn't look at the whirlwind rushing toward him. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Ji Ping and coldly spat out two words: "Don't move."

Feng Tianzheng, perched on the wall, saw the situation, kept his eyes on Ji Ping, and raised his voice in warning: "Old Daoist, be careful protecting Kuang Feifan."

In truth, he didn't need to speak. The old Daoist priest had already raised his sword level when the wind suddenly rose, rapidly drawing two talismans in the air and sending them toward the whirlwind sweeping toward Kuang Feifan. Simultaneously, he drew a circle on the ground with his toe, bit his tongue until it bled, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the edge of the circle.

It seemed the blood had an effect. The whirlwind rushing toward the old Daoist abruptly halted, changed direction, and, as if possessing awareness, moved sideways, planning to bypass him and attack from another angle.

Feng Tian frowned. Seeing that Kuang Feifan appeared to have subdued Ji Ping, he paused, then flipped off the wall into the courtyard. He tucked the slingshot behind his waist, reached into the satchel slung over his back, pulled out a bottle, and began unscrewing the cap while moving toward Kuang Feifan’s position, splashing the contents of the bottle everywhere.

Kuang Feifan was very familiar with what was inside the bottle and instinctively wrinkled his nose.

Opposite them, Ji Ping didn't know what the substance was, but he quickly detected the faint, acrid stench permeating the air, immediately understanding what it must be, and his heart sank.

As if encountering their natural nemesis, the whirlwinds circulating the courtyard, upon encountering the substance Feng Tian poured out, scattered as if seeing a cat flee a mouse, sharply veering away. However, the whirlwind surrounding the old Daoist priest seemed relentless, changing direction but still intending to lunge at him.

Not only that, but the mass of bluish-gray mist nearby, seemingly conscious of the situation, noticed that everyone in the courtyard was preoccupied. It seized the opportunity to continue drifting toward Zhang Xiaohui. The churning mist seemed to bare fangs and claws, determined to catch up to her.

At this moment, Wang Hai was beside himself with anxiety. Watching the old Daoist and the others grapple with the numerous bizarre winds, he felt utterly helpless, confined to hiding behind the Daoist. He was already distressed by his inability to assist, and then, catching sight of Zhang Xiaohui’s increasingly perilous situation in his periphery, a sharp, piercing pain struck his heart. He couldn't help but let out a roar, stiffened his body, and prepared to charge toward Zhang Xiaohui.

In fact, he hadn't even considered that even if he rushed over, he would have no effective means to stop the mist from reaching her; it was purely instinct driving him to go, even if it was only to stand in front of her.

His shout was certainly loud enough and immediately drew the attention of everyone in the courtyard. The old Daoist looked back and saw Wang Hai’s action. He gasped, tried to reach out to stop him, but was a step too late. He could only twist his wrist, drawing a talisman in the air with his sword and directing it at the bluish-gray mist. Unfortunately, due to the haste, the talisman flew astray like a misfired arrow, grazing the mist and heading elsewhere.

But this change in maneuver left the whirlwind that had been encircling him without its barrier. Instantly, the small, individual whirlwinds twisted and converged, swelling into several small tornados that roared menacingly toward the old Daoist priest.

And it wasn't just the wind in front of the old Daoist; the several gusts that had been wandering unpredictably around the courtyard also began to converge at this moment, their target aimed squarely at Kuang Feifan, who still held the gun—clearly marking him as the next threat.

It was evident that these seemingly moderate tornados contained unimaginable power. The old Daoist only retreated a single step too slowly; the edge of a tornado swept past his arm, and as if slashed by a sharp blade, his sleeve instantly showed several clean, smooth cuts.

This sudden development startled both Feng Tian and Kuang Feifan. Feng Tian reached out, patted the side of his bag, and pulled out another plastic bottle; the previous one was almost empty after being sprayed around. He lifted his hand, and the plastic bottle, more than half full of the substance, flew out toward the old Daoist’s position.

But the moment the bottle left his hand, Feng Tian cried out in frustration. The reason was simple: he had forgotten to unscrew the cap before throwing it. Although it was just a common mineral water bottle, without the cap off, it wouldn't shatter even if it hit the ground.

Just then, the sharp-eyed Kuang Feifan swiftly reversed his grip, tightened his fingers, and fired three shots in quick succession. Although Kuang Feifan’s profession was forensics, he was also trained; his skills in various areas were exceptional, and shooting through an airborne plastic bottle was child's play.

Following the gunshots, the plastic bottle was pierced by the bullets before it could enter the tornados, causing the liquid inside to spray outward.