But before Kuang Feifan could even get a clear look at the old Daoist Priest's situation, a new complication arose with him. As he waved his hand to fire, a chilling glint flashed in Ji Ping's eyes, his body shifted, and he surged forward with lightning speed toward Kuang Feifan, crashing into him like a cannonball just fired.

The impact was certainly abrupt. Before Kuang Feifan could even swing his arm back, Ji Ping's momentum-charged body was already upon him. The two tumbled heavily to the ground like a pair of gourds. Ji Ping seized the opportunity, grabbing hold of the hand holding the gun tightly, preventing Kuang Feifan from turning the muzzle toward him.

In a flash, as they wrestled and rolled on the ground, Wang Hai on the other side rushed up to Zhang Xiaohui. Without time for any explanation, he yanked Zhang Xiaohui back behind him, spun around, and faced the swirling, grayish-green mist accelerating in the air above. He spread his arms wide in a T-shape, confronting the mass head-on. In that moment, Wang Hai appeared rather resolute and awe-inspiring.

Feng Tian, who was just about to charge toward Kuang Feifan, felt his heart clench upon seeing Wang Hai's action. He glanced over at the old Daoist Priest; the tornado that had lunged at the priest had begun to lose momentum after being struck by the ** in the bottle, but several other tornadoes from the courtyard were now closing in on the old Daoist Priest.

Kuang Feifan, locked in the struggle with Ji Ping, tilted his head and happened to see everything unfold. His eyes darted toward Feng Tian, and he yelled out, "Go help Wang Hai."

His reasoning was simple: Ji Ping, with whom he was grappling, was, after all, only human; dealing with him based on his own strength and ability was not a major issue. But over there was a strange, almost demonic wind—that was Feng Tian's specialty, which was why he shouted the order.

Feng Tian hesitated for just a beat before quickly moving toward the old Daoist Priest's location. He slapped his hand into his bag and his expression darkened. From the beginning until now, the ** used for dealing with tornadoes had been completely expended. Not many miscellaneous props remained after they had escaped their predicament. If he wanted to handle these bizarre tornadoes now, he likely only had one thing left.

Feng Tian thought this as his feet never stopped moving. He flicked his other hand, tossing the remainder of the ** in the bottle toward the mass of grayish-green mist in front of Wang Hai.

Meanwhile, Kuang Feifan, knocked to the ground by Ji Ping, managed to find an opening to push Ji Ping away with his knee, but he also flung the gun aside, letting go of it. Ji Ping, shoved to the side, winced in pain and lunged toward the gun on the ground, but Kuang Feifan quickly pulled himself up, grabbed Ji Ping's legs, and yanked hard backward, temporarily stopping Ji Ping from reaching the weapon, before slamming down onto Ji Ping's back in an "Hungry Tiger Pouncing" maneuver.

Ji Ping struggled, but ultimately he was no match for Kuang Feifan, who had diligently trained in grappling and self-defense. It was at this moment that Kuang Feifan’s peripheral vision caught sight of Feng Tian taking off his sling bag and tossing it aside. Seeing how flat the bag looked, it was clearly empty, which caused a tightening in his chest. He glanced up at the scene in the courtyard and saw the old Daoist Priest parrying incoming tornadoes with sword-drawn talismans while moving with strange steps toward Wang Hai. However, the distance between the priest and Wang Hai was still too great for him to reach the mist in time to intercept it. On the other hand, Feng Tian was also rushing over, but due to the distance, he too couldn't possibly arrive in time.

Kuang Feifan's heart instinctively tightened; based on his intuition, he felt that if that grayish-green mist enveloped Wang Hai, it could inflict unimaginable harm upon him.

In that instant of Kuang Feifan’s distraction, Ji Ping beneath him had no intention of surrendering. Sensing a sudden pause in Kuang Feifan's movement, a fierce glint flashed in his eyes. With a twist, a grip, and a lock, his four fingers aimed directly for the pulse point on Kuang Feifan's left wrist.

Sensing danger near his side, Kuang Feifan quickly refocused, only to notice Ji Ping’s four fingers had already brushed against the skin of his wrist. It seemed that with a little pressure, his pulse point would be seized, rendering his arm useless if restrained.

But Kuang Feifan was no novice either. He dipped and retracted his left wrist slightly, letting it slide just enough to evade the grasping fingers. His other hand shifted from palm to blade, aiming directly for the side of Ji Ping's neck, targeting the major artery. His control over the force was precise; a direct hit would certainly render Ji Ping unconscious.

However, before Kuang Feifan's right hand could strike Ji Ping’s neck, he felt a sharp tug on his left wrist. He instinctively glanced down, expecting to see his wrist seized, but instead found that Ji Ping's fingers had snagged the string of prayer beads worn on his wrist. Immediately after, before Kuang Feifan could react, Ji Ping tightened his grip and shockingly wrenched the string of beads apart, causing the beads to scatter onto the ground one by one.

Although the human bone prayer beads could ward off ghosts, they couldn't withstand the forceful pull of an ordinary person. This was something nobody had anticipated, yet it happened right then.

Kuang Feifan’s face changed—those beads were a gift from Bai Ru, and they had saved him from mortal danger countless times. In that moment, a thought flashed through his mind: It’s over; the beads will surely shatter when they hit the ground.

In that split second of stunned contemplation, Ji Ping, underneath him, seized the initiative and forcefully flipped Kuang Feifan onto the ground. He scrambled forward a few steps, reaching out to snatch the gun lying nearby.

Kuang Feifan, thrown aside, was filled with regret. He rolled on the ground, lifting his leg to kick Ji Ping in the waist, sending him tumbling several times across the floor, temporarily thwarting his attempt to retrieve the gun once more.

All this transpired in the blink of an eye, yet the situation in the courtyard changed again. Before Kuang Feifan could get up from the ground, a shrill whistling sound of wind suddenly reached his ears. Instinctively looking up, his eyes widened immediately. He didn't know when it happened, but several visibly formed tornadoes were now swaying erratically toward him nearby. Then, he could actually feel the swirling airflow brush against his cheeks, continuous and sharp, causing a dull stinging pain.

Kuang Feifan instinctively knew these whirlwinds were unusual, but there was no time to evade. The whirlwinds scraped right up to him, hugging the ground. With no other choice, he tucked his head and curled his body to protect his vital front areas, hoping the whirlwinds would pass over him.

Things often unfold contrary to one's hopes. Kuang Feifan hadn't even registered the approach of the whirlwind before an unbearable, piercing pain erupted from his back. The whirlwind, which had circled behind him, stopped moving after enveloping him. The airflow forming the vortex acted like countless tiny shards of blade, brutally scraping his back. His already tattered clothes vanished in the wind almost instantly. Kuang Feifan felt as if his back were being raked by countless fine blades; the pain, deep enough to pierce the marrow, was so intense he couldn't bear it. With a loud cry, he lost consciousness.

It wasn't that Kuang Feifan couldn't endure the pain; it was that the agony inflicted by the whirlwind on his back seemed to penetrate to the deepest recesses of his body. It was not merely physical pain on his flesh but a direct assault on his very soul. It was only thanks to the body's perfect protective mechanism that he fainted.

From the moment the prayer beads were ripped apart and scattered to Kuang Feifan losing consciousness, barely a minute or two had passed. Feng Tian only noticed Kuang Feifan's plight upon hearing his cry of intense agony. Startled, the movement he had been making toward Wang Hai instantly reversed, and he flew straight toward Kuang Feifan's position.

However, the target of his dash was not the collapsed and unconscious Kuang Feifan, but rather the scattered prayer beads on the ground. As he ran, he pulled out the slingshot tucked behind his waist, loaded a pellet while running, pulled back the elastic band, and then launched the pellet with a whistling sound that pierced the air, shooting directly toward Ji Ping’s left temple as he was reaching for the gun.

Although the various whirlwinds in the courtyard seemed to recognize Ji Ping—wherever he appeared, the whirlwinds would divert their paths elsewhere—this established Ji Ping as the only person in the courtyard unafraid of the winds. But this did not mean he could ignore the pellet shot from Feng Tian's slingshot. Clearly, that pellet couldn't deal with the whirlwinds, and equally, the whirlwinds couldn't intercept the rapidly flying pellet. The sharp whistle produced by its friction with the air signaled that if the pellet struck Ji Ping, especially his temple, the result would be, at best, severe injury, if not death.