Immediately after, the sound of rummaging and crashing echoed all around. After a while, Ethan Sullivan's eyes gradually cleared, and in his line of sight appeared a dim ceiling and a face with upturned brows and greenish eyes looming above him, spitting as he spoke: "You still dare to complain! You think I'm really afraid of you telling on me? You think anyone in this house would actually stand up for you?"

Two burly men who looked like house servants gathered around and said, "Young master, everything's smashed!"

The duck-voiced youth said, "That fast?"

The servant replied, "This shabby house didn't have much to begin with."

The duck-voiced youth was very satisfied, turned to Ethan Sullivan, and jabbed his index finger so hard it seemed he wanted to poke it right into his forehead: "Had the guts to complain, and now you're playing dead for whom? As if anyone cares about your worthless junk—I smashed it all for you! Let's see what you use to complain now! So what if you spent a few years at the cultivation clans? Weren't you still driven back like a stray dog!"

Ethan Sullivan, half dead, pondered:

I've been dead for years, I'm really not pretending.

Who is this?

Where is this??

When did I ever do something like body snatching???

The duck-voiced youth had kicked the man, smashed the room, vented enough, and swaggered out the door with the two servants, slamming the door and shouting, "Watch him closely, don't let him out to embarrass us!"

The servants outside responded repeatedly. Once they had gone far, the house inside and out fell silent. Ethan Sullivan tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn't obey, so he fell back down. He could only roll over, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings and the mess all over the floor, still dizzy and dazed.

Nearby was a bronze mirror that had been thrown to the ground. Ethan Sullivan picked it up and looked—what appeared in the mirror was a face so pale it was startling, with two uneven, asymmetrical patches of bright red on either cheek. If he stuck out a long red tongue, he'd look exactly like a hanged ghost.

Ethan Sullivan couldn't accept this, tossed the mirror aside, and wiped his face, coming away with a handful of white powder.

Fortunately, this body wasn't born with such a strange appearance—just strange taste. A grown man, yet his face was covered in rouge and powder, and the key point was, it was applied so hideously.

The shock gave him a bit of strength, and he finally managed to sit up. Only then did he notice a circular spell array beneath him. The array was blood-red, irregularly round, seemingly drawn with blood by hand, still damp and reeking of blood. Twisted, frenzied runes were drawn within, some of which had been smudged by his body, but the remaining symbols and writing exuded a sinister, eerie aura. After all, Ethan Sullivan had been called titles like Supreme Evil Lord and Founder of Demonic Cultivation for so many years—he naturally recognized at a glance that this was no good thing.

He hadn't seized someone else's body—instead, someone had offered theirs to him!

The essence of "offering the body" is a kind of curse. The caster wounds themselves with a weapon, uses their own blood to draw the array and runes, sits in the center, and offers their flesh to an evil spirit, letting their soul return to the earth in exchange for summoning a heinous ghost or evil god, praying for the spirit to possess them and fulfill their wish. This is the complete opposite of "body snatching." Both are infamous forbidden arts, but the latter is less practical and less popular—after all, few wishes are strong enough for someone to willingly give up everything. So, it's rarely performed and nearly lost over the centuries. According to ancient texts, there have been only three or four reliable cases in thousands of years, and without exception, all those wishes were for revenge, and the summoned ghosts fulfilled them in cruel, bloody ways.

Ethan Sullivan was indignant.

How did he get classified as a "heinous ghost or evil god"?

Granted, his reputation was pretty bad, and his death was extremely tragic, but he never haunted anyone or sought revenge. He could swear to heaven and earth that no soul was more law-abiding and well-behaved than him!

The tricky part was, the offering ritual prioritized the caster's will. No matter how much he objected... since he was already in the body, it meant the contract was sealed. He had to fulfill the caster's wish, or else the curse would rebound, destroying his soul completely, never to reincarnate.

Ethan Sullivan pulled open his collar and raised his hands to check. Sure enough, both wrists were crisscrossed with hideous wounds from sharp blades. Though the bleeding had stopped, Ethan Sullivan knew these weren't ordinary injuries. If he didn't fulfill the body's owner's wish, the wounds would never heal. The longer he delayed, the worse it would get. If he exceeded the time limit, he and the body would be torn apart, body and soul.

After confirming this several times, Ethan Sullivan muttered "Outrageous!" ten times in a row, and finally managed to get up with the help of the wall.

The room was large, but empty and shabby. The bedding hadn't been changed in who knows how long, giving off a musty smell. In the corner was a bamboo basket meant for trash, which had been kicked over, scattering dirty scraps and paper all over the floor. Ethan Sullivan noticed ink marks on one of the paper balls, picked it up, and unfolded it—sure enough, it was densely covered in writing. He hurried to gather all the paper balls from the floor.