After finishing the kick, he followed the noise eastward. In the east hall of the east courtyard, a crowd had gathered inside and out. As soon as Ethan Sullivan stepped into the courtyard, a woman’s voice, louder than the rest, rang out: “…There’s a youngster in our family as well, who once had a connection to the immortal path…”

It was certainly Mrs. Moore again, trying every possible way to build connections with the cultivation clans. Ethan Sullivan didn’t wait for her to finish, hurriedly squeezed through the crowd into the hall, and waved enthusiastically, “Here, here, I’m here!”

On the dais sat a middle-aged woman, well-maintained and richly dressed—none other than Mrs. Moore herself. Seated below her was her live-in husband. Across from them sat several young men in white, each carrying a sword. The sudden appearance of a disheveled, filthy figure from the crowd brought all conversation to an abrupt halt, but Ethan Sullivan seemed completely oblivious to the frozen scene, grinning shamelessly, “Who just called me? The one with a connection to the immortal path—that’s me!”

Her makeup was so thick that it cracked when she smiled, flaking off in little bits. One of the white-robed youths nearly burst out laughing with a “pfft,” but was immediately given a disapproving look by the one who seemed to be the leader, and straightened up at once.

Ethan Sullivan glanced around at the sound, slightly surprised. He had thought it was just some ignorant servant exaggerating, but to his surprise, the visitors really were disciples from a “prestigious clan.”

These young men’s sleeves and sashes fluttered lightly, exuding an air of immortality and elegance. Their uniforms were instantly recognizable as those of the Gusu Lan Clan. Moreover, they were direct relatives of the Lan family, as each wore a white forehead ribbon about a finger’s width, embroidered with a cloud pattern.

The Gusu Lan Clan’s family motto was “Elegance and Uprightness.” The forehead ribbon symbolized “self-restraint,” and the cloud pattern was the Lan family crest. Guest cultivators or disciples from other surnames attached to the clan wore ribbons without the family crest. Ethan Sullivan always got a toothache when he saw people from the Lan Clan; in his previous life, he often secretly mocked their uniforms as “mourning garb,” so he would never mistake them.

Mrs. Moore hadn’t seen this nephew in a long time. It took her a while to recover from her shock and recognize this heavily made-up figure. Annoyed but unable to lose her temper in front of everyone, she lowered her voice and said to her husband, “Who let him out? Get him back inside!”

Her husband quickly forced a smile and got up, looking disgruntled as he tried to grab him. But Ethan Sullivan suddenly flopped onto the ground, limbs glued firmly to the floor. No matter how he pushed or dragged, he couldn’t budge him. Even after calling in several servants to help, it was useless. If not for the guests, he would have kicked him already. Seeing Mrs. Moore’s face grow darker and darker, he broke out in a sweat and cursed, “You crazy lunatic! If you don’t go back, just wait and see how I deal with you!”

Although everyone in Mo Village knew the family had a mad young master, Henry Moore had been holed up in his dark room for years, too afraid to see anyone. Now, seeing him made up and acting like a demon, people began whispering, thinking there was no good show to be had.

Ethan Sullivan said, “I’ll go back if you want.” He pointed straight at Edward Moore: “But have him return what he stole from me first.”

Edward Moore never expected this lunatic to have the guts—he’d just been taught a lesson yesterday, and now dared to make a scene here. Flushing red and white, he said, “You’re talking nonsense! When did I ever steal from you? Why would I need to steal your things?”

Ethan Sullivan replied, “Right, right! You didn’t steal—you snatched!”

Now Mrs. Moore realized it: Henry Moore had clearly come prepared, his mind sharp, intent on making them lose face. She couldn’t help but feel both shocked and furious: “You came here today just to make trouble, didn’t you?!”

Ethan Sullivan looked confused: “He stole and snatched my things, and I came to get them back—how is that making trouble?”

Before Mrs. Moore could reply, Edward Moore grew anxious and lashed out with a kick. One of the white-robed sword-bearing youths flicked his finger, and Edward Moore lost his balance, missing his target and falling himself. Ethan Sullivan, however, rolled over as if he’d really been kicked, even pulling open his collar to reveal a perfect footprint on his chest—the very one Edward Moore had left yesterday.

The villagers of Mo Village watched the spectacle with relish and excitement: there was no way Henry Moore could have kicked himself, and after all, he was still of Mo blood. This family was too cruel. When he first returned, he hadn’t been this crazy—he’d probably been driven mad by their treatment. In any case, as long as there was drama to watch, they were happy. It was even better than seeing envoys from the cultivation clans!

With so many eyes watching, unable to beat him or drive him away, Mrs. Moore was left choking on her anger and had to force a smile to smooth things over. She said coolly, “What stealing, what snatching? Such ugly words. It’s just family borrowing from family, that’s all. Eddie is your younger brother—what’s wrong with him taking a few of your things? As the elder brother, must you be so petty? Throwing a childish tantrum over such a small matter and making a scene—he’s not even refusing to return them.”

The white-robed youths exchanged glances; one of them nearly choked on his tea. Growing up in the Gusu Lan Clan, they were used to refined and elegant things—never had they seen such a farce, let alone heard such “wisdom.” Today was certainly an eye-opener. Ethan Sullivan laughed wildly inside and stretched out his hand: “Then give them back.”

Of course, Edward Moore couldn’t return them—he’d already thrown away or taken apart whatever he could, and even if he could return them, he was unwilling. His face turned ashen as he cried out, “Mom!” shooting his mother a look: Are you just going to let him humiliate me like this?