Mrs. Moore glared at him, signaling him not to make the situation even more embarrassing. Unexpectedly, Ethan Sullivan continued, “Speaking of which, not only should he not have stolen my things, but he especially shouldn’t have done it in the middle of the night. Who doesn’t know that I, this young master, like men? He may not be ashamed, but I still know what’s proper and what’s not.”

Mrs. Moore gasped and shouted, “What kind of talk is that in front of all the villagers! Shameless! Eddie is your cousin!”

When it came to making a scene, Ethan Sullivan was an expert. In the past, even when he acted out, he had to maintain some decorum so people wouldn’t say he was poorly raised. But now, since he was already considered a madman, why bother with saving face? He might as well go all out and do whatever felt good. He stuck out his neck and declared righteously, “He knows full well he’s my cousin and still doesn’t avoid suspicion—so who’s more shameless?! If you don’t care about your own reputation, don’t ruin my innocence! I still want to find a good man!!!”

Edward Moore let out a loud yell and swung a chair at him. Seeing that he’d finally snapped, Ethan Sullivan scrambled up and dodged. The chair smashed to pieces on the ground. The crowd of onlookers, who had been gloating over the Mo family’s disgrace, scattered in all directions as soon as the fight broke out, afraid of getting caught up in the chaos. Ethan Sullivan darted toward the few Lan clan youths who were nearly stunned by the scene, shouting, “You all saw that, right? You saw it? The thief is even hitting people—utterly heartless!”

Edward Moore tried to chase after him, but the leading youth quickly stopped him, saying, “This… young master, let’s talk this out.”

Mrs. Moore saw that this youth intended to protect the madman and grew wary, forcing a smile as she said, “This is my sister’s son, he’s… not quite right in the head. Everyone in Mo Village knows he’s crazy and often says strange things—don’t take it seriously, Immortal Masters, please…” Before she could finish, Ethan Sullivan poked his head out from behind the youth and said, “Who says you can’t take my words seriously? Anyone who dares steal from me again, I’ll chop off a hand for every theft!”

Edward Moore had been held back by his father, but hearing this, he was about to explode again. Ethan Sullivan slipped away like a fish. The youth hurried to block the doorway, changing the subject and speaking seriously, “Um… then tonight, we’ll borrow your west wing for a while. Please remember what I said earlier: after dusk, keep your doors tightly shut, don’t go out, and absolutely don’t go near that courtyard.”

Mrs. Moore was trembling with anger, but since he was blocking her, she couldn’t push past and could only say, “Yes, yes, thank you, thank you…”

Edward Moore said incredulously, “Mom! That lunatic slandered me in front of everyone, and you’re just letting it go?! You said before, you said he was just a…”

Mrs. Moore snapped, “Shut up. Can’t you wait until we’re home to talk?”

Edward Moore had never suffered such humiliation or lost so much face, nor had he ever been scolded by his mother like this. Filled with resentment, he roared, “That lunatic is dead tonight!”

After his outburst, Ethan Sullivan left the main gate and wandered around Mo Village, making a spectacle of himself and startling countless passersby. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, beginning to appreciate the fun of being a madman, and even felt satisfied with his ghostly makeup—almost reluctant to wash it off. He thought, Well, there’s no water anyway, so I might as well leave it. He tidied his hair and glanced at his wrist; the scars showed no sign of fading or healing. In other words, venting a little for Henry Moore with such a minor act of revenge was far from enough.

Did he really have to wipe out the entire Mo family?

…To be honest, it wouldn’t be that hard.

Ethan Sullivan mused as he wandered back to the Mo household. As he tiptoed past the west wing, he saw several Lan clan disciples standing on the roof and eaves, discussing something seriously. He tiptoed back, looking up at them eagerly.

Although the Lan clan of Gusu had played a major role in the campaign against him, at that time these juniors were either not yet born or only a few years old—it had nothing to do with them. Ethan Sullivan stopped to watch, curious how they would handle things. As he watched, he suddenly felt something was off.

Why did those black flags fluttering on the rooftops and eaves look so familiar?

These flags were called “Summoning Yin Flags.” If one was planted on a living person, it would attract all the resentful spirits, vengeful ghosts, fierce corpses, and evil entities within a certain range to attack that person alone. Because the person with the flag became a living target, they were also called “Target Flags.” They could also be planted on a house, but there had to be living people inside, in which case the attack range would expand to everyone in the house. Since the area around the flag would always be shrouded in yin energy, like black wind swirling, they were also called “Black Wind Flags.” These youths were setting up a flag formation in the west wing and forbidding others from approaching—clearly intending to lure the walking corpses here and wipe them out in one go.

As for why they looked familiar… How could they not? The creator of the Summoning Yin Flags was none other than the Yiling Patriarch himself!

It seemed that, even though the cultivation clans all called for his death, they had no qualms about using the things he invented…

One of the disciples standing on the eaves saw him watching and said, “Go back. This isn’t a place you should be.”

Though he was being shooed away, the tone was kind, very different from the servants. Ethan Sullivan took advantage of a moment’s distraction, jumped up, and snatched one of the flags.

The disciple was startled and jumped down from the wall to chase him. “Don’t mess with that—it’s not something you should be handling!”