Ethan Sullivan ran while shouting, his hair disheveled, waving his arms and legs—truly a complete madman: “Not giving it back! Not giving it back! I want this! I want it!”

The disciple caught up with him in two steps, grabbing his arm and saying, “Are you giving it back or not? If not, I’ll hit you!”

Ethan Sullivan clung to the flag, refusing to let go. The leading youth, who had been arranging the flag formation and was startled by the commotion, lightly leapt down from the eaves and said, “Brian, forget it, just take it back nicely. No need to argue with him.”

Brian Clark said, “Ryan, I didn’t really hit him! Look at him, he’s made a complete mess of the flag formation!”

During the tussle, Ethan Sullivan had already quickly inspected the summoning flag in his hand. The patterns and drawings were correct, the incantations complete, nothing missing or wrong, so there would be no problem using it. It was just that the person who drew the flag lacked experience, so the patterns and spells could only attract evil spirits and walking corpses within a five-li radius at most—but that was enough.

Ryan Clark smiled at him and said, “Young Master Moore, it’s getting dark. We’re about to catch walking corpses here, and it’s dangerous at night. You’d better go back inside.”

Ethan Sullivan sized up the youth, seeing that he was refined and elegant, with an outstanding appearance and a faint smile at the corners of his mouth—a truly promising young man, worthy of praise. This boy’s flag formation was arranged in perfect order, and his upbringing was clearly excellent. He wondered, in such a rigid and old-fashioned place as the Gusu Lan Clan, who could have raised such a junior.

Ryan Clark added, “This flag…”

Before he could finish, Ethan Sullivan threw the summoning flag to the ground and snorted, “It’s just a lousy flag, what’s so great about it! I can draw much better than you all!”

After tossing it, he turned and ran. The few youths still lounging on the rooftop, watching the commotion, nearly laughed themselves off the eaves at his shameless boasting. Brian Clark was also so exasperated he laughed, picking up the summoning flag and dusting it off, saying, “He really is a madman!”

Ryan Clark said, “Don’t say that. Come back and help.”

Meanwhile, Ethan Sullivan continued to idle about for a couple more rounds before finally wandering back to Henry Moore’s small courtyard in the evening. The door latch was already broken, the ground a mess with no one to clean up. He ignored it, found a relatively clean spot on the floor, and resumed meditating.

Who would have thought, before dawn, a commotion outside pulled him out of his meditative state.

A jumble of footsteps, mixed with wailing and cries, quickly approached. Ethan Sullivan heard a few phrases repeated over and over: “…Rush in, drag him out directly!” “Report to the authorities!” “Report what, just beat him to death!”

He opened his eyes to see several household servants had already burst in. The whole courtyard was brightly lit, and someone shouted loudly, “Drag this murderous lunatic to the main hall and make him pay with his life!”

Chapter 4: Wild Splash, Part 2

Ethan Sullivan’s first thought was that perhaps something had gone wrong with the flag formation those youths had set up.

The things he made, if used carelessly, could easily cause disaster. That’s why he had specifically checked the summoning flag’s design earlier. So, as several big hands dragged him outside, Ethan Sullivan simply let them pull him along, saving himself the trouble of walking. When they dragged him to the East Hall, it was bustling—no fewer people than the townsfolk of Moore Estate gathering during the day. All the servants and relatives had come out, some still in their underclothes, hair uncombed, all looking terrified. Mrs. Moore was slumped in her seat, as if just waking from a faint, tear stains still visible on her cheeks, her eyes still wet. Yet as soon as Ethan Sullivan was dragged in, her tears instantly turned to a venomous glare.

On the ground lay a human-shaped figure, the body covered with a white cloth, only the head exposed. Ryan Clark and the other youths looked grave, bending over to examine it and speaking in low voices. Their words drifted to Ethan Sullivan’s ears:

“…Discovered less than the time it takes to burn one incense stick?”

“We had just subdued a walking corpse and were hurrying from the west courtyard to the east, and the body was right on the corridor.”

The figure was Edward Moore. Ethan Sullivan glanced over, then couldn’t help but look again.

The corpse looked like Edward Moore, but also not quite. Though the face and features were clearly those of his cheap cousin, the cheeks were deeply sunken, the eye sockets and eyeballs bulging, and the skin wrinkled. Compared to the once youthful Edward Moore, it was as if he had aged twenty years. It was as if all his flesh and blood had been sucked dry, leaving only a skeleton covered by a thin layer of skin. If the original Edward Moore was merely ugly, now his corpse was both old and ugly.

As Ethan Sullivan was examining it closely, Mrs. Moore suddenly rushed over. A cold flash glinted in her hand—she was holding a dagger. Ryan Clark reacted quickly and knocked it away, but before he could speak, Mrs. Moore shrieked at him, “My son died a horrible death, I must avenge him! Why are you stopping me?”

Ethan Sullivan hid behind Ryan Clark again, squatting down and saying, “Your son died a horrible death—what does that have to do with me?”

Earlier, Ryan Clark had seen Ethan Sullivan make a scene in the East Hall, and later heard many exaggerated rumors about this illegitimate son from others, so he felt quite sympathetic toward this troubled person and couldn’t help but speak up for him: “Mrs. Moore, your son’s corpse is in this state, all his flesh and energy drained away—it’s clearly the work of an evil spirit. It probably wasn’t him.”

Mrs. Moore’s chest heaved. “What do you know! This lunatic’s father was a cultivator, and he must have learned plenty of evil arts too!”