Since his son and daughter-in-law had their accident, and his own legs were brutally broken by enemies, Cameron Brooks no longer hoped for the Brooks family to regain its former glory. He only wished that his grandson, born with defects, could successfully produce an heir, so the Brooks family would have someone to carry on the line.

But now...

“Old Master, since there’s no hope for the young master’s soul to return, it’s best to make arrangements for what comes next as soon as possible.”

An ill-timed, deep voice suddenly rang out. A short, elderly man drifted into the courtyard, coming to stand directly in front of Cameron Brooks’s wheelchair. After a slight bow, he looked down at Cameron Brooks from above and spoke again: “Old Master, please restrain your grief. No one wanted anything to happen to the young master, but things have come to this. For the future of the Brooks family, it’s best to make a decision early.”

As soon as this man appeared, the four soul-summoning banners at the corners of the ancestral hall—each bearing ferocious, violent ghosts—seemed to suddenly lose all vitality, as if they had turned from living things into dead objects. The banners, which had been straining to break free, now fell eerily silent.

Looking closely, one would notice that the images carved on the banners were rapidly fading, as if the ink was being washed away by clear water.

“You!”

Gavin Foster shouted angrily, about to demand an explanation, when his energy suddenly became chaotic. He felt four strange forces surge back from the soul-summoning banners he had crafted, as overwhelming as a flood!

“Pfft!”

Unable to withstand it, Gavin Foster spat out a mouthful of fresh blood. In an instant, his spirit and vitality were shattered, his face turned pale, and his body trembled.

“Old Foster!”

Cameron Brooks’s hands gripped the wheelchair tightly, veins bulging as he roared in fury, “Blake Turner, what have you done?!”

“Mr. Foster, with your meager cultivation at the Yellow Court level, using a broken soul-summoning banner to set up a haphazard array—did you really think you could help the young master’s soul return?” The short old man, Blake Turner, snorted coldly, waved his wide sleeve, and said, “If I can’t do it, what makes you think you can?”

“Whoosh! Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!”

Four streaks of azure light shot from his sleeve like cold lightning, piercing into the four soul-summoning banners.

The banners instantly shattered into pieces, and the evil spirits trapped within them dissipated into thin smoke.

Gavin Foster collapsed to the ground, drenched in cold sweat, with blood oozing from the corners of his eyes and ears, making him look utterly wretched—like one of the vengeful ghosts that had been trapped in the banners.

“Old Master, you saw it yourself. This Mr. Foster you invited is weak and powerless—he couldn’t withstand a single blow from me.” Blake Turner suddenly sighed and said, “As for the young master, I’ve tried every method I could. If there were even a sliver of hope, would I have given up?”

“You’re the ones who killed the young master!”

Outside the courtyard, a young maid in purple poked her head in, pointing at Blake Turner and shouting, “I saw it with my own eyes—it was you! You’re the one who killed the young master!”

“Insolent wench!” Blake Turner barked.

A wisp of eerie green flame floated from his fingertip, exuding a chilling, sinister aura. In an instant, it hovered and twisted above the purple-clad maid’s head.

The cold energy turned into green mist, pouring down over her!

From head to toe, the purple-clad maid was rapidly frozen, visible to the naked eye. In just a few breaths, the pretty young girl had become a tragic ice sculpture, all signs of life temporarily sealed away.

Her facial expression seemed eternally frozen in anger and resentment, never to change again.

“Blake Turner!”

Cameron Brooks slammed his hands on the wheelchair, trying to sit up, but forgot that his legs were already broken. In his emotional turmoil, he toppled from the wheelchair like Gavin Foster, crashing to the ground and splitting his forehead on the hard bluestone, looking utterly miserable.

Blake Turner, who had struck twice, hadn’t moved a step and still stood where he was, with Cameron Brooks now lying at his feet.

“Old Master.” Blake Turner bent down, tearing off his mask of hypocrisy. His gaze turned cold and gloomy as he said, “You know very well why my lady married your foolish, dull-witted son. All the internal and external crises of the Brooks family have been resolved one by one by my lady. If not for her, your family would have been destroyed long ago.”

“For half a year, my lady has worked tirelessly for your family, yet you still refuse to hand over what she wants. She can wait, but we cannot.”

Two clusters of ghostly purple flames quietly formed deep within Blake Turner’s eyes.

Within the ghostly fire, tiny talismanic symbols flickered like starlight, seemingly able to seize souls and refine hearts.

The flames of anger in Cameron Brooks’s eyes were instantly extinguished. He felt as if his forehead was being sliced by a cold, icy blade, and an evil will was forcibly seeping into his mind.

“Since you won’t speak, I’ll dig it out myself!”

With Blake Turner’s furious shout, a thin line of blood suddenly split open at the center of Cameron Brooks’s brow!

Cameron Brooks’s pupils were quickly filled with a crimson blood color, as if his eyeballs would burst in the next second.

“Mr. Turner! Stop!”

Outside the old Brooks residence, a clear, cold voice suddenly rang out—like a phoenix’s cry, or a blade of ice piercing everyone’s chest.

One by one, lively birds, formed from pure spiritual energy, flew in, chirping as they entered the old Brooks residence and flitted about.

“Crack!”

The thick rock ice encasing the purple-clad maid was pecked apart by the birds. One bird transformed into a warm current, flowing into her delicate chest, helping her blood and energy circulate and restoring her vitality.