Logan Sullivan reached out to grab each one, but none of them were corporeal. Before long, sweat was beading on his forehead.

Darrin Grant had been leaping around with him at first, but after the eighth one jumped down, it started to squat on the side with a blank expression, its tail swinging impatiently behind it like a pendulum: “Stop chasing them. I think these are either earthbound spirits or lingering regrets left by people who jumped to their deaths.”

Logan Sullivan didn’t bother to respond.

He had explosive strength, and was trained enough that beating up a couple of punks was no problem, but clearly, his physical fitness was pretty average. Years of irregular living and lack of exercise meant that after just a few laps, he was already out of breath.

The black cat sighed: “Once, twice, but not thrice—you’ve caught eight already, can’t you tell she’s not human?”

“You know these eight are the same person? Do you have solid evidence that there’s no one else here but me? When the next person runs out, can you be sure we’re still in the same space as the moment before? The instant she runs out, can you tell if she’s real or fake? ‘Rule’ number three: ‘Don’t make assumptions.’ Did you eat that along with your cat food?” Logan Sullivan glared sternly at the black cat.

The black cat, usually so foul-mouthed, immediately wilted in the face of strength. It flicked its tail guiltily and muttered, “Lecturing me… This old cat’s lived for thousands of years, and you little brat dare to act like a leader and lecture me…”

Logan Sullivan: “If you don’t shut up, I’ll dock your cat food.”

Darrin Grant, knowing when to yield, immediately changed its tune: “Meow—”

At that moment, the ninth jumper appeared. As soon as she showed up, Logan Sullivan shouted, “Miss, wait!”

But she ignored him completely, shooting toward Mother Earth like an arrow loosed from a bow.

“Damn it.” Logan Sullivan missed again, instantly forgetting his righteous lecture from moments before, and slapped the cold railing in frustration.

“Hmm…” Darrin Grant came over, placing its front paws on the rooftop railing and sniffing carefully all around. “Actually, you have a point. While earthbound spirits sometimes repeat their death endlessly like Mrs. Xianglin, they usually don’t die in such a hurry.”

“Then what is it?” Logan Sullivan asked.

“It’s resentment.” Darrin Grant put on a comically serious expression with its pancake-like cat face. “Suicide is, in fact, an unequivocal ‘unnatural death.’ The souls of such people are very likely not to enter reincarnation after death. Worse, when crossing the chasm between life and death, yin and yang, their souls become incomplete, so they wander the world, long forgetting why they died, their deaths muddled and confused.”

Logan Sullivan asked, “Places heavy with resentment make people uncomfortable, but can they hurt people? I’ve never heard of such a case.”

The black cat paused: “No, I haven’t heard of it either. But resentment born from broken souls can devour its own kind. When it becomes strong enough, it can take on physical form. So I suspect that girl just now was actually ‘resentment’ formed from countless fragments of devoured wronged souls.”

“So what if it’s physical?”

“Not much, really. Resentment is different from malice; it’s not as aggressive. The only people it can mislead or harm are those with guilty consciences, but it itself can’t directly touch the girl’s body, let alone rip open her belly,” the black cat said. “So I think we should just leave. There’s nothing worth investigating here.”

Logan Sullivan hesitated.

The black cat sighed: “You—no bottom line where you should have principles, and stubborn where you should be flexible. The ‘Soulbound Order’ has been around for who knows how many millions of years. The rules are basically just empty words now. Why are you so obsessed with them?”

“No, I still think…” Just as he was speaking, Logan Sullivan suddenly stopped. He saw the tenth girl walk onto the rooftop.

Man and cat both tensed, watching as she ignored them, walked slowly to the railing, and, just like the previous nine phantoms, pushed off with both hands and leapt over the edge.

Logan Sullivan sensed something was wrong the moment she appeared. Before he could figure out what, he sprang into action, lunging forward and grabbing the girl’s waist just as she jumped.

Suddenly, his arms felt a heavy weight—Logan Sullivan’s veins stood out on the backs of his hands. This time, he was holding a real, solid person.

The black cat was startled, leaping onto the railing, its green eyes wide.

Logan Sullivan’s position was awkward; he couldn’t get much leverage. Even holding a big child with just his arms would be heavy, let alone a full-grown adult.

One of his legs was wedged between the railings, his whole upper body hanging out over the edge. The girl dangled outside the railing, and suddenly seemed to come to her senses, letting out a piercing scream and struggling instinctively.

Logan Sullivan had no choice but to shout in her ear, “If you keep moving, you’ll fall and end up as a splattered persimmon! Hold still!”

At that moment, the railing Logan Sullivan was leaning on suddenly made a cracking sound. Whether from age or the weight of a person, it was coming loose.

Logan Sullivan didn’t seem to notice, still talking to the girl: “Don’t be afraid, just hang on a little longer…”

He hadn’t finished when there was a sharp “crack”—the steel bar below snapped completely.

Logan Sullivan heard strange laughter in his ear—as if the rooftop was crowded with people, all standing by indifferently, watching him about to fall, and letting out gloating “jié jié” laughs.

Darrin Grant shrieked like its tail had been stepped on: “Meow!”

In the nick of time, the rooftop door was kicked open, and someone rushed up at a speed too fast to see. Almost simultaneously, the iron railing gave way and fell.

In an instant, Logan Sullivan shifted his weight onto his heels, leaned back, and spun around with the girl in his arms, just in time to shove her into the arms of the person who had rushed over.

Then, he himself lost his footing, but managed to grab onto the rooftop edge with one hand, dangling precariously from the eighteenth floor.

Only then did Darrin Grant see clearly that the person who had rushed up was none other than William Sherman, who was supposed to have already left.

William Sherman immediately pushed the would-be jumper behind him, knelt down, and grabbed Logan Sullivan’s swinging arm: “Give me your other hand, quick!”

Chapter 7: The Reincarnation Sundial Six …

Logan Sullivan had always been recklessly generous. As soon as William Sherman spoke, he let go without hesitation, entrusting his life to William Sherman as if he weren’t dangling from the eighteenth floor, about to be smashed to a pulp, but merely climbing a not-so-steep slope.

Fortunately, William Sherman only looked gentle—his grip was incredibly strong.

Logan Sullivan’s wrist was squeezed so hard he almost lost feeling, his fingers turning purple, but he was hauled up by brute force. His shirt sleeve scraped against his elbow, and his forearm lost a layer of skin without him even noticing.

William Sherman pulled him into a hug, and the two of them collapsed to the ground together.

Afraid of crushing him, Logan Sullivan propped himself up with his hands. Looking down, he saw that his wrist was bruised from William Sherman’s grip, and William Sherman’s arms were wrapped so tightly around him it was almost to the bone. For a moment, Logan Sullivan had the illusion—it wasn’t just someone instinctively grabbing for support when falling, but a tight embrace.

Of course, William Sherman didn’t lose composure for long. As soon as Logan Sullivan shifted slightly, he let go and adjusted his glasses to cover it up.

Logan Sullivan, experienced in reading people, immediately sensed the awkward tension from William Sherman’s clumsy reaction, but he had no intention of letting it develop in front of others.

After getting up, Logan Sullivan pretended to be carefree, pulling a pack of tissues from his pocket and grimacing as he wiped the dirt, blood, and grit from his arm. “Good thing you got here in time, or I’d be swinging as a clock for Dragon Da by now.”

William Sherman was still pale and didn’t answer.

“And you, young lady—what’s your story?” Logan Sullivan kindly gave him a moment to compose himself, turning his attention to the girl sitting dazed on the ground. “Heartbroken? Teacher scolded you? Failed your thesis or flunked an exam? Honestly, you kids have it so good these days, and still find time to get into trouble…”

The girl suddenly burst into tears, quickly escalating from sobs to wails.

Logan Sullivan: “…”

At that moment, William Sherman suddenly spoke. He said, “That was too dangerous.”