Logan Sullivan immediately chimed in, “Exactly, did you hear what your teacher just said? It’s too dangerous, do you understand? Alright, stop crying, come with me first, I need to take you to the campus clinic for a checkup. In situations like this, we really need to have a good talk with your parents…”

William Sherman stood up, shot Logan Sullivan a glare, then turned to the suicidal girl, his face darkening. He didn’t say a word for a full minute, just looked at her sternly, and managed to scare the sobbing girl into silence, leaving her hiccupping and sniffling.

William Sherman’s demeanor reminded Logan Sullivan of his grandfather, who had passed away many years ago. He too had been an old-school intellectual—always gentle and accommodating, never swearing or raising his voice, let alone using force. But when he was truly angry, just a darkened expression would be enough to make all the younger kids behave instantly.

“If, because of you, something happens to someone else, will you live the rest of your life with a guilty conscience, or die with one?” William Sherman asked in a deep voice.

The girl stammered, “S-sorry…”

It was actually Logan Sullivan who felt a bit awkward, rubbing his nose. “Well, I’m fine, but you really need to reflect on this, young lady. Think about yourself, and think about your parents. You’re so young—what hurdle can’t you get over? Come on, stop crying, get up, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

He glanced at William Sherman, and seeing no further reaction, went over, bent down, and helped the unsteady girl to her feet, supporting her as they walked down from the rooftop. On the way down, they saw Charles Gray still lying where he’d been left. But this time, before the boss could say anything, Darrin Grant scampered over and gave Charles Gray a faceful of “Heavenly Meow Meteor Claw.”

The commotion from the girl’s suicide attempt had drawn quite a crowd. The previously empty stairwell suddenly seemed lively again, with many staff members poking their heads out to ask what had happened. In front of everyone’s curious gaze, Charles Gray slowly came to, accompanied by an inhuman scream.

Charles Gray opened his eyes, his face covered in blood, and saw his boss, looking a bit disheveled, supporting a young woman and watching him from a short distance away. With a meaningful look, he said, “Young people need to exercise more. In our line of work, you can’t just faint from low blood sugar all the time.”

With everyone watching, Charles Gray didn’t dare say a word. But he knew exactly what had happened, so he lowered his head in shame.

Logan Sullivan thought for a moment and continued, “Alright, I’ve got something else to do. You take Darrin Grant and look into the background of the deceased. Can you handle it alone?”

He deliberately emphasized the word “person.” Darrin Grant, licking his paw smugly, let out a cheeky “meow,” making Charles Gray shiver.

This was a glorious yet daunting task. Charles Gray looked up in terror, his expression as if he was about to call for help, staring at Logan Sullivan. But it was as if the boss’s receiver was broken—he didn’t seem to understand at all. With a kindly smile, he patted Charles Gray on the head, glanced at Darrin Grant, and without another word, turned and left.

William Sherman’s face was still grim, and he remained silent. When someone quietly asked him what had happened, he just shook his head absentmindedly.

It wasn’t until they were out of sight that William Sherman unconsciously raised his hand and pressed the spot at the center of his collarbone. Under his thin shirt, the outline of a pendant seemed to show.

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then caught up with Logan Sullivan and the others.

Logan Sullivan led the girl downstairs, asking her on the way, “What’s your name?”

“…Quinn Barnes.”

“Which department are you in? What year?”

“…School of Foreign Languages, first year of graduate school.”

“Are you local?”

Quinn Barnes hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“What happened just now?”

This time, Quinn Barnes didn’t answer.

Logan Sullivan glanced at her thoughtfully. This girl, Quinn Barnes, had dark circles under her eyes, a dull gaze, bloodshot eyes, and a sallow complexion—she looked unlucky from head to toe.

Suddenly, William Sherman asked, “The School of Foreign Languages has high credit requirements for general elective courses in the humanities. Have you taken my class?”

Quinn Barnes glanced at him cautiously and nodded.

William Sherman spoke as if he were lecturing, his voice low and pleasant, neither too fast nor too slow. He sighed and said gravely, “Life and death are serious matters. I remember telling you in class: in this world, there are only two things worth dying for. One is dying for your country and family—that’s for loyalty and filial piety. The other is dying for a soulmate—that’s for fulfilling yourself. Other than that, any other reason for seeking death is an act of cowardice. Do you understand?”

“I…” Quinn Barnes’s voice trembled. She quickly steadied herself, pressed her lips together, and said, “I’m sorry, Professor Shen. I really… it was just a moment of impulse. I didn’t think it through. I just lost my head and went up there, and almost dragged others down with me…”

She glanced at Logan Sullivan, then lowered her head again.

Even though Director Zhao was very handsome and looked gentle, Quinn Barnes still felt inexplicably afraid of him. When their eyes met, she instinctively shrank closer to William Sherman.

Logan Sullivan took out a cigarette and lit it, looking at her with a half-smile. “You really don’t know why? Young lady, I’ve heard of people killing others in a fit of passion, but rarely have I seen someone try to kill themselves on impulse. The way you say it, it’s almost like… you were possessed by something.”

As soon as he said “possessed,” Quinn Barnes’s face turned deathly pale.

Logan Sullivan pressed on, “What are you afraid of? Honestly, when you were on the rooftop, what did you see?”

Quinn Barnes forced a laugh. “Just… the rooftop. What could I have seen?”

“Well, I saw something.” Logan Sullivan looked ahead, exhaled a slow puff of smoke, and said, “When you jumped, I saw a lot of people on the rooftop, all watching you and laughing.”

Quinn Barnes hugged her elbows, trembling all over, clenching her teeth so hard that you could hear them grinding together.

Logan Sullivan looked her over for a moment, flicked the ash from his cigarette, and gave her shoulder a gentle push. “Alright, go on in. We’re at the campus clinic.”

At the clinic entrance, Logan Sullivan greeted the teacher on duty and handed Quinn Barnes over to William Sherman, then stood outside the door with his cigarette.

In front of the Blackstone University campus clinic, there was a small man-made river with a little bridge over it. Logan Sullivan leaned lazily on the wooden railing, slowly exhaling smoke onto his watch. The white smoke quickly dissipated, and a thin layer of mist formed on the watch face. The face of an old person appeared faintly within, as if making eye contact with him through the glass.

“Old Cat wasn’t wrong—newly dead ghosts who haven’t passed the seventh day yet.” Logan Sullivan raised his eyebrows and muttered to himself, “To show up on Soul Mirror in broad daylight… Even if you were a community volunteer in life, you wouldn’t be this bold, right? Granny, just who are you?”

Footsteps sounded behind him. Logan Sullivan wiped the watch face with his hand, and the image vanished instantly. Unhurriedly, he blew out a smoke ring, turned around, and saw William Sherman approaching with a small tray.

William Sherman set the tray with wet wipes and medicine aside, lowered his eyes, and without a word, took Logan Sullivan’s injured arm, carefully rolling up his sleeve and picking up the distilled water from the tray.

Logan Sullivan quickly said, “Don’t trouble yourself, I can do it.”

“How are you going to do it yourself?” William Sherman said, head down, first rinsing the wound with distilled water, then gently cleaning it with a cotton ball, holding his arm as if it were a fragile treasure. “If I hurt you, let me know.”

Logan Sullivan felt a bit awkward and tried to pull away. “Honestly, just rinsing it with tap water would be fine.”

William Sherman didn’t even look up. “It’s so hot—if you don’t clean it properly, what if it gets infected?”

William Sherman’s eyelashes were long, and with his head lowered, his features looked delicate and refined. The shape of his eyelids was so perfect it seemed drawn on. Maybe it was because his glasses hid much of his face, so at first glance he wasn’t striking, but if you looked closely, you’d notice how pleasing he was to the eye.

Logan Sullivan’s shameless heart gave a little flutter.

Logan Sullivan had always thought he wasn’t exactly “gay”—just that his tastes were broader than most, and he was a bit more shameless than average. Handsome men and beautiful women both caught his interest.

Fortunately, even though he was open-minded, his character was passable. He wasn’t picky, but he wasn’t desperate either. He only ever had one person at a time, never juggled multiple relationships, and was a model of clean breakups and goodbyes.