Logan Sullivan lazily walked over, picked up the food and set it on the small dining table, smiling: “Turns out, having you stay home with me feels so good that I suddenly don’t want to go out anymore.”

“It’s getting colder tonight, it’s best not to go out anyway.” William Sherman deflected the topic.

Logan Sullivan sat down across the table, eyes burning as he looked at him: “Hey, seriously, William Sherman, if you agree, I’ll sell this place tomorrow and buy a big house near your university.”

William Sherman said nothing.

Logan Sullivan continued, “I never thought about buying a house before, always thought it was a burden. But now I suddenly understand that saying: ‘If one could marry a certain someone, he’d build a golden house to keep her in.’”

This was blatant flirting. William Sherman stiffly avoided his gaze: “Eat, or it’ll get cold.”

Suddenly, Logan Sullivan reached across the table and pressed his hand on top of William Sherman’s: “Even though it might not look like it, I’m being serious.”

William Sherman’s hand was still cold. Logan Sullivan couldn’t help but cup it in his palm, but then he felt the person across from him shudder violently.

William Sherman suddenly looked up, his gaze no longer gentle as usual—almost as if he’d been pushed to the edge. In Logan Sullivan’s eyes, there was even a hint of aggression. William Sherman stared at him for a long moment, then forcefully shook off his hand and said, voice suppressed, “Getting married and having children is the proper path. You’re still so young, you shouldn’t disregard morality and ethics like this.”

Logan Sullivan was stunned by this heavy accusation, pausing in confusion: “Wait, what do you mean, ‘morality and ethics’?”

William Sherman retorted, “If you keep entangling with men like this, how will you explain it to your parents in the future? If your family line ends with you, when you’re old and frail, who will take care of you?”

Logan Sullivan asked incredulously, “Explain what? To whom? I’m not carrying the responsibility of repopulating humanity, Mr. Sherman. Are you… are you an alien?”

On this topic, William Sherman realized that using these self-deceiving excuses got him nowhere with Logan Sullivan, so he simply shut his mouth and ate in silence.

Logan Sullivan sized up William Sherman, unable to believe that such a beautiful person was, at heart, such an old-fashioned pedant. Frustrated, he downed half a bowl of soup in one go, then tentatively said, “About kids, you never know. Even if you get married, you might not have any. Even if you do, you might not be able to raise them. Even if you raise them, who knows what they’ll turn out to be? Counting on them to take care of you when you’re old—I think you’d be better off investing in those A-shares designed to scam people. Besides, if you really like kids, you can always go for surrogacy. These days, as long as you have money, getting a kid is easier than ever.”

William Sherman had no interest in responding.

Logan Sullivan went on, “When you’re suffering, you should think more, so you don’t repeat your mistakes. When you’re happy, you should think less, so you don’t overthink and ruin the mood. If the world suddenly ended today and everyone turned into ghosts, and you realized you’d never once lived as you pleased, how stifling would that be?”

William Sherman paused: “How can there be so many things you can do as you please?”

“Exactly,” Logan Sullivan said, “If others want to wrong you, do you have to wrong yourself too? Then what’s the point of living?”

William Sherman: “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Logan Sullivan heard the softening in his tone, stretched out his legs, struck a relaxed pose, and pressed his advantage: “So, if I invite you to a movie next week, will you go?”

William Sherman hesitated, but in the end still shook his head.

Logan Sullivan immediately looked a bit deflated.

William Sherman really couldn’t stand that expression, so he couldn’t help but explain a bit more: “I’m on a business trip next Wednesday, taking some students out for a field project for a colleague.”

Hm? There’s hope. Logan Sullivan could clearly feel that he’d managed to pry open a corner of William Sherman’s defenses.

“Where to? How long will you be gone?”

William Sherman automatically ignored the first question: “About a week.”

Logan Sullivan didn’t press further. If William Sherman wouldn’t say, he had his own ways of finding out.

In a good mood, he finished his whole bowl of hot food. That afternoon, after a round of gentle coaxing and shameless tricks, he even brought out his few treasured old movie discs, using his home theater that was as well-kept as his kitchenware, and managed to keep William Sherman until dinnertime.

If possible, he would have liked to keep him even longer, but Logan Sullivan could clearly sense that the darker it got, the more tense William Sherman became. As someone planning for the long game, Logan Sullivan didn’t want to scare him off, so he decided to hold back his impatience and let him go for now.

After all, there’s always tomorrow.

Chapter 26: The Mountain and River Awl …

On Monday morning, the office was filled with the smell of breakfast. Holly Harlow had bought three jin of buns from the cafeteria—thin-skinned, generously stuffed, each with eighteen pleats, their aroma wafting for miles, irresistible to anyone who’d woken up late and was planning to make do with dry bread or crackers. Even Director Sullivan, their elusive boss from the office across the hall, was lured over by the smell.

Logan Sullivan had long forgotten William Sherman’s instructions to avoid smoking, drinking, and greasy food. He stuffed a bun into his mouth in two bites, then reached out with his greasy hand to knock on Charles Gray’s head, ordering, “Kid, go turn on the TV.”

Charles Gray scampered off. Holly Harlow glanced at his back and said smugly, “Little Guo’s a good kid—hardworking and sensible, just too timid. So far, he only dares to eat what I give him.”

Logan Sullivan: “That’s normal. He has anthropophobia.”

Holly Harlow was about to nod, then suddenly realized something was off.

Logan Sullivan looked down at her and kindly added, “He’s not afraid of you, which means he doesn’t see you as human.”

Holly Harlow: “……”

At that moment, she saw Darrin Grant had somehow jumped onto the desk. Darrin Grant poked around for a bit, then seized the moment when Logan Sullivan was about to take a bite of his bun—swift as lightning, with a single swipe of its paw, it knocked the filling out of the bun with perfect precision. The timing and agility were so impressive, you’d almost forget it was such a fat cat.

Then, Darrin Grant heroically leapt off the desk, caught the meatball in midair, did a nimble 360-degree backflip, landed, and strutted off, swaying its tail.

All that was left for the dumbfounded boss was a greasy, empty bun skin.

Logan Sullivan: “Damn, stupid cat!”

Holly Harlow: “Serves you right, karma.”

Just then, the morning news on TV was reporting on the previous night’s earthquake. Apparently, quite a few areas had felt the tremor, but the impact wasn’t significant. The epicenter was in a sparsely populated remote mountain area, so there was basically no loss of life or property.

Logan Sullivan muttered, “Why couldn’t it have been a bit bigger? I was all ready to comfort someone.”

Julian West, who was “in the know,” smiled mysteriously.

Holly Harlow glanced at him and asked Logan Sullivan, “Who are you flirting with this time?”

“Don’t make it sound so bad. The world needs love as much as it needs spring and flowers. You dirty-minded people shouldn’t insult other people’s pure feelings.”

Julian West: “Buddha have mercy…”

Holly Harlow: “Help.”

Logan Sullivan reached out with his greasy hand to grab her hair. Holly Harlow shrieked and dodged, while Carter Shaw stepped back to give them space. He happened to look up and said in surprise, “Zach Warren? Why are you out during the day?”

Everyone in the room froze for a moment. Then Holly Harlow jumped up: “Close the curtains, quick, close the curtains!”

Charles Gray and Julian West hurriedly fumbled with the curtains, pulling shut both the cotton drapes and the UV-blocking layer. The room instantly became so dark you couldn’t tell day from night. Darrin Grant, having finished the bun filling, leapt at the wall and, with a flurry of chubby kicks, turned on the lights.

At this point, Zach Warren’s face was almost translucent. Only when there wasn’t a trace of sunlight left in the room did she dare to drift in, collapsing weakly into a chair and curling up into a ball, looking so frail she seemed about to fade away.

Julian West pulled a stick of incense from his drawer, lit it, and held it under Zach Warren’s nose: “Quick, breathe in some incense smoke.”

After burning through half a stick, Zach Warren finally recovered a bit. She let out a soft breath, her body looking a bit more solid, less like a ghostly shadow.

“What’s wrong with you?” Logan Sullivan smacked her on the forehead without a trace of pity. He could actually touch her, and Zach Warren was knocked back by the blow. “Are you tired of living? If you are, I’ll give you a sunbath and let you get a nice, beautiful tan!”

It was the first time Charles Gray had seen the boss lose his temper, and he shivered in fright.