It seemed as if he had always been silently watching his back.

Legend had it that he was born from a thousand fathoms of resentment, a soul-reaping being without a soul, coming from the very end of the Yellow Springs, his blade as cold as snow... Yet Logan Sullivan always remembered how he would emerge from the darkness and then disappear back into it, always alone, walking the icy, desolate road of the Yellow Springs with countless wandering spirits, forever solitary, and Logan Sullivan couldn't help but feel pity for him.

He didn't know what kind of entanglement he had with this Soul Reaper in his past or present life, and the other party clearly didn't want him to find out.

Logan Sullivan never pressed William Sherman for answers face to face. For one, the suppressed emotions in the man's eyes that day at the hotel made him feel anxious and almost afraid to touch upon it; for another... he truly didn't want to tear open someone else's wounds and hurt their dignity for no reason.

Even though he had always coaxed and spoiled William Sherman, it was hard to say how much was genuine and how much was pretense, how much was affection and how much was desire. But to turn around and say such heartless words—Logan Sullivan really couldn't do it.

He leaned against his car, finished an entire cigarette, stubbed it out and tossed it in the trash, then got into the car and slowly drove out of the residential area.

When Logan Sullivan got home, the black cat Darrin Grant had already been squatting in front of the fridge for a long time. The first thing it said was to aggressively demand, "Where's my cat food? I only neglected to grace you with my presence for a while, and you actually threw away my cat food? Outrageous, outrageous!"

Logan Sullivan ignored it, silently changed his shoes, poured a small dish of milk, sliced a few pieces of sausage, and put them together in the microwave for Darrin Grant—his fridge was still stocked by William Sherman.

Darrin Grant was extremely surprised, circling around his pant leg and sniffing him carefully: "What's wrong with you? Why do you look like you swallowed rat poison?"

Logan Sullivan stretched out his legs, flopped onto the sofa, picked up the black cat and placed it on his lap, staring into its eyes and asked, "When I was ten, you found me and brought me the Soulbound Order."

The black cat nodded blankly, not understanding why he was suddenly being nostalgic.

"Back then, as a happy-go-lucky, dim-witted kid, I thought I was a male version of Sailor Moon," Logan Sullivan gave a bitter smile and gently patted the fat cat's head. "Darrin Grant, tell me the truth now—who am I, really?"

Darrin Grant was stunned.

"You said you are the cat demon servant of the Soulbound Order, and that you find the master of the令in every generation. I always thought the Soulbound Order was like an ancient sword with a spirit—anyone who met its conditions could be its master. But... in fact, hasn't there only ever been one true master of the Soulbound Order since ancient times?"

Darrin Grant's round eyes stared at him. Sometimes, when it let its guard down, its gaze really didn't look like that of a cat.

"What happened to the true fire on my left shoulder? And what did I do to be punished?"

This question made Darrin Grant's fur stand on end: "How do you know about that?"

"I guessed. I was bluffing, you dumb cat. Why are you as easy to fool as he is..." Logan Sullivan fished out a cigarette from his pocket and leaned back on the sofa, looking tired. "But you can't keep a fire wrapped in paper forever. Sooner or later, the truth comes out. Why are you so jumpy?"

Darrin Grant let out a soft "meow," hesitantly moved closer, and, just like a real ball of fluff, gently bumped its head against his stomach.

This fat thing was rarely so well-behaved. Logan Sullivan picked it up and gently stroked its back.

"I don't know," Darrin Grant said softly. "Back then, I was just a little cat who hadn't finished cultivating, only knew how to play around all day. You... you had pretty much the same temper as now—an absolute rascal, completely lawless. But one day, you suddenly left for a long time, for... decades, and no one knew where you went. When you came back, the true fire on your left shoulder was gone. You personally held me, patiently grilled a fish for me, and then took out your whip, turned it into three paper talismans, and gave them to me."

Darrin Grant nestled in the man's warm arms and closed its emerald eyes.

"What did I say?" Logan Sullivan asked softly.

"You said you'd caused a huge disaster, and from then on... you probably wouldn't be coming back. I took the Soulbound Order and focused on cultivating, searching for you for five hundred years."

Darrin Grant's tone almost made Logan Sullivan feel that the usually heartless black cat was about to cry. He couldn't help but sigh. Just as he was about to say something, Darrin Grant wriggled out of his arms, shook its glossy black fur, and stood on his thigh, bossily declaring, "So you have to treat me better! The microwave has beeped five or six times already—go get my milk and sausage!"

Logan Sullivan: "..."

So he raised his hand and swept the fat cat off his lap.

【Volume Three: Virtue Quill】

Chapter 46 Virtue Quill …

By the time Charles Gray left the care center for autistic children in the evening, it was already very dark. Longcheng had just had a snowfall, the roads were treacherous, and he could only drive as slowly as a snail, hoping to reach the post office before it closed.

His beat-up little car was piled high with all sorts of books—some were textbooks and workbooks, others were children's books—all wrapped in layers of kraft paper and plastic, stacked neatly in piles. At first glance, he looked just like a courier from an online bookstore.

Charles Gray planned to mail these things to the elementary school he sponsored before the end of the year.

His driving skills were mediocre at best, and he wasn't very brave. On the slippery road, he looked like a giant tortoise crawling along the ground. Yet even so, he almost hit someone.

A person in gray suddenly dashed across the street into the lane for cars, nearly falling under Charles Gray's wheels. Several cars braked hard at the same time. Luckily, everyone was driving slowly, so there was no bigger accident.

A hot-tempered driver rolled down his window and cursed, "Are you crazy? If you're going to fake an accident, at least pick a quieter spot!"

Charles Gray was nowhere near that tough. He was terrified, his palms sweating, and he scrambled out of the car, his voice trembling: "Are... are you okay? I'm so sorry, really sorry."

The person who fell was extremely thin, almost emaciated, with a haggard face. The brim of his hat covered half his face, shrouded in a layer of darkness, his skin waxy yellow—he looked like he was at death's door.

The driver next to him kept shouting, "Bro, why are you even talking to him? That guy's nuts! Why didn't you just run him over?"

Charles Gray awkwardly waved off the indignant driver. Seeing the man's complexion, he grew even more worried and tentatively reached out to help: "Can you stand up? If not... I can take you to the hospital?"

But the man didn't appreciate it. The one in the hat quickly brushed off his hand, looked up at Charles Gray, and those eyes were lifeless, yet there was a chilling, sinister glint that made Charles Gray shiver.

Then, the man in the hat got up from the ground by himself, didn't spare him a glance, and hurried away.

As they passed each other, Charles Gray noticed a dark mark under the man's ear, like a fingerprint left after someone smeared coal dust.

He stood there, at a loss, still calling after the man's back: "Are you really okay? If you want, I can give you my contact info. If anything comes up, call me, my name is..."

But the man in the hat had already turned into a side street and disappeared.

The other driver left too, but not before leaving him with a parting shot in the cold, windy street: "Bro, are you stupid or what?"

Charles Gray sighed, turned to open his car door, and just as he was about to get in, he saw a reflection in the window—it was the man in the hat from before.

He saw the man standing sideways at the corner of a sidewalk behind him, hiding in the shadows, looking suspicious. Then, two women walked past him arm in arm. As they passed, the man in the hat suddenly opened his mouth wide, his head morphing into something not quite human, and a half-foot-long tongue shot out, sucking at the two women as they passed.

Charles Gray's eyes widened. He saw one of the women suddenly stumble as if she had low blood sugar, nearly fainting, but her companion caught her. He couldn't hear what they said, but he saw something float out of the woman who almost fainted and fly straight into the open mouth of the man in the hat.

Charles Gray was shocked and whipped his head around, but behind him was nothing but the snow-covered street and hurried passersby.

He scrambled into his car, heart pounding, and hurriedly dug out the little electric baton Logan Sullivan had given him, placing it in the inner pocket of his coat and patting it for reassurance, finally feeling a bit steadier as he started the car and drove off again.