That person’s legs had been severed near the tops of the thighs. Through the narrow window, Charles Gray could almost make out the irregular wounds on the man’s legs, with a short length of bone protruding from the rotting flesh, still—still dripping blood! The blood trickled in through the window crack, falling drip by drip onto the floor, forming a small puddle, as if it would never stop.

Yet none of the passing doctors or nurses noticed a thing.

The legless man stared silently at the hospital’s inpatient wing, half his face covered in dirt and blood. His eyes bulged, expressionless like a terrifying wax figure, only gloomily watching the people coming and going inside. The cracked corner of his mouth twisted crookedly to one side, revealing a cold, indescribably resentful smile...

Just then, a hand suddenly slapped his shoulder hard, catching him completely off guard. Charles Gray was so terrified that he didn’t even have time to scream; he just jumped straight up in silence, eyes wide, breath caught, his heart in his chest giving a clear “thud,” as if it had skipped a beat.

It’s no exaggeration to say that at that moment, Charles Gray very clearly and distinctly felt a sudden urge to pee.

Fortunately, he immediately saw that it was Logan Sullivan who had patted his shoulder, and managed to force the urge back down.

Logan Sullivan saw that his face had turned white with fright, bent over, and made a lewd gesture of crossing his legs, immediately frowning: “What’s wrong with you now?”

Charles Gray opened his mouth to explain, but his mind was still blank, still in a brief state of aphasia, having forgotten how to start speaking like a normal person. All he could do was shakily raise his hand and point at the window at the end of the corridor.

Logan Sullivan looked up in confusion in the direction he was pointing—not exactly sparkling clean, but not too dirty either. Aside from dust and a few tiny shards of ice, there was nothing there.

Logan Sullivan asked curiously, “What did you see?”

When Charles Gray looked up again in panic, he found that only an empty window remained—there was nothing to be seen.

He scratched his head and looked around, noticing that no one was paying attention to them. Lowering his voice, almost on the verge of tears, he said, “I saw a man floating outside the window... No, it was only half a man. His legs had been broken off by something, and blood was flowing in through the window crack, all over the floor.”

Logan Sullivan frowned at him. Charles Gray sniffed hard, sucking back the snot that was about to drip out, still wearing that silly look that seemed to say, “Come bully me.”

Logan Sullivan knew he wasn’t lying. Based on what he knew of Charles Gray, he doubted this kid’s IQ was high enough to pull off something as difficult as “lying to the boss.”

So he walked straight to the window. The Mingjian meter showed no reaction. Calmly, second by second, Logan Sullivan reached out and touched the window frame, then pushed open the slightly rusted window a crack. The cold northwestern wind immediately swept in.

But it was just wind—apart from the chill, he felt nothing else.

Logan Sullivan stood at the window for a while, until a young nurse from the inpatient ward came running over to protest: “Hey, sir, could you close the window? If you need fresh air, please go outside. All the warmth is leaking out, and there are still patients here.”

Logan Sullivan closed the window, turned around, and gave the young nurse an apologetic smile and a nod.

The young woman, suddenly confronted with a high-quality handsome guy, was momentarily stunned. After a moment, her face flushed, and she half-jokingly, half-seriously muttered a complaint before turning to leave.

At some point, William Sherman had come over. He couldn’t help but give a light cough, deliberately turning his body to block the young nurse’s sneaky glance back.

Logan Sullivan glanced at him with a half-smile, tugged at his scarf, and leaned in so close he was almost whispering in William Sherman’s ear: “Caught a chill? Why are you coughing?”

William Sherman quickly stepped back. The way he moved made Logan Sullivan suspect that if he were wearing a long robe, he’d be tucking in his sleeves and bowing his head, ready to say, “In broad daylight, men and men should keep their distance.”

He couldn’t help but let out a low laugh.

“What were you looking at?” William Sherman’s ears turned a bit red as he stiffly changed the subject.

Logan Sullivan glanced at Charles Gray, who was standing far away, still not daring to approach the window, and briefly recounted what had just happened.

After listening, William Sherman thought for a moment, then lowered his voice as well: “Technically, he doesn’t have the Heavenly Eye, but it’s strange—I feel like he can see things that happened in a place through reflective surfaces.”

Logan Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember the first time at Longda, when I suddenly appeared and interrupted him?” William Sherman said. “Actually, I’d heard about the incident at the school the night before. Since I suspected it was related to the escaped starving ghost, I sent a puppet to investigate the victim’s dorm. But the puppet was withdrawn before dawn. Yet when this young man climbed onto the windowsill, he suddenly established a subtle connection with my puppet. I was afraid of exposing my whereabouts, so I had to step in and stop him... I just didn’t know you were there at the time.”

At that time, someone had used some method to temporarily cut off his sense of Logan Sullivan’s location.

In the report Charles Gray later submitted, he did mention seeing a skeleton in the window, and “a man in black robes in the skeleton’s eyes,” and so on. But when Logan Sullivan glanced at that report, he found that ninety percent of it was just a grand load of nonsense, so he used the report as a coaster for his teacup—he hadn’t expected Charles Gray to write anything decent anyway.

Logan Sullivan: “So, maybe at some point the night before, there really was a man with broken legs—or a soul—spying here?”

William Sherman lowered his voice even more: “Didn’t you say those two were brought in at midnight? If I’d harmed someone, I’d probably want to come see for myself what happened to them.”

Logan Sullivan grinned mischievously: “You’d never hurt anyone. You even sneak a bite of your own family...”

William Sherman really couldn’t handle having such private things discussed openly in public. His face immediately turned red with discomfort, and he abruptly cut him off with a low shout: “Don’t talk nonsense!”

Logan Sullivan obediently shut his mouth, though he was still cheeky. Even with his mouth closed, he was a master at ogling with his eyes.

In the end, William Sherman couldn’t stand being scrutinized from head to toe by his gaze, and turned to stride off toward the ward.

The three of them awkwardly made their way to the ward door. Charles Gray noticed that the previous day’s beastly solo wailing had now become a duet—the first victim was no longer there.

The grim-faced local police chief came out to greet them, shaking Logan Sullivan’s hand with a warmth reminiscent of the historic meeting of the Red Fourth and Red Second Armies, his face full of suffering as he said, “You must be Director Sullivan? My surname is Li. Sigh, our leader told me to wait for you here all morning.”

Logan Sullivan asked, “Where’s the one brought in yesterday?”

Officer Barnes: “He’s barely hanging on, sent to the ICU. The hospital wants to move these two there as well.”

Logan Sullivan asked, “What do you mean, barely hanging on?”

Officer Barnes said, “He’s been crying out all day, like a fish out of water, eyes open but unable to speak, not responding to anyone, basically in a coma, occasionally twitching, no feeling at all below the thighs—Is this really poisoning? I’ve been on the force for years and never heard of any drug that could do this to a person.”

“Maybe it really isn’t poisoning.” Logan Sullivan gave him a look. Officer Barnes felt that this man’s gaze was deep and meaningful, and he shivered involuntarily. Logan Sullivan patted his shoulder: “Besides, the hospital hasn’t reached a conclusion yet—anything’s possible. Don’t rush to move them. Let me talk to the victims and get a sense of the situation.”

Chapter 52 Virtue Quill …

The doctors, nurses, and even the victims’ families had all been temporarily asked to leave by Officer Barnes, so only the two gravely ill patients, harmonizing in a duet, remained in the ward.

Logan Sullivan glanced at the two, knocked one out first, then asked Charles Gray, “Did you bring your notebook?”

Charles Gray quickly nodded.

“Take good notes,” Logan Sullivan bent down and asked the victim, “Ma’am, is it your legs that hurt?”

The victim was a middle-aged woman, writhing in pain. The medical staff had to tie her to the bed. With tears in her eyes, the woman nodded at him.

Logan Sullivan took out a wallet—but this “wallet” didn’t contain money or cards. When he opened it, it was packed thick with yellow talisman papers.