Logan Sullivan crossed his legs and tossed the medicine bottle into Julian West's arms. “We already accidentally took one down during the day, but I figure that thing doesn’t like to cause trouble in broad daylight. I’m worried it won’t take the bait at night, so your job is: once it gets dark, go out and crush the tentacle inside this bottle, and lure the vengeful ghost into Holly Harlow’s domain.”

Julian West silently looked at him, then at the small medicine bottle in his hand, realizing he’d become the designated scapegoat, and immediately accused him in a tone as mournful as if he were presiding over a funeral: “You’re screwing me over.”

Logan Sullivan replied without hesitation, “Yep, so what?”

To be able to mess with someone so brazenly and without pretense—what an open and aboveboard person he must be!

Julian West glanced around and found only the black cat’s sly, cold grin and everyone else’s utter lack of sympathy. For a moment, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of sorrow.

Suddenly, the fake monk spun around and lunged at William Sherman, who had been quietly standing against the wall since they arrived. “The king wants to sacrifice this humble monk—Your Majesty, save me!”

William Sherman: “……”

Back when he was the Soul Reaper, everyone who saw him acted like mice seeing a cat. He’d never been teased so playfully in public before, so he froze for a few seconds, then turned to Logan Sullivan for help.

Logan Sullivan thought the flattery was perfectly timed and was quite pleased, so he simply turned his head away.

William Sherman considered for a moment and reached out for the small medicine bottle. “How about I go instead?”

Before he could finish, Julian West knew things were about to go south. Sure enough, two chilling gazes immediately bored into his back, as if trying to pin him to the wall and skewer him with a thousand swords.

Julian West gave a dry laugh, stuffed the small bottle into his coat, took a step back, and quickly said, “Amitabha, promoting good and eliminating evil, and protecting the lives and property of the people is our duty—glorious and arduous. How could I shirk it? I’ll go.”

With that, the fake monk bolted at lightning speed.

William Sherman asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh,” said Logan Sullivan, “I know a good restaurant nearby. Come have dinner with me.”

William Sherman: “……”

Holly Harlow ground her teeth. “Dare to be angry, but not to speak.”

Carter Shaw lowered his head in silence. “Not daring to speak.”

Darrin Grant: “Meow—”

Charles Gray truly didn’t dare to speak.

Fortunately, Mr. Sherman still had a conscience. Seeing the looks on everyone’s faces and hearing their unspoken thoughts, he kindly shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right. How about this: you stay here and hold down the fort, and I’ll go guard the life gate for you. If anything happens, I can help out.”

As soon as he said this, everyone fell silent.

Holly Harlow’s gaze toward William Sherman instantly became incredibly complicated. Even Carter Shaw seemed thoughtful, while only Charles Gray naively asked, “What’s the life gate?”

Carter Shaw ignored him, straightened up a bit, and asked, “How did Mr. Sherman know what kind of formation my two-layer ‘net’ is supposed to be?”

William Sherman smiled gently. “‘Double-layered Four Gates Eight Trigrams Formation, with only entrances and no exits, life and death gates’—I figured it out from the surveillance points Logan Sullivan chose. But if the vengeful ghost’s resentment is too strong, the hastily set up ‘net’ might not hold. If the life gate turns into a death gate, it’ll be hard to control. I’ll watch the formation’s core, just in case.”

After speaking, he nodded politely to everyone, then looked at Logan Sullivan, bent down slightly, and lowered his voice. “I’ll head over now. Take care of yourself.”

Logan Sullivan happily watched him leave.

This time, neither Holly Harlow nor Carter Shaw made any teasing remarks about William Sherman’s subtle, sticky words. Instead, they both turned to Logan Sullivan. The black cat Darrin Grant clung to the window. After a moment, it saw William Sherman walk out of the hospital building and stand precisely on the “spot,” as if he’d already anticipated being watched from above, even looking up and smiling at it.

Darrin Grant’s eyes flashed. “A real expert.”

Holly Harlow lowered her voice, her brows tightly knit. “Director Sullivan, who exactly is this Mr. Sherman?”

Logan Sullivan was in a great mood and didn’t mind her tone at all, half-jokingly saying, “You really don’t want to know.”

Darrin Grant turned its head, fixing him with emerald eyes. “So you do know?”

Logan Sullivan lounged lazily in his chair, a faint smile on his lips. “When have I ever not known what’s going on?”

Holly Harlow quickly said, “It just seems odd to me—he was there the first time the Reincarnation Sundial appeared, and the second time with the Terra-Spike, we just happened to run into him again in the snowy mountains. Blackstone is such a big place, I don’t even know all my neighbors. How could there be so many coincidences? Don’t you think it’s a bit too deliberate? You…”

Logan Sullivan blinked. He hadn’t expected Holly Harlow to react so strongly.

Even Carter Shaw glanced at Holly Harlow.

“Oh, about the The Four Saints, there are indeed some reasons behind it,” Logan Sullivan paused, “but I think he probably doesn’t want you to know, so I can’t really say much about his business. Hope you understand.”

Someone who always thinks he’s second only to the heavens actually said “hope you understand,” but Holly Harlow didn’t feel comforted at all. Instead, she felt something indescribable inside.

If William Sherman were just an ordinary professor at Blackstone University, she could joke about him and Logan Sullivan with Julian West and the others, treat their relationship as workplace entertainment, tease and mock the boss, even make up slash jokes about her boss on Weibo. But now, realizing William Sherman wasn’t so simple… maybe even half a “kindred spirit” like them, she suddenly felt uneasy.

It was as if a thin needle had pricked her heart, letting out a sour, aching liquid.

Carter Shaw: “So what’s this expert good at? Formations? Could we maybe exchange ideas sometime?”

Darrin Grant flicked its tail, hesitantly asking, “This time you’ve provoked someone who’s not ordinary. What’s your plan? Even if you won’t say, at least let us know which sect this fellow belongs to?”

Holly Harlow still wore a grave expression, brows furrowed—as if Logan Sullivan hadn’t just found a partner, but adopted a godfather.

Finally, the good mood that had given Logan Sullivan a bit of patience was completely worn away by their endless questions. He waved his hand impatiently. “Go do your jobs! Get lost! Why so many questions? Did I say I was holding a press conference?”

Carter Shaw left excitedly with Charles Gray, determined to make the formation look impressive this time—so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of an expert.

Holly Harlow seemed like she still wanted to say something, but Darrin Grant had already jumped off the chair and, a few steps away, turned back to meow at her. Holly Harlow could only take a deep breath, lower her eyes, clench her hand tighter under the wide sleeve of her red coat, and follow Darrin Grant without another word.

Logan Sullivan noticed Holly Harlow’s faint hostility, but didn’t take it to heart—in his view, women were always more attentive and thoughtful. Bringing someone like William Sherman into their little circle without any explanation probably made her uneasy.

So, being considerate, he called out to Holly Harlow, “Hey, wait.”

Holly Harlow paused.

Logan Sullivan said, “Well, out of respect for his wishes, I can’t say much, but I guarantee he’s fine. Don’t worry, just treat him like you treat me.”

Holly Harlow didn’t reply, just walked out, secretly wanting to slap this guy named Zhao.

Chapter 54 Virtue Quill …

Night finally fell.

After finishing his work, Carter Shaw stood on the rooftop with his hands in his pockets. The biting north wind whipped his hair around, and Charles Gray kept worrying he’d be blown away at any moment—Carter Shaw was so thin, he looked almost malnourished.

Charles Gray didn’t dare move. The ground at his feet was covered in cinnabar.

Carter Shaw had turned the rooftop into a giant sheet of yellow paper, drawing a huge “talisman” with cinnabar and weighing down the eight directions with black stones. Standing in the center of the “talisman,” Charles Gray immediately felt the atmosphere change. The wind blowing in the night carried a strange scent he couldn’t quite describe.

It just felt sticky and damp—not stinky, but mixed with the earthy, bloody smell of mud and water, with a faint hint of bitterness.

Charles Gray sniffed in confusion. “Brother Chu?”

“That’s the scent of resentful spirits.” Carter Shaw didn’t turn around, just looked down. In the vast darkness, they’d already set up an inescapable net. William Sherman, in a light-colored coat, stood out clearly, positioned exactly where the net would close. Carter Shaw shook his head. “Who did Director Sullivan provoke this time? That guy named Shen… I’ve never heard of him before.”