He seemed to do it effortlessly, picking up Logan Sullivan with one arm, then bending down to pick up the little bell as heavy as the Golden Cudgel. He pinched it between two fingers, brought it up to his eyes to examine it for a moment, then suddenly let out a snort of laughter, tucked it into his sleeve, and turned to walk out.

William Sherman found the apartment empty and immediately rushed to No. 4 Guangming Road, only to discover that all the lights were off. Only a group of ghosts were still meticulously clocking in. William Sherman, anxious and frantic, turned around and took several deep breaths in the courtyard before barely managing to calm himself. Forcing himself to steady his mind, he began to calculate his whereabouts.

Then, to his surprise, he discovered that Logan Sullivan was actually heading this way.

Where did he go in the middle of the night instead of sleeping, and why did he come to the Special Investigation Office?

William Sherman suddenly turned his head, only to see a familiar figure suspended high in midair.

The always gentle and refined Mr. Sherman instantly changed his expression.

Spirit Mask looked calmly at the Soul-Slaying Blade pointed at his own chin, showing not the slightest hint of fear. Instead, he lowered his head and patiently straightened Logan Sullivan's clothes, which had been messed up by the wind, and let out a light laugh: "When he sees you, he follows you around, trying to please you in every way, and you can't even drive him away. But when he sees me, the first thing he does is whip me. Tell me, how biased is he?"

William Sherman almost squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth: "Let go. Don't touch him with your filthy hands."

"Filthy hands?" Spirit Mask chuckled softly. "And you think you're so clean?"

William Sherman's face turned cold.

Spirit Mask let out another light laugh, then raised his hand and tossed Logan Sullivan out. William Sherman hurriedly withdrew his blade to avoid hurting him and reached out to catch him steadily.

"They never considered you one of their own over there, but I'm different," Spirit Mask said patiently. "I hope you'll really think about it—who actually treats you better? Is it really worth destroying yourself like this for those unrelated people?"

As he spoke, his gaze fell on Logan Sullivan again: "Who are you? If you want someone, can't you have anyone you want? Even if... is it necessary to be so anxious and tormented, longing for what you can't have? Even I pity you."

William Sherman said coldly, "No need for your concern."

A strange smile appeared on the mask of Spirit Mask: "Fine, but don't regret it."

With that, Spirit Mask turned, his wide cloak swirling up high behind him, and disappeared into the night sky.

William Sherman immediately brought Logan Sullivan back to his apartment. Logan Sullivan's external injuries didn't seem serious, just some minor bumps and scrapes. The back of his neck was a little red, probably from being knocked out with a chop, but aside from that, William Sherman couldn't see anything else wrong. He could only sit uneasily at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up on his own.

Logan Sullivan slept all the way until noon the next day. During that time, his phone rang several times, but the person in bed didn't stir at all.

It wasn't until the sun was directly overhead that his fingers suddenly twitched. Seeing this, the already anxious William Sherman immediately grabbed his hand, gently shook it, and said a little nervously, "Yunlan?"

Before Logan Sullivan could even open his eyes, he instinctively reached up to cover his neck. "Damn, which bastard did this..."

Seeing that he still had the energy to curse, William Sherman felt half his worry melt away. But then he heard Logan Sullivan call his name in a thick, nasal voice.

William Sherman quickly asked, "Mm, what is it?"

Logan Sullivan still seemed a bit dazed. He asked, confused, "What time is it? Why are you still awake at this hour? And if you're up, why aren't the lights on?"

Author's note: Note: "The West Sea... circling around" is from "Records of the Ten Continents within the Seas"; "Push open the Changhe, sink the Heavenly Gate" is from "Huainanzi".

Chapter 59: The Merit Brush …

William Sherman stood frozen for a few seconds, then slowly reached out his hand. In the bright, sunlit noon, he waved it in front of Logan Sullivan's eyes.

There was a barely noticeable confusion and distraction in Logan Sullivan's gaze, and he didn't react at all to the movement. William Sherman's heart sank.

When he fell silent, Logan Sullivan immediately sensed something was wrong. He instinctively tilted his head and listened. "William Sherman?"

Logan Sullivan frowned, then suddenly reached out and accurately grabbed William Sherman's hand waving in front of him, as if he'd anticipated the gesture. William Sherman's hand was as cold as porcelain. Logan Sullivan was silent for a moment. "Oh... so it's my eyes that are the problem?"

Unable to see, Logan Sullivan's gaze had nowhere to settle, drifting aimlessly and making him look especially lost. William Sherman suddenly clenched his fist, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I'll take you to the hospital right away."

On the way, Logan Sullivan was unusually quiet, barely saying a word. No one knew what he was thinking. Only when getting out of the car and walking did he occasionally show a hint of confusion.

For an ordinary person, suddenly losing their sight is a very painful thing. When walking, he almost didn't know which foot to lift, and couldn't help but reach out to grab anything he could—even though William Sherman was holding his hand.

Sometimes, he couldn't even tell which direction William Sherman was leading him, especially when turning corners.

People with poor eyesight usually have heightened other senses, but that's based on long-term habit and unconscious training. Someone who suddenly loses their sight is actually more sluggish than usual. He would involuntarily pay too much attention to what he heard, and without the cooperation of vision, it was hard to judge what all the sounds meant. His sense of balance was also affected, so even figuring out which way someone was pulling him took a while.

Whether it was because Spirit Mask had been too rough, or because he was already injured, William Sherman thought his face looked unusually pale. Logan Sullivan seemed very calm about suddenly going blind—he wasn't panicked, nor did he complain. He just kept a blank face, with a barely noticeable frown.

In fact, William Sherman knew that Logan Sullivan would sometimes have this expression, but as soon as he realized someone was looking at him, he'd immediately change his face... Now, he didn't know if anyone was looking at him.

William Sherman's expression suddenly darkened, the murderous aura between his brows almost visible, but his hands supporting him became even gentler.

The medical staff almost nervously took Logan Sullivan from his hands, always feeling that the bespectacled, scholarly-looking man behind him was the kind of low-key gangster in movies who chants Buddhist scriptures but can kill without hesitation.

As expected, there was nothing wrong with Logan Sullivan's eyes—no external injuries, no disease, but he just couldn't see. The doctor was puzzled, and after examining him for most of the day, even hinted that perhaps the temporary blindness was psychological, and suggested he see a psychiatrist.

By the time they left the hospital, it was already dark. Logan Sullivan, like a cockroach with tenacious vitality, had astonishingly quickly adapted to his new life as a blind man.

As they walked out of the hospital, Logan Sullivan reached out and said, "It's dark now, isn't it?"

William Sherman, afraid he would go silent, wanted to get him to talk more, so he quickly asked, "How do you know?"

Logan Sullivan said, "Feels like the air is a bit more humid and cooler. The sun must have set."

William Sherman opened the car door, supporting him with one hand and raising the other to shield his head from bumping into the roof. He bent down to fasten his seatbelt for him, and as he straightened up and turned his head, he happened to see the smile on his face. William Sherman asked, "What are you smiling about?"

Logan Sullivan: "I was just thinking, if one day I get old and senile, will you still take care of me like this? What if I don't even recognize people anymore and start calling you 'dad'?"

William Sherman: "..."

Although he was happy to see more smiles on Logan Sullivan's face, sometimes William Sherman still found it hard to understand his bizarre sense of self-amusement.

Logan Sullivan imagined for a while, then actually burst out laughing, reaching out to grope aimlessly in the air. William Sherman, sitting in the driver's seat, grabbed his hand. Logan Sullivan shook him, "Hey, if I call you 'dad', you can't answer, okay? Don't take advantage of me just because I'm senile."

William Sherman said helplessly, "It'd be better if you really were senile."

"What?" Logan Sullivan pretended to be shocked, grabbing his own collar. "What are you planning to do to me? Lock me up and play out some forced forbidden love scenario?"

William Sherman blinked, knowing full well he was talking nonsense, but still couldn't help imagining it for a moment.

Logan Sullivan let out a few lewd chuckles and continued, "Actually, I think that's not a bad idea."

William Sherman: "..."

As soon as the car started, the previously reserved Logan Sullivan couldn't hold back anymore and began performing his "happy-go-lucky child" routine.

He found the seat adjustment controls, reclining the seat one moment, sitting it up the next, moving it forward and back, groping all over the car like a newborn silly monkey. Occasionally, he'd offer William Sherman some advice: "Hey, you know, not being able to see is actually kind of fun. There's a dark experience center downtown, tickets are forty bucks. I just saved myself forty yuan this time."