His office was spotless after the cleaning staff had finished, with a huge floor-to-ceiling window facing the morning sun on one side. When the curtains were drawn open, the winter sunlight poured in. The air conditioning was on high, so you could comfortably wear just a shirt inside. There were two lush, vibrant water calla lilies being tended, and at the entrance, a tank of leisurely, content silver arowana.

A soothing guqin melody played from the speakers. In the spacious office, the two of them each occupied a side—William Sherman had just watered the plants and then picked up a book to read, temporarily acting as his assistant. Logan Sullivan had him help prepare a bowl of cinnabar, pulled out a thick stack of unused yellow talisman papers, and, with his eyes closed, lay on the desk drawing talismans. At first, he often messed up, but gradually he got used to it, and what started as a way to pass the time became a calming, relaxing activity. A row of peace and warding talismans was lined up on the corner of his desk.

Even from a distance, you could feel the warm and abundant power radiating from the talismans. Normally, he had little patience for such things, but for some reason, whenever he was with William Sherman, he couldn’t help but be influenced by him, and his heart would settle down a lot.

When Holly Harlow knocked and entered, she saw the two of them, perfectly complementing each other yet not interfering, and she clearly hesitated at the door, feeling that her presence was unnecessary and rather pointless.

She bit her lip quietly, gave William Sherman a cool nod, then said to Logan Sullivan, “I need to go out for a bit. The year-end bonus has come in, so I have to go to the bank for Zach Warren.”

The penniless Logan Sullivan perked up at this, nodding eagerly, “Mm, sure, go ahead.”

Holly Harlow pulled a form from her folder. “Also, here’s the budget for our department’s New Year’s Eve dinner this year. Besides food, we need to purchase some ritual items in advance. I’ll read it out to you—if it’s all good, sign here and I’ll apply to finance for the funds.”

Holly Harlow read through the items one by one while Logan Sullivan listened, and the two quickly checked everything. Logan Sullivan signed where she indicated, and after finishing business, Holly Harlow finally glanced at William Sherman, hesitantly asking, “This year... will you still be keeping vigil with us?”

Logan Sullivan didn’t even look up. “Yeah, what else?”

Holly Harlow’s face lit up, but the next moment she heard Logan Sullivan add, “Not just me, I’m bringing my spouse too, right, wife?”

Whether it was because she was used to his constant teasing, or because Holly Harlow was present, William Sherman didn’t react much—he just smiled softly and, almost flirtatiously, chided in a low voice, “Get lost.”

Holly Harlow’s face instantly fell again. After a moment, she said gloomily, “Oh, then I’ll go.”

“Hey, wait.” Logan Sullivan called her back, tidied up the peace talismans he’d finished, then opened a drawer and pulled out a thick stack of previously drawn ones, handing them to Holly Harlow. “There’s a little shop at the end of Antique Street, behind the big locust tree at the very back. No sign, just an old man at the door. Knock and go in, show these to the old man. The price is the usual, he knows. But tell him I drew these blind, so have him check them carefully. If there are flaws, it’s fine to give him a discount.”

Holly Harlow took them and stuffed them into her down jacket pocket, asking in surprise, “You actually sell talismans?”

Logan Sullivan smiled, “Gotta support the family somehow. Just bought a house, need some extra cash for renovations.”

Holly Harlow didn’t even finish listening, just turned and left without another word.

She had actually wanted to ask if he needed her to accompany him to the demon market that night, but now it seemed unnecessary.

The door to the director’s office closed with a heavy thud. William Sherman looked up from his ancient book. “Does she... like you?”

“Yeah.” Logan Sullivan spread out a new sheet of yellow paper, measuring it with his fingers as he spoke. “I didn’t notice before, but now that I know, it’s best to nip her hopes in the bud.”

William Sherman sighed.

“What are you sighing for?” Logan Sullivan smiled silently. “What future is there in an office romance? Besides, humans and demons are different—why mix things up for nothing?”

He said it without thinking, but William Sherman took it to heart. After a moment of silence, William Sherman said, “Then you and I... isn’t that a case of human and ghost being different?”

“Hm?” Logan Sullivan dipped his fingers in cinnabar, paused, then realized he’d misspoken and quickly corrected himself, blurting out, “How are you the same? I like you so much.”

He said it so lightly, as if it wasn’t a sweet nothing meant to please, but simply... idle words spoken while sitting in a warm room, sipping tea and enjoying the scent, on a snowy winter day.

The hand Logan Sullivan was using to hold down the talisman paper was suddenly grasped by someone. His pen paused, and the spiritual energy in the talisman dissipated, ruining the paper.

At some point, William Sherman had come close, bracing both hands on the arms of the chair, encircling Logan Sullivan between them. He even held his breath, almost reverently leaning in, closing his eyes, his lashes trembling slightly, and then, very carefully, kissed the tip of his nose. After a while, he dared to slowly move down, inch by inch, testing, until he landed on Logan Sullivan’s slightly dry lips.

So gentle, so tender—even as he softly pried open Logan Sullivan’s lips, it didn’t feel like he wanted anything more.

It was simply a kiss, born of affection, seeking a moment of skin-to-skin closeness.

For William Sherman, that feeling was like a deadly poison—he had tried to resist, but still couldn’t help falling deeper and deeper.

Just then, someone barged in without knocking. After seeing something they shouldn’t have, they cursed under their breath and quietly backed out.

William Sherman was startled by the sound of the door, stood up in a fluster, and coughed to cover his embarrassment.

At the door, Darrin Grant conspicuously scratched at the outside with a cat’s paw, dragging out his words as he called loudly, “Boss? Boss, are you there? Busy?”

Logan Sullivan scowled, “Get in here!”

Darrin Grant trotted over, glanced at William Sherman, and found it fascinating—he’d never seen such a shy and reserved human around Logan Sullivan before. For a moment, Darrin Grant amusingly thought that William Sherman’s expression was just like those prostitutes in anti-vice news reports, just caught and handcuffed by the police.

He was so embarrassed, his face was almost red down to his neck.

Looking at him, he really did have that “peach blossom beauty” look, no wonder the big rascal had chased him for over half a year and still hadn’t caught him. As a cat, Darrin Grant silently critiqued William Sherman.

Then it flicked its tail, gloating: No matter how good-looking, the big rascal can’t see it now.

The big rascal said impatiently, “You have two minutes for your statement. If you say one extra word, I’ll skin you for a scarf, no discussion!”

The black cat sat on his desk. “I’ve written to the flower demon clan, you should have received the invitation, right? You know a lot of demons—after dusk tonight, someone will be waiting for you at the west end of Antique Street. Just go straight there, and don’t forget the gift.”

At this, it glanced at William Sherman. “Teacher Shen knows the rules, right?”

William Sherman nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.”

Darrin Grant was reassured—it always believed that humans needed to know shame to have boundaries, and only with boundaries could they be reliable. Teacher Shen seemed much more dependable.

Logan Sullivan was about to kick them out when his phone suddenly rang. He absentmindedly reached for his phone, muttered, “Who is it,” and answered. Darrin Grant, sitting on the desk, caught sight of the caller ID: “Empress Dowager,” and immediately perked up, straightening its back, ready to watch Logan Sullivan make a fool of himself.

Logan Sullivan started off all dignified, “Hello, Special Investigation Department, Zhao Yun—”

Then his voice abruptly cut off, and he seemed to shrink into a cat, replying in a meek, well-behaved tone, almost bowing and scraping, “Ah, sorry, I didn’t see just now, my fault, Mom.”

Logan Sullivan had been sitting grandly in his swivel chair, thinking he was all imposing and authoritative, but as soon as he answered the call, he curled up into a ball, wagging his head and tail like a little eunuch following the emperor in ancient times. Darrin Grant silently collapsed in laughter on the desk.

“No, I really didn’t dare forget,” Logan Sullivan said. “I really do have something tonight, really... Ah, don’t ask, it’s work—no, when have I ever gone out fooling around? Where would I go in this freezing weather?”

William Sherman stood to the side, listening to his affectionate, almost coquettish conversation with the person on the other end, and his gaze involuntarily dimmed. At that moment, William Sherman realized more clearly than ever that Logan Sullivan was someone with parents, with flesh and blood, with countless ties in the mortal world—ultimately, not the same as himself.