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In view of the fact that Logan Sullivan thought this phone call rather ruined his handsome image, he braced himself on the table, stood up, and walked into the inner room.

Darrin Grant licked its paw, stared wide-eyed at William Sherman for a moment, and then finally asked, “Are you human?”

William Sherman: “……”

Darrin Grant hurried to explain, “Oh, I’m not insulting you, I mean it literally, you get what I mean? Like… are you human or something else, um… that kind of, you know, something else, you get it?”

This question hit a sore spot for William Sherman. He was silent for a while, then shook his head.

Unexpectedly, Darrin Grant seemed relieved and muttered to itself, “Good, not human… not human… Well, that brat may look annoying, but he’s actually not bad. He really likes you, don’t let him down.”

William Sherman spoke in a very soft, almost word-by-word tone: “As long as he still wants me, I will never let him down, no matter life or death.”

Darrin Grant stared into his eyes and sensed a depth of sincerity in this man’s dark eyes that was beyond words. It hadn’t seen such genuine feeling in anyone for many years, and for a moment, it was a little dazed.

At this moment, Logan Sullivan finished his call and came out. Darrin Grant snapped back to reality, darted to his feet, and circled around his legs: “What did the old lady say? I want to eat her dry-fried yellow croaker!”

“Eat my ass, get lost, don’t trip me.” Logan Sullivan nudged it away with his foot.

Darrin Grant refused to give up, stretching out both paws to cling tightly to his pants. As he moved, its round body swung in the air, and it shouted at him with full energy, “I want to eat dry, fried, yellow, croaker!”

“I’ll take you, I’ll take you, okay? Ancestor cat.” Logan Sullivan bent down, grabbed Darrin Grant by the scruff, tossed it aside, and gave its butt a smack. “On the night of the first day of the new year, I’ll take you. My mom said, and I quote, that cat has lived so many years, probably almost done for, so I should treat you better.”

Darrin Grant: “……”

Logan Sullivan turned to William Sherman: “I just told her to prepare an extra meal. How about you? Any other plans? Want to come home with me?”

William Sherman was stunned on the spot, and only after a long while did he find his voice: “I… I’d better not. It’s the New Year, I’m just an outsider, it wouldn’t be right…”

“Outsider?” Logan Sullivan raised an eyebrow and said bluntly, “What, are you planning to use me and then dump me?”

William Sherman: “……”

Darrin Grant silently shook its head, slipped out through the crack in the door, and even used its hind leg to nimbly close the door behind it. It thought that someone in the room had lost all their decency.

Not to mention how Logan Sullivan managed to keep up his rogue act, anyway, by evening, before the two of them set off for the Shadow Bazaar, William Sherman finally nodded.

The two of them drove all the way to the back of Antique Street. Logan Sullivan wore a pair of sunglasses and held a cane he’d found from who knows where. William Sherman used one hand to support him, and in the other hand carried a large lacquered box. This box had four layers: the first layer contained mountain ganoderma and jade dew, the second layer held ancient gold and jade artifacts, the third layer had pearls from the sea and dragon whiskers, and the fourth layer was filled with black iron from underground springs. All lined up, the box weighed at least several hundred pounds.

Antique Street had no west exit; its far western end was a dead-end road. Several shopkeepers had closed up early, and only a red paper lantern hung from the big locust tree, casting a round, gentle glow on the mottled wall.

The two walked under the lantern, and suddenly a shadow flickered before their eyes—a carriage appeared in front of them. There was only the carriage, no horse, and a “person” got down from it. This person was very tall, with a straight, slender figure, dressed in a strange long robe, and had a fox face on his neck, looking from afar like he was wearing a furry mask.

The fox kept both hands tucked in his sleeves, his narrow eyes darting slyly over the box in William Sherman’s hand, then bowed: “Honored guests, this way please.”

Chapter 63 Virtue Quill …

The Shadow Bazaar is usually organized by region, like the old rural markets, generally held once a year—some lively, some rather quiet.

Blackstone has roads crisscrossing everywhere, with so much traffic that citizens curse the jams daily, and crowds bustling everywhere, but the local Shadow Bazaar is actually one of the smallest in the area.

Although big cities are a mix of all sorts, and there’s a saying “the greatest hermits live in the city,” in reality, they’re not suitable for cultivation. Unless someone has ties to the mortal world or has come from afar to settle a karmic debt, most demons, for the sake of their future, wouldn’t choose to settle in such places.

Since Logan Sullivan’s Special Investigation Bureau set up in Blackstone, countless demons have served as his informants, and many have become sworn brothers, but he had never been to the Shadow Bazaar—this was like the demons’ New Year’s Eve dinner. An outsider, no matter how chummy he was with them on normal days, would be out of line to show up at such an occasion just to join the fun.

So, this was the first time he’d ever received an invitation to the demons’ night banquet.

Sitting in the steady carriage, Logan Sullivan suddenly couldn’t suppress a strange smile at the corner of his mouth.

William Sherman asked, “What is it?”

Logan Sullivan squeezed William Sherman’s hand, lowered his voice amid the rumbling wheels, and said, “I think our relationship is developing in a really traditional way: first we got to know each other and introduced ourselves, then we started holding hands, and now we’re out strolling the streets on a date. At this rate, I think we’ll be ‘wrapping things up’ soon.”

William Sherman quickly glanced out the carriage door. He knew foxes had sharp ears, so he lowered his voice and said to Logan Sullivan, “Let’s talk about this when we get home tonight.”

Logan Sullivan: “Where at home?”

William Sherman: “……”

Logan Sullivan waggled his eyebrows and, in a theatrical tone, said, “Good brother, I miss you so much, please just give in already.”

William Sherman shook off his hand, but after a while, seeing Logan Sullivan’s hand groping aimlessly in the air, he hesitated, then quietly took it again.

Who knows if the fox heard them, but in any case, the ride was very smooth. After about a quarter of an hour, the carriage stopped. The fox guide lifted the curtain and invited the two to get out. A cold wind blew in, and from not too far away came the rough sound of a qin and flute ensemble, the tune mournful yet awkwardly trying to sound cheerful, which made it rather eerie.

At the entrance stood two greeters, one on each side, both with horse faces and human bodies. Not far away, a man with a snake tail stood—this was another customary rule of the Shadow Bazaar: each clan had to reveal a non-human part of themselves, so that those with lower cultivation could recognize them and avoid unpleasant misunderstandings.

The snake-tailed man smiled at Logan Sullivan: “The honored leader has arrived.”

In the freezing cold, snake people, driven by their nature, usually didn’t like to go out and rarely joined the festivities, typically sending just one or two representatives to make an appearance for the whole clan.

This snake man waiting at the door was clearly there especially for Logan Sullivan.

Logan Sullivan listened carefully, then politely said, “My eyes aren’t too good today, I hope I’m not mistaken—is this Fourth Uncle?”

The snake man nodded: “Glad you remember, honored leader. Come in, Holly Harlow already told me. If you need anything, just let me know.”

William Sherman handed the lacquered box to the horse-faced greeter and supported Logan Sullivan as they walked inside.

Once inside, it was like stepping onto a pedestrian street, about a hundred meters long, with bluestone paving on both sides and a slender river running down the middle, spanned by a small stone bridge. A tall stage had already been set up on the bridge, and both banks were bustling, festooned with lanterns and streamers. Most of those walking around were half-human, half-beast, and some demons had set up stalls, selling things to others before the banquet began.

Fourth Uncle Snake led the two straight to the area under the bridge with the stage.

The cold stone bridge was still dusted with a thin layer of snow, but the small stone pillar at the bridgehead was already entwined with a slender flowering vine, bearing sparse, pale yellow blossoms.

Fourth Uncle Snake stopped and spoke to the little flower: “Lady Springbloom, the honored leader is here. Please come out and meet him.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the lonely winter jasmine vine suddenly grew explosively, instantly covering the bridgehead like a floral carpet. Countless tiny buds sprouted and bloomed everywhere, and then, a young girl rose from the vine. Her upper body was human, but her lower half was still inseparable from the lush vine.

She looked about fourteen or fifteen, wore her hair in two braids like a little girl, and had long, slender eyes. She glanced over Logan Sullivan, then turned to look at William Sherman.