Mrs. Sullivan was confused: "Not much, it's a normal social phenomenon, even animals have it, and society will eventually accept it through legislation—why are you asking about this? This is to explain your reactionary problem."

"My reactionary problem is exactly this," Logan Sullivan reached out and rubbed his nose, "Don't be so academic, I just want to ask, what would you do if one day you heard your son come out to you?"

Mrs. Sullivan: "Don't try to change the subject, I..."

"Mom," Logan Sullivan suddenly interrupted her, his wandering gaze settling, and in an instant his expression shifted from "guilty as a thief" to "resolute and unwavering." He looked at her with an unusually serious gaze. "I'm serious, I'm not joking with you."

Mrs. Sullivan's hand loosened, and the rolling pin clattered to the floor.

Logan Sullivan sighed, bent down to pick up the rolling pin, his waist muscles tensing, the clothes outlining sharp, shadowy lines beneath: "I'm just afraid Dad won't be able to accept it, so I wanted to tell you first. I've thought about it, this can't be dragged out or hidden. You're my only mom..."

Mrs. Sullivan still seemed stunned, her expression was one of shock even as she took the rolling pin back. After a long while, she finally stammered, "Is it... the one you brought home..."

Logan Sullivan nodded, bracing himself against the door, standing there as if blocking the doorway with his body, a little uneasy as he said, "But let me make this clear first: your son here spent half a year racking his brains, using every trick in the book—sweet-talking, scheming, rural encirclement of the city, mobilizing the masses, all thirty-six stratagems, you name it. It was even harder than rebelling in the past. I finally managed to win him over. If you want to scold or punish someone, come at me. Just don't go out there and ruin my hard work, or I'll be heartbroken."

Mrs. Sullivan looked as if she'd been struck by lightning, standing there in a daze for a long time. Then, like a robot suddenly activated, she kept a blank expression, turned around, grabbed the dumpling wrappers, and absentmindedly started filling them.

Logan Sullivan immediately wondered if his approach had been too blunt and scared his mom silly, so he asked worriedly, "Mom?"

At first, Mrs. Sullivan didn't hear him. For a minute or two, she was in a dazed state, as if she didn't know what she was doing or what she'd just heard, just continuing her work out of habit.

It wasn't until Logan Sullivan called her several times in a row that she seemed to snap out of it, and before she could react, the words tumbled out: "Then what about your job? Will... will people talk about you? What if your future is affected? Right, I... I think I heard your dad say you bought a house a few days ago, do you still have money?"

Logan Sullivan was stunned, not sure how the topic of coming out had turned into "having no money." He felt like her logic was all jumbled, and she had just grabbed a few keywords and thrown them together into a messy sentence.

His mother was an intellectual who never worried about daily necessities, pampered by his father all her life, with a broad mind. Logan Sullivan's strategy was simple and direct—if he could get his mom on board, his dad would follow, and his mom happened to be very easy to talk to. When someone is broad-minded, in a good mood for a long time, and quick to accept new information, their temper tends to be mild, they're less stubborn, and more likely to communicate rationally when things come up, not too self-righteous.

He had anticipated many possible reactions from her—maybe she wouldn't be able to accept it at first and would lash out, maybe she'd calmly suggest setting aside a few hours to talk it over, maybe she'd turn into a household registration officer like other moms, interrogating William Sherman's family background... But he hadn't expected this kind of almost panicked, anxious-over-nothing response.

Maybe it was because he'd never been a parent himself.

Logan Sullivan opened his mouth, but suddenly went mute, not knowing what to say for a moment.

Mrs. Sullivan blurted out a sentence, then seemed to calm down a bit. She paused, chopsticks in hand, and after a moment asked, "Are you joking, or have you really thought it through?"

Logan Sullivan: "How could I joke about something like this? If I made you angry and something happened, Dad would stew me in a pot."

Mrs. Sullivan slowly leaned against the side, and after a long time, took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "Don't... don't let your dad know yet, let me think about it—who is he? What does he do?"

Before Logan Sullivan could answer, she pinched the bridge of her nose hard: "Oh, right, I got confused, you just said, he's a teacher at Longcheng University."

Mrs. Sullivan forced herself to perk up and asked a string of questions: "Where is his family from? Do they approve? What kind of person is he? Is his personality good? How does he treat you? I... I remember you used to have girlfriends, why the sudden change..."

Logan Sullivan replied skillfully, "As long as you agree, no one in the world can object, and Dad will have to follow your lead, right? As for what kind of person he is..."

He smiled, "In my heart, he's 'as polished as jade, unique in the world.' You'll understand once you talk to him more. To be honest, I did have girlfriends before, and even dated a couple of boys, but because of him, I'm willing to go all the way."

Mrs. Sullivan glanced at his expression, and her heart sank a little—it's not exactly selfish, but as a parent, seeing others deeply in love with your child is always touching and gratifying, but when it's the other way around, it doesn't feel so good.

So, feeling a bit out of sorts, she said, "I don't believe it."

Logan Sullivan's face remained calm, but his heart tightened.

Then his mom said, "If he's as great as you say, why would he be interested in you? Is his eyesight that bad?"

Logan Sullivan staggered, almost kneeling before her.

Chapter 67: The Merit Brush …

After getting in the car, Carter Shaw only gave an address, then leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and fell silent.

Charles Gray, not knowing what was going on, kept sneaking glances back at him along the way, feeling like Brother Carter's face was shrouded in a layer of gray, and with his eyes closed, he looked like a stone statue carved into a mountain wall over the years—cold and unapproachable.

After paying the fare, Charles Gray remembered Darrin Grant's instructions, hurriedly grabbed the bag Carter Shaw had forgotten, and jogged after him.

Carter Shaw lived in a very deep, narrow alley. The two of them were standing at the entrance, where the northwesterly wind blew into Carter Shaw's collar, puffing up the already slightly oversized trench coat he wore, making it look as if he might be swept away at any moment.

Charles Gray couldn't help but call out, "Brother Carter..."

Carter Shaw suddenly stopped, turned around, and glared fiercely at Charles Gray trailing behind him, speaking in a voice that was both unusually gentle and unusually menacing: "Why are you still following me? Don't you know I'm not human?"

Charles Gray stood three steps behind him, staring blankly: "Then... what are you?"

In a flash, Carter Shaw was right in front of him—his movement invisible to the naked eye—and snatched his belongings from Charles Gray's hand. His fingers were icy cold, and there seemed to be a damp chill about him. In his pitch-black eyes flickered an indescribable light. "Have you ever seen a zombie? Zombies eat people, you know. Let me tell you what human flesh tastes like. When you bite into it, it's slippery and greasy, the cartilage crunches between your teeth, the organs are fishy and stinky, and when you pull them out of the belly, they're piping hot, just like they've been scooped out of a pot..."

He looked at Charles Gray with malice, lightly licking his lips. "I'm a zombie."

Charles Gray shivered violently, but it was from the coldness of the other's hand. He felt it was only natural to be afraid, but strangely, he didn't feel that instinctive terror from deep inside. Maybe it was because he'd been Carter Shaw's sidekick for so long—Charles Gray felt like he could accept whatever Brother Carter was.

He even had a bizarre thought flash through his mind—no wonder Brother Carter doesn't eat peas.

Carter Shaw seemed to think he was scared, and derived a certain malicious satisfaction from his fear. He turned and walked away, but after a few steps, he heard hesitant footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw Charles Gray had caught up again.

Carter Shaw raised an eyebrow: "What, are you planning to follow a zombie into the coffin?"

Charles Gray stopped: "I... I..."

Carter Shaw snorted and walked on, and Charles Gray followed again, shuffling along like a timid daughter-in-law.

Carter Shaw finally lost his patience and growled in a low voice, "Get lost before I lose my temper!"

Charles Gray: "Darrin Grant... Darrin Grant told me to make sure you got home, you haven't arrived yet..."