He hadn’t finished his sentence when he was suddenly slammed hard against the wall. Carter Shaw’s thin, bony hand was like a steel bar, easily lifting him up and gripping his throat. Charles Gray’s feet left the ground, pressed tightly against the wall, and the only thing he could use for support was the hand clamped around his neck. He quickly began to gasp for air, his face turning red from the strain.

Carter Shaw raised his head coldly to look at him. Only up close could one notice that Carter Shaw’s pupils had a faint, almost imperceptible grayness. It wasn’t obvious most of the time, but when sunlight shone directly on them, there was a subtle aura of death within.

Charles Gray kicked his legs, flailing helplessly in the air. Instinctively, he grabbed at Carter Shaw’s hand, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pry it open.

“I believe I have a clear conscience before heaven and earth. I’ve worn my guilt for three hundred years, and the things I’ve done should have been atoned for long ago. Who are they to judge me, and what right do they have to comment on whether I stay or go?” Carter Shaw forced these words out through gritted teeth, his expression dark and frightening. “Then maybe I should just make those accusations real and show them what I’m capable of!”

Tears began to well up in Charles Gray’s eyes. He really was a crybaby, always on the verge of tears, spineless and soft-hearted. It was a wonder how he’d grown up at all, as if he had no fighting spirit. Looking at Carter Shaw, his expression was a mix of disbelief, pleading, and sadness, but there was hardly any anger.

Charles Gray struggled to open his mouth, but no sound came out. One could barely make out the shape of his lips—he was calling out “Brother Chu.”

Carter Shaw suddenly loosened his grip, letting Charles Gray fall to the ground. He slowly withdrew his hand and stood coldly to the side, watching as Charles Gray sat on the floor, coughing so violently it seemed to shake the heavens.

Carter Shaw looked at this kid—who always liked to carry around that little notebook, trailing behind him to take notes—with a complicated expression. The notes were laughable, written in a childish scrawl, even a bit crooked. There was no focus to what he recorded; he basically wrote down whatever anyone said, even people’s catchphrases. Carter Shaw had seen him countless times carefully write down Darrin Grant’s “stupid humans”—it was as if he wasn’t learning the profession, but diligently compiling a “daily log of the seniors.”

In his eyes, even as Charles Gray coughed so hard it seemed his lungs would tie themselves in knots, he still radiated a thick, faint white light of merit. Suddenly, Carter Shaw found that light a bit dazzling.

The hand that had just been gripping Charles Gray’s neck now gently landed on his head, making Charles Gray instinctively shrink back.

Carter Shaw patted the top of his head, then gently ruffled his hair, as if petting a child or a small animal. Then he said in a low voice, “You didn’t study well as a kid, did you? Have you ever read any excerpts from ‘The Injustice to Dou E’? It says very clearly, ‘Those who do good suffer poverty and die young, those who do evil enjoy wealth and live long.’ Ever heard that?”

He probably had, but unfortunately, Charles Gray really wasn’t cut out for studying. Anything he memorized from books would be automatically wiped from his mind. He still hadn’t recovered from his red-faced, breathless state, so he just squatted on the ground, looking up at Carter Shaw in confusion.

Carter Shaw bent down slightly, lifted his chin to examine him, then shook his head. “Your upper forehead isn’t broad, your brow is narrow—means weak ties with your parents. Your ears are thin and delicate—means a troubled youth. The area above your life line is slightly raised—means after middle age, you’ll lose the protection of elders, and may end up in ruin for life. With such a naturally ill-fated face, all the merit you’ve accumulated only makes you poor and destitute. What’s the point? Don’t be so foolish in the future. Just be a good second-generation official, enjoy what you should, maybe you’ll have a few good days.”

Charles Gray looked up at him, not understanding.

Carter Shaw stared at him for a moment, then suddenly gave a bitter smile. “I think you really are a bit slow, kid.”

After saying this, he reached out and, like picking up a chick, hoisted Charles Gray to his feet, waving his hand at him. “Go back and tell that cat spirit, what can I do? I’m just a nobody, neither brave nor capable, just someone for others to push around. I’m not one to cause trouble, nor to seek death, but if there’s nothing else, I’ll take a few days off for the New Year, go clear my head, and come back after the Lantern Festival.”

With that, he disappeared right before Charles Gray’s eyes, as if he’d evaporated into thin air, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

In the empty, narrow alley, the smell of firecracker residue and sulfur lingered. The streets on the first day of the new year seemed a bit desolate. A cold wind swirled lazily, lifting a tuft of hair on top of Charles Gray’s head. With tear stains on his face, he sniffled and stood there in a daze for a long while before finally turning around and trudging home.

He didn’t know whether Carter Shaw said those things for his own good, or if he was just venting his own feelings. But Charles Gray felt that what he said didn’t quite make sense.

Shallow fortune and thin blessings—those are innate, there’s nothing to be done. What does it have to do with what he does?

Charles Gray had always just felt that he was a hopeless good-for-nothing, occupying resources that people like him shouldn’t have. As for the rest, whether others called it “charity” or “kindness,” it was all just something that made him feel he still had some use.

Charles Gray never expected to get anything out of it.

Still… hearing someone state so matter-of-factly that he was “unlucky by fate” left him feeling a bit stifled.

When William Sherman left Logan Sullivan’s house, he felt completely drained. He was careful not to show any “flaws” in front of Mrs. Sullivan, not wanting to cause trouble for Logan Sullivan. But Mrs. Sullivan’s eyes were like X-rays, scanning him up and down, as if she was about to bore a hole right through him.

On the way, William Sherman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did your mother keep looking at me like that? Did I accidentally give something away?”

Before Logan Sullivan could answer, Darrin Grant, sitting in the back and hugging his lunchbox full of dried fish, cut in, “Old Zhao used to fool around everywhere, had a bad reputation. I think his mom is just on high alert.”

William Sherman really didn’t want to seem unreasonable, but hearing this, he couldn’t help but frown slightly.

“You fat bastard, if you keep talking nonsense, I’ll throw you out of the car, believe it or not?” Logan Sullivan said expressionlessly.

Darrin Grant sat upright, tail swaying like a pendulum to show its innocence. “Meow meow—”

Only then did Logan Sullivan glare at it fiercely in the rearview mirror, then said to William Sherman, “Well, don’t overthink it. Although I… cough, used to be a bit wild, I never brought anyone home to meet my mom. Besides, I’ve turned over a new leaf now. Even ex-cons deserve a second chance… Wait, actually, aside from always getting dumped, I haven’t really done anything that bad. Fatty, you’re leading me astray—she was just being paranoid, it’s not your fault. Mainly, when we were making dumplings, I accidentally came out to her…”

William Sherman’s expression froze again—thankfully, he wasn’t the one driving.

“Oh,” Darrin Grant paused for two seconds, then said dryly, “A true fighter for the new era. Logan Sullivan, I have high hopes for you.”

William Sherman: “You… you told your mom…”

“I told my mom I love you so much the sky could fall and the earth could crack, and if she agrees, she gets another son, two for the price of one. If she doesn’t, she loses one, and then she’ll have none left.” Logan Sullivan said with a swagger. “My mom’s not stupid, she can do the math. Don’t worry.”

Darrin Grant ruthlessly exposed him: “Yeah right, like you’d dare talk to the Empress Dowager like that—Mr. Sherman, look, he’s got flour on him, he must have knelt to his mom right in the kitchen—he even made sure your dad wasn’t home before coming back, look at how gutless he is.”

Logan Sullivan: “……”

Damn…

William Sherman was speechless for a while. After a long pause, he finally said softly, “You really are…”

What exactly, he didn’t finish. The rest of the sentence faded into a soft sigh.

It was Darrin Grant who broke the awkward silence. Darrin Grant was impatient with their lovey-dovey talk, so he blurted out, “Oh, right, Old Zhao, let me tell you something. Did you know the merit shackle on Old Chu expires today?”

“Huh?” Logan Sullivan was stunned for a moment before reacting. “It’s already been three hundred years? So what did he say? Is he leaving the Special Investigation Department? Well, no matter what, that’s a good…”

Before he could finish the word “thing,” Darrin Grant interrupted, “Good my ass, the Underworld won’t remove it.”

Logan Sullivan frowned. “Why not?”

Darrin Grant: “How should I know? It’s always some crap like ‘not enough merit accumulated.’ There’s no standard, who knows how much is enough? Anyway, it’s all up to them.”

William Sherman asked, “What? Carter Shaw still has the merit shackle on?”