William Sherman had been waiting by the door. As soon as he heard the key turn, he immediately walked over and opened the door before Logan Sullivan could unlock it. Logan Sullivan looked relatively sober, but he reeked of alcohol. As he stepped inside, he tripped over the threshold. William Sherman hurried to steady him. “How much did you drink?”

“It’s nothing.” Logan Sullivan rested his forehead on William Sherman’s shoulder, leaning there for a moment before giving him a small smile. “I’ll go take a shower first… Is there anything to eat?”

……

Regarding Logan Sullivan’s decision to go to Highspire on his own, William Sherman actually had a lot he wanted to settle with him. But seeing him pitifully pressing his stomach, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. In the end, William Sherman just sighed. “I’ll go heat up some snacks for you.”

Logan Sullivan quickly kissed him on the neck, then reached into his coat and pulled out a slender wooden box, stuffing it into William Sherman’s hand. “A gift,” he said, before turning and heading into the bathroom.

William Sherman looked down and opened the wooden box, only to find a very fine brush inside. The handle was made of wood, and the bristles were from some unknown creature. At first glance, it gleamed with a golden luster, surprisingly heavy in his hand, radiating a restrained, precious glow. It was none other than the legendary Virtue Quill, crafted from ancient meritorious wood.

William Sherman was momentarily stunned. Just then, above the sound of running water in the bathroom, there was a sudden loud crash.

Startled, William Sherman quickly put away the sacred artifact and hurried over to knock on the door. “Logan Sullivan, are you alright?”

There was a bathtub in Logan Sullivan’s bathroom, with a shower installed above it—good for soaking when there was time, or just a quick rinse when there wasn’t. Logan Sullivan had accidentally turned the water temperature up too high. Already a bit tipsy and barely holding it together, the steam hit him and made him even dizzier. Barefoot on the slippery tub, he lost his balance and fell headlong into the bathtub, nearly giving himself a concussion.

His vision was filled with spinning stars; he didn’t hear a word William Sherman said.

Getting no response, William Sherman finally couldn’t help but push open the bathroom door.

---

Chapter 75 Virtue Quill …

---

No one takes a shower with their clothes on.

Logan Sullivan had knocked himself silly, hot water from the shower pouring down on him, drenching his head and making him even more disoriented. He gripped the edge of the tub, struggling to get up. His arched back revealed defined shoulder blades, the smooth lines of muscle tapering into a narrow waist, forming a striking silhouette. Below that… William Sherman really didn’t dare look. Even just the bruises on Logan Sullivan’s wrists, reddened by the steam, were almost blinding to him.

William Sherman felt the bathroom was unbearably hot, as if he’d be roasted in a second.

He hurriedly grabbed a large bath towel, about to toss it over, but remembered the water was still running. Flustered, he turned off the shower, averted his eyes, and stretched out his arm to drape the towel over Logan Sullivan. Then, through the thick towel, blushing furiously, he carefully lifted him up.

Fortunately, Logan Sullivan didn’t make things worse with his usual shamelessness. He didn’t react at all to William Sherman, simply because his mind was a muddled mess from the alcohol and heat.

The towel was soon soaked through by body heat, and William Sherman could still see the outline of those long legs. Listening to the pounding of his own pulse in his temples, he gently laid the curled-up Logan Sullivan on the bed.

Then, as if burned, he quickly withdrew his hands, fidgeting awkwardly and standing aside, not knowing what to do.

It wasn’t until William Sherman noticed the wet patch on the pillow that he snapped out of it, hurriedly pulling the blanket over Logan Sullivan, and then, only daring to grab a corner of the towel, tried to gently pull it out from under the covers.

But at that moment, Logan Sullivan suddenly grabbed his hand.

His palm was damp and warm, and the strength of a drunk was astonishing. His half-open eyes were unfocused, even more lost than during those days when he couldn’t see anything, his cheeks flushed.

William Sherman felt as if his throat was on fire, swallowing dryly.

Logan Sullivan mumbled something. William Sherman bent down, bringing his ear close to his lips. “What did you say?”

Logan Sullivan’s grip tightened. This time, William Sherman heard him clearly.

In a low, dreamlike voice, he murmured, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry to you…”

William Sherman froze.

Logan Sullivan’s grip on his wrist only tightened, to the point of pain.

William Sherman slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully reaching over the blanket to pull Logan Sullivan into his arms, gently patting his back. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Logan Sullivan rolled over and hugged his waist, his bare upper body fully exposed. William Sherman’s raised hand hovered awkwardly in the air, unable to fall, stiff as a rock, the veins at his temples standing out.

After a while, he realized Logan Sullivan was trembling all over.

William Sherman gently tried to lift his head, but Logan Sullivan only clung tighter. Suddenly, William Sherman noticed a small damp patch on his own clothes. He reached out and lifted Logan Sullivan’s chin, seeing that although there were no tear tracks on his face, his eyes were red. “You…”

Logan Sullivan had been only half-drunk, still able to put on a front, but now, with the alcohol and the fall, he was completely out of it. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying, repeating the same words over and over: “I’m sorry to you.”

It was as if a fire had been lit in William Sherman’s heart, burning fiercely, impossible to extinguish.

At last, his hand slowly fell onto Logan Sullivan’s bare back. Every inch of that warm skin set his nerves alight. William Sherman’s voice was hoarse, his eyes growing ever darker and deeper. He leaned in close to Logan Sullivan’s ear and whispered, “Everyone in the world may have wronged me, but you haven’t.”

Logan Sullivan shook his head. Suddenly, he closed his eyes, and at some point, a tear had clung to his lashes. He wanted to sob, as if that was the only way to release the knot in his heart, but he had no strength left—not even to speak. In his thirty years of life, he had never felt such a heavy burden. William Sherman had never seen him cry, not even after waiting for him all those years in places he couldn’t see. In that moment, William Sherman was almost shaken to his core.

He lowered his head and kissed Logan Sullivan’s eyes with utmost care, tasting a faint bitterness and salt. “My life was given by you, my eyes were given by you, everything I have is from you. What do you have to be sorry for?”

“If I had known…” Logan Sullivan mumbled, “If I had known, I’d rather have killed you back then than ever…”

He didn’t finish. William Sherman pulled him into a tight embrace, suddenly letting go of the crumpled blanket and rolling on top of him, bracing himself on either side of Logan Sullivan. He seemed unable to catch his breath, his chest heaving violently. After a long moment, he spoke in a low voice: “Highspire, it’s you, isn’t it?”

Logan Sullivan lay on his back, a thin trail of water running from the corner of his eye. He suddenly closed his eyes, as if overwhelmed by sorrow, the corners of his eyes and brows tinged with red. His lips trembled for a long time, but in the end, he could only repeat that one phrase: “I’m sorry to you.”

“Five thousand years, heaven and earth, is that all you want to say to me?” William Sherman asked softly. After a moment, he sighed. “Do you remember what I said to Quinn Barnes that time at the Wheel of Reincarnation? I said that in this life, there are only two things worth dying for: to fulfill loyalty and righteousness for the world and country, and to fulfill oneself for a soulmate. Since ancient times, people have given their lives for their confidants. Since I was willing to die for you, of course I’m willing to live for you too. I have what I sought. You’ve never shed tears before—don’t cry for me.”

Then William Sherman gently reached out, rubbing Logan Sullivan’s face with the back of his hand. “There are some things in my heart I never meant to say, but they’ve been there so long I can’t hold them in anymore. Everyone wants their Warden of Highspire back. Honestly, I do too—someone as perceptive as you, you see right through everything. There’s no point in hiding it from you, so I might as well say it outright. Whenever someone does something for another, no matter how willing or silent they are, there’s always a sliver of hope in their heart that one day the other person will notice. I’m no exception.”