William Sherman gazed deeply into Logan Sullivan's eyes. “Sometimes I wonder, if one day you could remember those things, then I could tell you—look, I kept all my promises to you, did everything I said I would, without the slightest compromise, without a single broken word. What kind of expression would you give me then? No one is truly selfless, Logan, I’m no different... But I really can’t bear to let go. Destiny is set; even the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors had to follow the predetermined path. Pangu fell, Nüwa’s soul scattered, and though you are honored as Hermit of the Wildlands, you are not truly greater than the ancient sages... There’s nothing you can do. Warden of Highspire bears the weight of a hundred thousand mountains—such pain. I can’t bear for you to live like that. Wouldn’t it be better for you to be a happy mortal? But they’re all forcing you. Back on Highspire Peak, I really wanted... I really wanted to kill them all.”

Logan Sullivan asked in a low voice, “Was it you who sealed Darrin Grant’s earliest memories, and also severed the connection between Soulbound Order and me? I... If I’m to be a happy mortal, are you going to bear it all for me? By what right?”

Logan Sullivan’s voice grew lower and lower, until it was barely an audible whisper, hoarse to the extreme, as if he had used up all his strength just to speak: “That day you promised me, but in truth you just thought a mortal’s life is only seventy or eighty years, gone in a blink, life and death, reincarnation—then I’d forget you again. You wanted to accompany me to the end, and then imitate Nüwa, didn’t you?”

William Sherman fell silent for a moment.

Logan Sullivan suddenly yanked down his collar, his fingers trembling almost spasmodically, his teeth chattering audibly: “Even if I die, I won’t agree. Even if I’m smashed to pieces, my soul scattered, I won’t agree!”

William Sherman was pulled down by his force, and Logan Sullivan, almost crazed, hooked his arms around his neck, pressing him into his embrace, kissing him chaotically, then reached out and tore off two buttons from his shirt, exposing a large expanse of William Sherman’s pale chest. “I absolutely... won’t agree!”

The unprecedented intimacy of skin against skin was like a wildfire ready to ignite, overlapping with all the beautiful, fevered dreams William Sherman had woken from in the middle of countless nights—it was like another world-upending dream.

Who knows when a dream begins or ends? Even if the sky collapses and the earth shatters, it can never see the light of day. All those thoughts that can’t be dwelled on in the bright daylight... those are the feelings that have never been confessed, that cannot be born, cannot die, cannot be forgotten, nor remembered.

At last, William Sherman couldn’t help but take the initiative, flipping over and pressing Logan Sullivan into the soft pillow, a flood of emotion breaking through the dam in his heart.

The next day, Logan Sullivan was woken by the sunlight streaming through the curtains. His mind was blank for a while, dazed—he’d been in a foggy state for the entire second half of the night, half from lack of oxygen, half from the effects of alcohol. He could hardly tell if it had all been a wild dream or reality...

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt unbearably heavy. When he finally managed to wake up and tried to get up, the ceiling above spun wildly, and Logan Sullivan fell back down again.

If he looked in the mirror now, he’d immediately see that he wasn’t just tired—his face was shrouded in an indescribable grayness, far beyond mere exhaustion, almost radiating death. At that moment, a pair of hands carefully helped him up, and a bowl was brought to his lips. He didn’t know what medicine it was, but the taste was extremely strange, with an indescribable fishiness. Instinctively, Logan Sullivan turned his head away. “Wha—”

“Herbal medicine. I hurt you last night.” William Sherman’s voice was gentle, but his hands were not—he turned Logan Sullivan’s face back and practically forced the medicine down his throat.

Suddenly, Logan Sullivan found some strength, pushing his hand away and coughing violently, the taste in his mouth making him want to vomit. Then a glass of water was brought to his lips. Only then did Logan Sullivan fully come to his senses. He opened his eyes, glanced at William Sherman, and silently lowered his head to drink the water.

After drinking, he sat up, leaning against the headboard, elbows on his knees. He shot a gloomy glance at William Sherman, then lowered his head to reflect on himself, then shot an even gloomier look at William Sherman, finally managing to squeeze out a sentence: “I’m a pure top, and you... couldn’t you have been a little gentler with me?”

A faint blush crept up William Sherman’s face. He turned his head and coughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“I...” The soreness in his waist made Logan Sullivan’s expression twist, and he sucked in a breath, but looking at William Sherman’s expression, he couldn’t help but feel like he was the one who’d taken advantage!

He’d dreamed countless times of dying in a beauty’s bed, but not like this...

Damn it, who could he even complain to?

Logan Sullivan’s face alternated between red and pale for a long time. He glanced at the bowl that had held the strange medicine, remembered the taste, and his expression twisted again. “Get me another glass of warm water. In this situation, antibiotics would do the trick.”

William Sherman took the bowl away. “This works. I wouldn’t harm you.”

Logan Sullivan said expressionlessly, “You wouldn’t harm me, but you’re tormenting me to death.”

William Sherman: “...”

The upright gentleman Mr. Sherman stood to the side with a look of guilt, like a young wife who’d accidentally broken a bowl.

Logan Sullivan was at a loss for words.

William Sherman carefully helped him lie down. “You... you should sleep a bit more. Is there anything you want to eat?”

Logan Sullivan insisted, “You—lie down and let me have my way with you.”

William Sherman quickly lowered his eyes, the tips of his ears turning a little red, and pursed his lips awkwardly. “It’s broad daylight—what nonsense are you talking?”

Logan Sullivan thought, “Damn it.”

Whatever William Sherman had given him probably had a sedative effect, because as soon as Logan Sullivan lay down, his consciousness began to blur. But he stubbornly clung to William Sherman’s hand. “I’ve already given myself to you, so don’t make things so complicated, you hear me? Heaven never blocks all roads—there’s always a way... I’ll find a way...”

William Sherman sat beside him, gently placing his palm on his forehead, feeling his breathing gradually steady. Under the effect of that “herbal medicine,” the grayness on Logan Sullivan’s face quickly faded, returning to a healthy flush. William Sherman was finally at ease, quietly getting up to wash the bowl in the kitchen.

Logan Sullivan slept all the way until evening, accompanied by a string of broken, chaotic dreams.

【Volume Four: The Cause · The Wildlands】

Chapter 76: The Cause …

That day, when Logan Sullivan entered the Primewood, he didn’t just take a Virtue Quill.

The Primewood and Highspire Peak are connected as one, bearing the past of five thousand years, from the creation of heaven and earth. As Logan Sullivan walked in, it felt as if he’d entered a whole new dimension. When he reached back, he couldn’t feel the bark he’d touched when he entered, and looking ahead, he couldn’t see the end.

There was no light around, and the air didn’t move. It was pitch black.

He narrowed his eyes, peering into the distance, and finally, in the darkness, spotted a faint glimmer like a firefly. As he approached, he saw it was the Virtue Quill, now shrunk to the size of a regular wolf-hair calligraphy brush.

Logan Sullivan tentatively reached out and grabbed it, and to his surprise, he caught it effortlessly. He raised his eyebrows in astonishment, realizing it seemed almost too easy. But the Virtue Quill emitted a pull, drawing him further forward.

Rationally, Logan Sullivan knew he should take the Virtue Quill and leave, but he couldn’t help being drawn onward by it.

By the time the brush in his hand settled down, it had already successfully trapped Logan Sullivan inside.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the darkness. All his sources of light and fire had failed, so Logan Sullivan had nothing to do but sit on the ground and wait.

He was strong-willed, unafraid of the dark or of confinement, so this place wouldn’t affect him much in the short term. Still, the endless, boundless darkness was hardly pleasant. Yet this darkness was strangely unique—while inside, he didn’t worry about being unable to leave. In fact, he even felt as if he was meant to rest here.

As Logan Sullivan sat there, he yawned, feeling inexplicably sleepy.

Just then, a cracking sound suddenly rang in his ear. Before he could figure out what it was, there was a loud bang, and the entire dark space shattered. A flash of cold light swept by. Logan Sullivan jumped up, retreating a dozen steps. When he looked up, a flood of light poured in. He squinted instinctively and saw a Great Axe splitting the darkness. A thunderous roar came from deep within the earth, the crack growing wider and wider, splitting to both sides.

An impossibly tall man wielded the Great Axe within, his head brushing the sky, his feet planted on the earth, his beard and hair wild, roaring so loudly that the vast wilderness trembled.

Divine in the heavens, sacred on the earth. Each day, the sky grew a zhang higher, the earth a zhang thicker, and Pangu a zhang taller. For eighteen thousand years, the sky reached its limit, the earth its depth, and Pangu his greatest height.

Thus, the sky and earth were separated by ninety thousand li, and only then did the Three Sovereigns appear.

That was Pangu.