"What's wrong, can't bear to leave him?" Uncle Seth spoke in the same gentle and kind manner as always, the slight smile at the corner of his mouth resembling a benevolent Buddha in a temple, but his gaze was sharp and pressing. "If you still see me as an elder, then listen to my advice and leave here with me immediately. To be honest, if he truly cared about you, I wouldn't have to play the role of the unwelcome meddler. But as for what's in his heart, don't you already know?"

Holly Harlow remained silent.

Uncle Seth tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the table. "You've been a smart child since you were little. I'll just hint at some things and not go too deep. You need to make your own decisions."

Holly Harlow's fingers spasmed as she gripped her phone, veins bulging on the back of her hand. The poor electronic device couldn't withstand such physical abuse; with a soft crack, the back cover popped off and the screen shattered like a spiderweb—it was done for.

Uncle Seth sat calmly, sipping his tea with his eyes lowered, not rushing her.

After an unknown amount of time, Holly Harlow finally spoke softly, "I'll finish this case for him... for him, and then say goodbye to him in person... is that alright?"

Uncle Seth understood the importance of knowing when to stop. Upon hearing this, he nodded reasonably. "Start what you finish, that's how it should be."

After speaking, he took a small box from his pocket. When he opened it, inside was a dazzling pearl. "This is the Aquadrake Orb. Carrying it will ward off misfortune, protect you from water and fire. When you say your goodbyes, please pass it to your master for me. He has looked after us for many years, and my clan is deeply grateful. This little thing is just a token of respect."

Holly Harlow took it, just about to thank him, but Uncle Seth had already vanished in a flash.

The moonlight was just right, but her heart was in turmoil. She no longer felt like meditating. Bowing her head, she gathered up the remains of her phone, pulled out the SIM card, and with a few swift movements, disappeared into the night.

It was midnight when Logan Sullivan received a text reply from Holly Harlow: "I'm going over with Julian West. Remember to count it as double shift and pay overtime."

William Sherman was a light sleeper. Sometimes Logan Sullivan even doubted whether he slept at all. So ever since William Sherman moved in, Logan Sullivan always set his phone to vibrate and kept it on his own nightstand, afraid of waking him. That night, he fell asleep too quickly to put the phone away, and drifted off with it still in his hand.

The phone vibrated in his palm, silently waking him.

Logan Sullivan didn't check the message right away. Instinctively, he held his breath and turned his head, wanting to see if he'd woken William Sherman. But the other side of the bed was empty. He reached out and felt the blanket—it was already cold. Who knew how long William Sherman had been gone.

Logan Sullivan sat up and rubbed his eyes hard. Only then did he notice the kitchen light was on. He fumbled around with his feet, not knowing where his slippers had gone, and simply walked over barefoot.

William Sherman was standing with his back to him. On the stove was a small clay pot, something simmering inside, a faint herbal fragrance in the air. Was he making some kind of tonic, something that needed to stew all night...? Logan Sullivan blinked, a bit dazed, and rolled up his sleeves. "What are you cooking? Let me help—"

William Sherman was startled by his sudden voice, and the knife in his hand clattered to the floor. The tip was still stained with blood, which splattered onto the pristine white cabinet. Logan Sullivan's words abruptly stopped, his pupils contracting, all sleep vanishing in an instant—the sharp knife... had originally been stuck in William Sherman's own chest.

William Sherman's face was as pale as paper. For a few seconds, the kitchen was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

After a moment, Logan Sullivan suddenly strode over, grabbed William Sherman's shoulder, and yanked his shirt open. The knife wound on that pale chest had already healed without a trace, but the edge of his pajamas was inevitably stained with blood. Logan Sullivan felt as if that knife had stabbed his own heart; even the slightest movement hurt. He reached out and gingerly touched William Sherman's seemingly unscathed chest. After a long while, he asked hoarsely, "What happened?"

William Sherman remained silent.

Logan Sullivan grabbed his collar, his voice suddenly rising. "I'm asking you what happened—answer me!"

William Sherman was pushed so hard that his lower back slammed into the counter with a bang. Logan Sullivan was never very patient with others and had a bad temper, but he had never spoken harshly or lost his temper with William Sherman. His anger toward others was usually just for show—a few sharp words and it was over. But with William Sherman, it was real.

In that instant, Logan Sullivan understood the feeling William Sherman had in the hospital when he used the Ghostblade Slash, the way William Sherman had almost slapped him. A lump stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe. For a moment, his mind went blank. After a long time, Logan Sullivan heard himself asking over and over, "What did you give me to drink? William Sherman! Look at me when you talk, damn it!"

"Back then... the soul fire in your left shoulder was lost, and the blood at your heart became the wick for the Soulbound Lamp," after a long pause, William Sherman spoke in a low voice. "Your primordial spirit was already leaking, your three souls unstable. Even though you forcibly raised my divine status, I was ultimately born in a place of great disrespect, a ghost clan, filthy and ominous. The longer you stay with me, the more your energy will be depleted, and over time, you'll suffer from both physical and spiritual exhaustion. If this continues, one day, you'll be completely drained by me."

As he spoke, William Sherman suddenly lowered his eyes, hiding the deep darkness in his gaze beneath his crow-feather lashes. He said, barely audibly, "Thousands of years ago, Shennong said that since I was born as the Wraith King, I was destined for no good beginning and no good end. If you insist on protecting me, staying with me, one day, you'll be killed by me."

That sentence was like a needle, instantly draining all the strength from Logan Sullivan. He let go of William Sherman and staggered back a step, nearly knocking over the small pot on the stove.

"You mixed your blood... the essence from your heart... into the 'medicine' I drank?" Logan Sullivan's lips trembled violently. "That's the 'lamp oil' you gave me?"

William Sherman looked at him and smiled faintly. "Even my soul is black, but at the very tip of my heart, there's a spot that's clean, reserved just for you. The blood is still red. If I can use it to protect you, I am willing."

Logan Sullivan's gaze dropped to the floor. After a moment, he suddenly looked up and covered his eyes with his hand.

If William Sherman didn't love him, was cold to him, he could choose to keep pursuing or to walk away—either choice made sense.

If William Sherman lied to him, hurt him, or betrayed him, he could choose to forgive or to never see him again—both choices were reasonable.

But William Sherman was like a spider, trapping him in a place where he couldn't speak, couldn't curse, couldn't hate, and couldn't accept.

For a long time, Logan Sullivan said nothing. He grabbed a thick coat from the rack by the door, threw it over his shoulders, and walked out without looking back.

So it turns out, there is a kind of love that is a knife stabbed into your heart.

Author's note: "There is a kind of love that is a knife stabbed into your heart" is from "Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out" by Mo Yan, chapter 82.

Chapter 82 Soulbound Lamp …

For management purposes, business trips required logistics to arrange transportation and schedules, so after Holly Harlow and Julian West made plans, they headed to No. 4 Guangming Road together before dawn to find Zach Warren. As soon as they entered, they saw their boss—who hadn't replied to their messages—curled up on the sofa, still in pajamas, covered with a thick wool coat that was clearly not his style.

Darrin Grant was squatting in front of the sofa, licking his paws contentedly in front of a plate that held nothing but the remains of some dried fish.

Holly Harlow tiptoed over and whispered, "Why is he sleeping here? Isn't he cold? Isn't he afraid of catching a chill?"

As she spoke, she turned up the air conditioning and took off her own down jacket to cover Logan Sullivan.

Julian West, after the New Year, looked as if he'd been pumped up with an air gun—he'd gotten much rounder. Rubbing his chin, which now resembled a white dumpling, he said, "If someone doesn't go home for the New Year, there must be a reason. Either he's being forced to get married, or forced to break up."

Just then, Logan Sullivan, with messy hair and heavy dark circles, lifted his head from the sofa, his face full of grumpy morning mood. He glared at Julian West and said curtly, "Shut up. Get lost!"

Julian West, being naturally cheeky, was silent for two seconds before he couldn't help but say, "Seriously, who could put up with a guy like this—if your wife got up early to make you breakfast and called you to eat, would you say the same thing?"

Logan Sullivan reached out and grabbed a tiny potted plant from the cabinet beside him, and with a bang, threw it over.

Darrin Grant and Holly Harlow exchanged glances, and Julian West froze for a moment—seeing that Logan Sullivan was truly angry, the one who'd caused trouble with his mouth had no choice but to quietly fetch a broom and clean up the mess. In the end, he muttered to himself, "Amitabha, may the pieces bring peace."

Darrin Grant jumped onto the back of the sofa and pawed at Logan Sullivan's shoulder. "Hey, are you alright?"