Logan Sullivan had always been someone who shirked responsibility since he was young, an expert at forming cliques, but whenever it came to actual work, he would wilt, the big lazy boss directing the little lazy ones, ordering around anyone he could. Sometimes, after others went out to investigate and came back to write reports for him, he couldn’t even be bothered to read them. He’d just sprawl in his chair like a big bad wolf, acting all high and mighty, making people turn the content into a PowerPoint and read the summary out loud to him.

Yet now, when facing whatever it was—or rather, when Soulbound Order was facing whatever it was—Logan Sullivan, aside from occasionally asking them to help check some minor details, kept everything else tightly under wraps, not letting a single hint slip out. He probably knew that even if these people got involved, they’d just be cannon fodder, so he wanted to shoulder it all himself.

black cat rolled its eyes, gaze landing on Charles Gray, and casually found an excuse to interrupt everyone’s aimless guessing: “Xiao Guo, your phone’s been vibrating like crazy, aren’t your hands numb? Go answer it—look, we’re not going to get anywhere discussing like this. Day shift, go home and rest. Night shift, Zane Shaw and Zach Warren, you two go together in a bit and check his house, see if he’s back. If Director Sullivan isn’t back by dawn, we’ll go look for him in the Underworld. If that doesn’t work… asking the Underworld for help once in a while isn’t shameful.”

After saying this, black cat jumped onto the table, taking on the air of a stand-in leader, and solemnly directed, “Right, Holly Harlow, give Julian West a call in a bit, ask if he’s gotten on the train yet, and when exactly he’ll be back.”

Holly Harlow responded with an “Oh,” reached out to smooth the cat’s fur, and scratched its chin while she was at it.

In just a second, Darrin Grant transformed from a domineering king into a lazy, gluttonous feline, purring in contentment as she scratched him, stretching his front paws out on the table in a big lazy stretch, letting out a long, satisfied “meow.”

A few stifled chuckles immediately sounded in the office.

Darrin Grant suddenly shook his head, quickly swatting Holly Harlow’s hand away with his paw, and declared righteously, “What are you doing? Men and women shouldn’t touch each other—show some respect!”

Old Barnes, absentmindedly rubbing the white bone ring on his finger, asked ingratiatingly, “Darrin Grant, you’ve been busy all day, want some dried fish? I fried some at home yesterday…”

Even though Darrin Grant tried to act magnanimous, his perked-up ears betrayed him completely. After a while, he finally extended his paw in a regal, aloof manner, letting Old Barnes carry him away.

Charles Gray finally answered the call that had been pestering him all day. The cheap domestic phone was so loud that even from two steps away, everyone could hear the person on the other end chattering away in a thick regional accent, speaking so fast it was like they could rocket straight to the moon. Carter Shaw heard Charles Gray politely listen to the whole long spiel before timidly saying, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that… Could you please repeat it, a bit slower?”

There was a two-second silence on the other end, then suddenly a low sobbing sound came through.

Whether it was because Charles Gray’s phone was just that bad or for some other reason, the sobbing was very peculiar, spreading through the office like ripples of water. Carter Shaw, who had been packing up to leave, paused, turned around, and snatched Charles Gray’s phone, putting it on speaker on the table.

Charles Gray was stunned. Carter Shaw raised a finger to his lips, listened carefully, then pulled a pen from the desk’s pen holder and wrote on a sticky note: “It’s a ghost crying.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Charles Gray.

Carter Shaw quickly wrote again: “Tell her to stop crying, ask what she wants.”

Charles Gray repeated his words. After a while, the crying on the other end subsided a bit, and the person tried very hard to speak in imperfect Mandarin through her sobs: “Teacher Guo, do you remember me? Three years ago, when you were teaching in the countryside, you visited my home. My daughter’s name is Susan Clarke, I served you a bowl of vegetable tofu.”

Charles Gray paused: “Ah! Yes, I remember you!”

The other person choked up again: “Susan Clarke is missing.”

The girl he’d met three years ago would be about fifteen or sixteen now. Charles Gray asked, “A girl that age, how could she go missing? Maybe she just went to play in the mountains?”

Carter Shaw watched him with interest, noticing that Charles Gray’s voice had grown louder and more fluent.

The woman, anxious, slipped into her dialect as she cried, making communication difficult. After a long while, they finally pieced together the story: the girl’s father, working away from home, had earned some money and bought her a phone—quite a fancy one for the area. After learning to use the internet, she quickly made a few online friends of unknown background. One of them even traveled from far away to meet her, claiming he could take her to Longcheng for work, and with just a few words, tricked the naive girl into leaving.

When the family discovered this, all they found was a small note.

Charles Gray glanced up and saw Carter Shaw had written: Ask if she can leave her hometown and come to Longcheng.

Charles Gray asked, and the woman hesitantly replied, “I… I can’t leave the village, I… I’m a bit sick…”

Carter Shaw nodded—she was an earthbound spirit.

Charles Gray asked again, “Is there anyone else at home?”

“Just an old grandmother… In Longcheng, you’re the only one I know, Teacher Guo, please, help me find her. The girl is so young, she doesn’t know anything…”

In such a huge city as Longcheng, with its endless traffic, finding one person was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially since, even though Charles Gray knew the girl, after three years, who knew what she looked like now—Carter Shaw shrugged and wrote on the paper: Don’t agree to a ghost’s request lightly, it’ll cause trouble.

But before he could even finish writing “lightly,” Charles Gray had already agreed: “Alright, don’t worry, big sister, I promise I’ll help you find your child!”

Carter Shaw’s pen slipped, leaving a long mark on the paper. He was about to scold Charles Gray for being so naive, when he saw a flash of white light—representing merit—on Charles Gray, and for a moment, it seemed to change color, flickering orange like fire.

Startled, he grabbed Charles Gray’s shoulder. Charles Gray, having just hung up, looked at Carter Shaw in confusion.

“It’s… it’s nothing, maybe I saw wrong,” Carter Shaw muttered, then, after a moment’s thought, put his bag back down. “How are you planning to look for her? I’ll help you.”

Meanwhile, Zach Warren and Zane Shaw, who had been sent to Logan Sullivan’s house, had arrived. They knocked politely, but there was no response, so Zach Warren led Zane Shaw straight through the door. Inside, the lights were off, but the coffee table had been moved, the chairs and bed looked like someone had sat on them, the kettle was still on, nearly boiled dry, but the person was gone.

Zane Shaw bent down, fiddled with the tea set left behind, instinctively turned off the stove, and judged, “The ash is fresh, there was a fight, probably before it got dark.”

The tea set was arranged for a long conversation—what had they talked about?

That evening, after Logan Sullivan said those words, William Sherman stared at him for a while, as if lost in Logan Sullivan’s eyes. After a long time, he finally replied softly, “Alright.”

Then he fell silent for even longer, his gaze drifting past the steaming kettle, looking a bit lost.

When he began to recall memories spanning thousands of years, he suddenly seemed like an old man.

Who knew how long passed before he finally let out a breath, giving Logan Sullivan a bitter smile: “I… I don’t know where to begin.”

As William Sherman spoke, he put down his teacup, sat upright on the bed, and reached out to Logan Sullivan: “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Logan Sullivan felt he ought to be wary of William Sherman, but before his mind could react, his hand had already reached out.

William Sherman grabbed his hand and suddenly pulled him into his arms. Logan Sullivan felt like he was about to crash into him, instinctively reaching out to steady himself on the edge of the bed, but his fingers seemed to pass through empty air, and then it was as if he’d fallen into something, stumbling, only to be gently supported by a pair of hands.

Logan Sullivan opened his eyes wide, still unable to see anything, so he gripped the hands holding him tightly: “William Sherman?”

William Sherman answered softly.

Though it was dark before his eyes, the surroundings weren’t completely silent. There seemed to be the sound of wind howling, but Logan Sullivan couldn’t feel any air moving. He quieted down, listened carefully, and thought the sound was like crying, but also like roaring, rising and falling, sometimes near, sometimes far.

Logan Sullivan couldn’t help but ask, “What is that?”

William Sherman unconsciously tightened his grip on his hand, and after a while finally said, “Wait a moment.”