William Sherman leaned in, gently kissing the corner of his mouth, his straight nose brushing back and forth across Logan Sullivan’s face. His fingers entwined with Logan Sullivan’s, pressing their half-naked bodies tightly together. “None of that matters... Logan Sullivan, we only have these few decades left. Let’s spend a lifetime together like ordinary people, shall we?”

In the darkness before dawn, the two gazed into each other’s eyes. Then, as if bewitched by his gaze, William Sherman’s lips landed softly on the other’s, turning into a kiss of utmost tenderness and intimacy.

But Logan Sullivan didn’t cooperate at all. Once he snapped out of it, in the blink of an eye, he fiercely counterattacked, slipping his hands under William Sherman’s clothes and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Spending a lifetime together sounds great, but I have to assert my husbandly authority.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he hooked William Sherman’s waist and tried to flip him over to take the upper hand—but... he failed.

The man felt as if he weighed a thousand pounds. Logan Sullivan remembered clearly that he’d carried William Sherman before—he definitely had a normal human weight, something he could lift with both hands!

Damn it, didn’t he say he wanted to live like an ordinary person? Does he have to bully ordinary people like this?

Perhaps this story tells us that even if you wear a sheepskin—one that blushes, no less—it can’t change the fact that you’re a wolf at heart.

Chapter 95 Soulbound Lamp …

At dawn, just as the little ghost at No. 4 Guangming Road got off duty, Darrin Grant anxiously waddled its plump body over to Logan Sullivan’s home. It first jumped onto the windowsill in the hallway, then, with a pounce like a hunting cat, leapt through the air and landed squarely on Logan Sullivan’s front door, pressing its front paws on the doorbell.

Then it turned into a flattened cat pancake, sliding down from the doorbell with a rustling sound.

The doorbell rang once.

Because when Logan Sullivan stays home, he sometimes wears headphones to play games, to prevent missing visitors at the door, his doorbell is especially loud and dramatic. You can hear that soul-stirring, flashy folk song from outside the door; press it once, and the whole song plays in full.

But after ringing for a while, no one answered.

Unlike Carter Shaw, Darrin Grant didn’t keep calling Logan Sullivan. At this point, it still thought Logan Sullivan wasn’t home.

The black cat paced anxiously at the door, unconsciously chasing its own tail, soon spinning into a whirlwind of black fur on the spot.

Unwilling to give up, it decided to try again. Just as it leapt up, placing its front paws on the hallway windowsill and struggling to pull itself up with its hind legs dangling, the door clicked open softly from the inside. Startled, the black cat lost its grip and landed on its butt in a classic “wild goose landing” pose.

It rolled over on the spot, stared with round eyes, and as soon as it stood up, its paw slipped on the shiny hallway floor, its heavy chin bouncing three times.

Then Darrin Grant very primly tucked in its paws, sat up straight, puffed out its chest and tucked in its belly, and gave a soft, respectful meow: “Sir.”

With a flick of William Sherman’s finger, the endlessly noisy doorbell at Logan Sullivan’s house instantly fell silent. Darrin Grant couldn’t help but stiffen its neck and made a difficult swallowing motion, its gaze involuntarily falling on William Sherman’s clothes—that shirt, Darrin Grant was certain, belonged to Logan Sullivan! Logan Sullivan had this weird habit of rolling up his sleeves and always insisted the laundry shop iron his shirts with the sleeves rolled up, so they’d be neatly folded.

A series of images popped into Darrin Grant’s mind—like, they’d both taken off their clothes, and then, and then...

Darrin Grant lowered its round head, feeling it needed to adjust its mental state.

“What is it?” William Sherman asked.

“Oh... I just wanted to see if Director Sullivan was back. He suddenly jumped into the Yellow Springs the other day, and we were all pretty worried.”

“He’s back, but he’s resting now. If you have anything to say, you can leave a message, and I’ll let him know when he wakes up,” William Sherman said softly.

Darrin Grant immediately knew to read the room, and scurried out on its short legs: “Ah... then I won’t bother you. It’s nothing important, just wanted to remind our boss not to forget the New Year’s work plan and the department’s New Year’s address these days. No worries, you’re busy, I’ll be off.”

“Hey, wait a moment.” William Sherman smiled apologetically and said politely, “I might need to trouble you with something...”

Darrin Grant immediately trotted back, looking up: “What is it?”

Ten minutes later, an absurdly fat cat pushed open the door of the downstairs breakfast shop with its head. Its face was so round that its eyes were almost squeezed shut by the fat, making it look rather fierce... Of course, foolish humans didn’t know that was the black cat’s true mood.

A server nearly tripped over it and immediately shouted, “Hey, how did a cat get in here? Get it out, quick!”

The big black cat looked up, sweeping her with a disdainful gaze, then jumped straight onto the counter, tapped the table with its front paw, and, to the cashier’s astonishment, spat out a piece of paper it had been holding in its mouth. The cashier, hands trembling, opened it to find neat handwriting: “One jin of soy milk, one basket of buns, three youtiao. Please pack them in a sturdy bag. The money is on the cat’s collar, please take it. If there’s change, please put it back. Thank you.”

The cashier looked up, trying to figure out where a cat’s collar would be. The black cat rolled its eyes upward, revealing a collar under its double chin. In the thick fur, the cashier found thirty yuan tucked inside.

The cashier took a deep breath: “Whoa! Everyone, come look! This is amazing! Even cats can buy things now!”

Mortified by the crowd’s attention, Darrin Grant wanted to die of embarrassment—You foolish humans!

Logan Sullivan was woken by the sound of the door opening and closing, and opened his eyes: “Who is it?”

“Your cat,” William Sherman closed the door, “came to check on you. I sent it to buy breakfast. Go back to sleep for a bit.”

As he spoke, he gently tucked Logan Sullivan back under the covers, put his hand back in, then bent down and kissed Logan Sullivan on the forehead, using his fingers to smooth the frown that had formed from being woken up.

Once Logan Sullivan’s breathing was steady again, William Sherman walked over to the window, looking down at the nearly dead plants on the windowsill from neglect. He placed his hands on the flowerpot, and a milky white light radiated from his palms. The withered plant, like parched earth receiving rain, quickly revived, its stems straightening, and in moments, it stood tall and lush.

William Sherman quietly cleaned the spray bottle, then carefully misted the leaves.

Most people had already started work; the morning rush hour was in full swing. William Sherman glanced outside through a gap in the curtains. At the far end of the busy world, in the distant sky, a wisp of black smoke rose from underground, drifting upward toward the sky.

Yet William Sherman only looked for a moment, then, as if he hadn’t seen it, lowered his eyes and continued his task. He felt an unusual peace and tranquility inside, his whole body relaxed, almost as if dying right now wouldn’t be such a big deal.

Logan Sullivan wasn’t woken until nearly noon, by the aroma of a hot cup of soy milk that William Sherman had left on the nightstand.

He stared at the milky soy milk for a while, then suddenly sat up: “What did you say this morning? What did you have Darrin Grant do?”

William Sherman was calmly reading a handwritten lesson plan with his glasses on. “Buy breakfast,” he replied.

Logan Sullivan sat there with an indescribable expression for a moment, perhaps imagining a whole “fat cat’s adventure.” Then he shook his head hard, propped his elbows on his knees, pressed his forehead, and suddenly started laughing.

William Sherman: “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking, I’ve been a playboy for half my life, and in the end, I’m pinned down by your Five Finger Mountain. Comrade William Sherman, you’re really something.”

There was a hint of mockery in Logan Sullivan’s tone—it was hard to tell who he was teasing. In any case, William Sherman pretended not to notice, just smiling at him with a virtuous, gentle expression.

“Oh, come on, babe, I’m begging you, stop pretending. If you must, at least don’t do it like this. My nerves can’t take it.” Logan Sullivan felt a toothache at his virtuous act, and, like an old car, pressed his aching back as he went to wash up, slamming the door behind him.

Just as Logan Sullivan was about to take out his frustrations on his food, he got a call from Holly Harlow.

“Hello, Director Sullivan? Darrin Grant said you’re back. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Logan Sullivan replied, biting into half a youtiao, “what’s up?”

“I need to tell you something. Julian West booked a train ticket back to Dragon City for last night. I tried to call him around midnight to confirm, but he was out of service. At first, I thought it was just the tunnels along the way messing with the signal, but he still hasn’t come back. I just called again, and it’s still ‘out of service.’”