"I know you," Shorty said.

"Oh."

"Grandpa said I'll be taking over in the future, so the two of us will have to live together," Shorty added.

"Mm."

"But I don't have any money."

At this, William Clark finally had a noticeable reaction. He looked a bit shocked.

Over the years, he had left quite a few good things for Charles Sullivan. Of course, these "good things" weren't the gold, silver, jewels, or antiques that ordinary people talked about, but rather some special items that only circulated among their kind.

Just like joss paper for spirit officials, incense offerings for celestial officials, and merit artifacts for human judges. There were many types, ranging from spiritual energy gathered from celestial altars and Buddhist halls, to baleful energy collected from demons and monsters—some tangible, some intangible, not something that could be explained in a short time.

In short, after all these years of life and death, William Clark had accumulated quite a lot, all of which he left to Charles Sullivan. Just a bit of it, exchanged at the right place, would be enough to live like a wealthy landlord. How could there be no money???

"Impossible," William Clark finally said a full sentence. "Didn't Charles Sullivan tell you I left things behind?"

"He did. The basement is packed full, stored in different containers, all neatly arranged," Shorty was silent for a few seconds. "But now it's all empty."

"What do you mean?"

Shorty paused for a moment and said, "Because there's no one left in this line."

He actually still didn't quite understand what kind of job he had taken over. He only knew that Charles Sullivan raised him, and whatever he was asked to do, he agreed to.

To make sense of it, he often flipped through the family's ancient books. One passage said: "All things are impermanent, all leaks are suffering, all beings are shrouded in baleful energy, and occasionally, one of great clarity is called a judge."

Roughly, it meant that all beings suffer, burdened by too many attachments, carrying resentment, hatred, jealousy, and the like. From afar, they look shrouded in dirty mist, and when it accumulates, trouble arises.

A judge is someone invited to clear away such trouble. Of course, such a person must be filled with clarity and be spotless themselves.

Charles Sullivan always said he was spotless, but aside from being clean, he was useless—couldn't even get his name on the register, let alone continue the line.

The so-called judgeship was passed down from the founder, and over time, many capable people branched out into various sects, some close, some distant, and eventually, they became unrelated.

Your disciples and descendants can't be counted as someone else's.

So...

"Once Grandpa was gone, this line was cut off," Shorty lowered his head, looking utterly dejected.

As the saying goes, "When a person leaves, the tea cools." This is most evident among spirit officials, celestial officials, and judges. Once the lineage is broken, the line is sealed, and all the spiritual artifacts and belongings you accumulated vanish along with it.

William Clark digested what he meant, and then his head started to ache.

Shorty was completely oblivious, and after his bout of dejection, he even asked, "So do you have any other money?"

William Clark replied coldly, "No."

He'd died several times already—what money could he possibly have.

"I figured as much," Shorty sighed. "Then our days ahead might be a bit tough."

Hearing this, William Clark felt a bit irritated.

Anything else was fine, but having no money made him anxious—he almost didn't want to live anymore.

Shorty might have noticed his mood. After thinking for a moment, he added, "Uh... to ease the pressure a little, I put the two empty rooms online."

As someone who had been dead for a long time, William Clark didn't understand what "put online" meant. He made a questioning "Mm" sound.

Shorty shook his phone and explained, "For rent."

Author's note:

Repeat after me: William Clark is the bottom. Shorty is not the top~

Chapter 2: Generation Gap

For rent???

What a lousy idea, trust you to come up with it. William Clark was clearly not in favor.

Whenever he was unhappy, it showed on his face—cold as ice. Shorty was a bit stunned by the chill and awkwardly asked, "Isn't this a good idea?"

"What's good about it?" William Clark said.

A question mark slowly appeared above Shorty's head.

William Clark stood facing him for a while and finally realized that the clever Charles Sullivan was gone.

In the past, he only had to think something and the other would understand. He was so used to saying as little as possible. Now, that didn't work anymore. He had to say everything on his mind.

So he said, "Do you know what we do? If you bring in two ordinary tenants and they see something, they'll scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Who are you trying to scare, them or someone else?"

Shorty: "Sorry."

This guy's brain didn't work, but he apologized quickly enough. William Clark's expression softened a bit, and just as he was about to let it go, the other added dejectedly, "Mainly, after estimating, the rent is actually pretty good. Two rooms can get over 7,000."

William Clark: "..."

His sense of money was still stuck in 1995. Hearing that number, he was silent for two seconds, then turned and walked away.

Shorty followed nervously behind. As they were about to enter the villa, he couldn't help but ask, "Um... so what do you mean?"

William Clark didn't even look back: "Pretend I never said anything."

Let them scream if they want, scare whoever they want—none of his business.

He was tall and long-legged, so he walked fast. But when he actually reached the villa door, he stopped in his tracks.