"Alright then, you head back first. I'll have Little Brooks make another trip later." Martin Bennett said, then reminded, "Say goodbye to your brother before you leave."

In your dreams.

William Bennett snapped off the classroom lights with a "pop" and hung up without another word.

The way downstairs passed by the office. Though he said "in your dreams," he still deigned to glance inside as he walked by. He saw five heads all buried down, either over test papers or lesson plans. As for the legendary Edward Harris who was supposedly called to the office, there wasn't even a shadow of him.

William Bennett paused, full of questions: Do some people not coordinate their lies before telling them? Aren't they afraid of being exposed? Or... is he really not in this office, but somewhere else?

He looked around, intending to ask a teacher, but Little Brooks uncle had already messaged, saying he was waiting at the school gate and couldn't park there for long.

So after hesitating for a few seconds, he went downstairs.

There are several top provincial schools in the city, but most are located in the suburbs, far from the city and crowds, as if eager to retreat from the world.

The affiliated high school is a rare exception. It was built early, somehow securing a prime spot in the city center, and has stood there for 130 years. As the surrounding area grew more prosperous, the school planted a large forest around the teaching and dormitory areas, shutting out the noise.

The school named that forest and its plants "Xiushen Garden," but students called it "Magpie Bridge."

Adult couples in the mortal world stroll hand in hand down the street, but young couples in the temple, trying to avoid being chased, can only trample the muddy paths in the woods. At night, it really does look haunted.

In the three days William Bennett had been here, he'd been startled by those "ghosts" several times.

Just outside the school gate were a few residential areas, with a very simple mix of residents—basically three types: school staff, students, and those renting nearby to accompany their children.

William Bennett walked out the school gate along the haunted path and saw Little Brooks uncle roll down the car window and gesture to him.

He stood by the gate waiting for Little Brooks to turn the car around, when he suddenly heard voices from under a nearby apartment building. The lights there were so dim they looked broken, flickering on and off.

William Bennett vaguely saw two figures come out of the building one after the other and turn down another road.

"The streetlight's a bit faulty, it's pretty dark. Want me to walk with you?"

"No need."

He faintly heard this exchange, but with the fence and the noise of cars and people, it wasn't very clear. He just felt the person replying had a cold tone, and it sounded a bit familiar.

"Xiao Wang." Little Brooks uncle called to him.

William Bennett answered and walked over to the car.

Out of the corner of his eye, it seemed like one of the figures under the apartment building turned to look back, but maybe it was just the shadows of the trees. William Bennett sat in the back seat, resting his head against the window, trying to take a nap.

As the lights blurred in his vision, he suddenly realized why that voice sounded familiar—it was a bit like Edward Harris. But that couldn't be, what would Edward Harris be doing here?

William Bennett snapped out of it for a moment, then slowly sank back into drowsiness, not thinking about it anymore.

After all, whether it was Owen Harris or Edward Harris, even though they were now under the same roof, they were just Martin Bennett's guests, nothing to do with him.

Having new people move in didn't really change much at home—just the little details.

When William Bennett came in, Martin Bennett and Owen Harris were standing at the door, as if they'd been waiting for him. The housekeeper, who was usually around, was already gone.

He didn't even lift his eyelids, just opened the shoe cabinet, only to see a row of unfamiliar shoes at the bottom. Some were athletic shoes like his, and some were women's shoes.

Ever since his mother passed away, things like that hadn't appeared in the house for a long time.

"Your shoes are here." Martin Bennett bent down, picked up his slippers, and handed them over. "I just got them ready for you."

William Bennett stood in front of the shoe cabinet with his eyes down for a while, then closed the cabinet and squatted to untie his shoelaces.

"You were fine on the phone, so why are you ignoring us now that you're home?" Martin Bennett patted Owen Harris's shoulder, tugged at his pants, and half-squatted in front of William Bennett, asking, "I spoke with Old Carter today—oh, that's your political education director. He said my son is doing great at school, several teachers in your class really like you, and I heard you did well on yesterday's test?"

At this, William Bennett's fingers paused as he changed his shoes.

He looked up at Martin Bennett, then straightened up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, saying, "Yeah, it was great. Failed three subjects."

With that, he brushed past them and headed upstairs.

Martin Bennett and Owen Harris looked at each other, awkwardly frozen for a moment.

"I told you I shouldn't be standing here," Owen Harris said.

"It takes time to adjust," Martin Bennett said, hearing the bedroom door upstairs slam shut. He sighed, "That kid's all bark and no bite. He knows who's kind and who's not. It's not about you, he just..."

"He just misses his mom, I know," Owen Harris said.

She glanced toward the kitchen and said to Martin Bennett, "I won't bring him the porridge. You do it."

"He's probably still mad and won't open the door for me," Martin Bennett chuckled awkwardly. "You think that 'No Knocking' sign on his door is for show? Just leave the porridge to keep warm. He'll come down to eat when he's hungry."