Chapter 1547 - 79: Junk Room

On the couch, Bologue and Palmer each took a side, sprawling out like two chicken fillets spread evenly on a frying pan, basking in the roasting midday sun streaming through the window, happiness sizzling off their bodies.

The Logistics Department lived up to its name; they had refurbished the living room beautifully, not only restoring the original design but also building a set of cabinets for the duo to store all those videotapes piled on the ground. In addition, they conducted a full renovation of the entire house, bringing everything a fresh new look.

Palmer twisted into a highly contorted position and snuggled up, "It’s still most comfortable in your own den; no matter what, can’t get used to living in the Cultivation Room."

Bologue nodded in agreement with Palmer’s words while flipping through a newspaper. It’s hard to leave once you get used to a place; the same applies here.

"By the way, since you got back, did you visit Vasilina?"

Bologue put down his newspaper and turned his attention to Palmer.

"Yeah, right after I unpacked yesterday, I went to see her," Palmer adjusted back to his proper position and reached for a handful of fries from the plate, "Oh dear, it was heartbreaking to see..."

Bologue asked, "What happened?"

"I think...I think Vasilina might have separation anxiety," Palmer said through a mouthful of fries, words muffled, "As soon as she saw me, she dropped everything and ran to me with all her might. Luckily I’m a Negative Power User, otherwise that collision could have sent me to the hospital."

Bologue recalled his first meeting with Vasilina; in the end, she had locked Palmer’s throat, dragging him away. Such development felt quite logical.

"Then she wouldn’t let go of me, clinging like she wanted to glue herself to me 24/7," Palmer sighed wistfully, "Luckily, I slipped away fast, or I would have spent the night there... She almost dragged me in then."

Bologue nodded expressionlessly, attempting to view Vasilina’s slightly pathological affection as an inexplicable fondness between them.

Palmer questioned back, "Why did you think of this?"

"Just out of curiosity," Bologue folded up the newspaper and set it aside, "You know, Aimou and I became close partners, a shared destiny community, but it’s my first time encountering something like this, so naturally, I seek a normal reference group to ensure my emotional development and relationship are heading towards a normal and perfect direction."

Bologue quickly interrupted Palmer, "Don’t tell me to watch more movies; movies are movies, life is life."

Palmer shook his head, "No, I didn’t mean to say that."

He squirmed around on the couch like a caterpillar, crawling to Bologue’s side with a look of heartache.

"Bologue, why would you consider me a normal reference group?"

"Huh?"

Bologue was momentarily stunned.

Palmer placed both hands on Bologue’s shoulders, his face full of grievance, "Recall, recall my experiences, do you think this is normal?"

Bologue fell silent for a while, then belatedly realized Palmer genuinely lacked reference value. Speaking of emotional progress and healthy relationships, if not for Vasilina respecting Palmer’s personal will, Little Palmer might have already been born.

"Do you think this is reasonable?" Palmer queried.

Bologue pondered, "You seem quite happy with it, don’t you?"

"Part of it is indeed enjoying it," Palmer nodded, and continued, "Another part is just accepting reality!"

Palmer raised his voice, "So why are you foolish enough to use me as a reference group? Would a normal person have a life development like mine? It’s utterly impossible!"

"Well...should I pick someone else?"

Bologue reconsidered, quickly realizing his other potential reference group besides Palmer was Church.

Evidently, Church wasn’t a suitable reference group either.

"Don’t worry about those things, Bologue; this kind of stuff doesn’t have an accurate, formulaic reference group," Palmer snuggled back into his corner, "Everyone’s emotional experiences are entirely different, you can only...only enlighten yourself."

"Have you gained insight?"

"Roughly."

Palmer wiped his hands, stood up, and pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the sun, causing the previously bright room to immediately darken.

"But I know one thing, no matter how close the relationship, we all need some personal space. I usually call this space the junk room."

"Huh? Junk room?"

It was Bologue’s first time hearing the term from Palmer’s mouth.

"It’s probably a space where you can completely let go, not caring about anything," Palmer said while reaching into his short sleeve, scratching his belly, "just like you care about your image in front of Aimou, I slightly hide myself in front of Vasilina."

"I reckon they wouldn’t care about such things."

"Oh, they don’t care, but you end up caring, don’t you? It’s like when asked during a job interview whether you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for mankind, everyone thinks inside, I’m just here to work and earn money, why risk my life? But when asked, you’re sure to say you’re willing to sacrifice."

Palmer flipped through the shelf, picked a movie he hadn’t seen, and put it into the machine.

"After realizing this, when I was little, I set up a junk room in a warehouse where I could drink, eat junk food, read novels, watch movies, sleep naked in a mess, completely ignoring everything."

Palmer sat back down on the couch, "Do you understand this?"

"I think I get it," Bologue nodded absently, then said, "So can I understand the living room as your junk room now?"

"Almost," Palmer reached out his hand, "Welcome to join my junk room."

Bologue glanced at the greasy fry stain Palmer hadn’t wiped clean on his hand, hesitated a moment, then shook it, "Should I say I’m honored to receive your invitation?"

"It’s okay, it’s okay."

Palmer waved his hand, adjusted himself to a comfortable sitting position, and started watching the movie. After being busy for so long, he finally had time for enjoyment.

After about thirty seconds of various production company, director, and actor logos rolling by, the screen went black, then gradually brightened, and the plot finally began. Just as the two prepared to completely immerse in it, a fierce knocking sounded at the door.

Bologue hit the pause button; the knocking, no, the pounding grew clearer.

The two exchanged a glance. Palmer said helplessly, "By the way, the junk room location must remain secret; otherwise, you’ll always be interrupted."

Bologue got up to answer the door. He opened it to find no one there, as if someone had played a prank on him. Then Bologue felt something grab his pants and start climbing up.

Looking down, Bologue was taken aback by the unexpected visitor.

"Wei’Er?"

Bologue looked puzzled; these undead rarely left the Undying Club, let alone acted during the day.

"Something’s wrong! Bologue!" Wei’Er climbed onto Bologue’s shoulder, meowing incessantly, "Something’s wrong at the Undying Club!"

The Undying Club? Trouble?

It may be called a club, a retirement home, or a refuge, but to Bologue, it was basically no different from the legendary Heroic Spirit Hall. In its guest rooms slumbered countless blood-stained undead, who could one day return to the mortal world for strange reasons like paying rent.

Bologue believed no external force would madly attack the Undying Club; thus, the problem must arise internally.

Almost instantly, Bologue understood the source of the problem.

"Sai Zong?"

Upon hearing Bologue’s words, Wei’Er’s eyes lit up, "You indeed know something!"

"Junk time is over, Palmer; we have to go."

Bologue turned to put on his coat, fishing out the Key of the Crooked Path, having no time to care about his appearance.