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🕑 Added 2025-05-27 17:06:05 +0000 UTCChapter 61: The Watchman
Batman didn't often have moments where he thought for too long.
Usually, the situations he faced demanded immediate decisions – crucial, extremely urgent, and allowing absolutely no delay. Time had always been a luxury for him. It couldn't be helped; often, the most pressing crises needing a savior offered no room for procrastination – and his intellect was indeed sufficient to handle such situations.
But tonight was different. The weirdness he encountered tonight wasn't some super crisis, nor did it involve any supervillains. It was just... plain weird.
But also, a little warm.
That goofy Santa Claus figure slowly stirred the steaming congee in the pot, and it felt like even the night itself seemed to stretch out. It was as if a corner of the city was telling him, 'It's okay, taking it slow is fine. Tonight is just a regular night. This is just an ordinary street corner. There's no crime right now, no conspiracy. You can pause here for a moment.'
But he didn't intend to pause. Batman never paused – Gotham wasn't just this one corner, and Batman always had things to do.
He glanced back at the makeshift shack and the group of kids lining up for congee, then raised a hand to make a call before turning and vanishing into the night.
...
"Boss, why'd you call everyone out so late? It's the middle of the night..."
"Less talk, more action. Something's weird tonight. Those kids are up to something, suddenly gathered in one spot, even put up a shack and are cooking congee. We're gonna go check it out. If they're trying to pull something, we'll teach 'em a lesson."
"Yeah! Maybe there's something good there." A big guy with a scar sneered twice. "Even if there's nothin' good, this old man's gonna rough up a few kids to blow off some steam. I ain't had enough sleep, and this goddamn weather is freezing."
"Aa-choo! Jeez, it really is cold! This snow is thick as hell, seriously! It's almost Christmas, can't these kids just chill out for a bit?"
"Hey, didn't we have an 'order' recently? Maybe..."
"Order, my ass. That was the last one, already delivered. The next order ain't even on the radar yet. And bringing kids back now would cost money to keep 'em fed – you gonna pay for it?"
"Leave."
The abrupt command clearly didn't come from one of the gang members. It was deep, hoarse, icy, and held a strange, unsettling quality.
"Who! Who's there!"
The dim moonlight spilled over Gotham's night, casting flickering cold light on the snowy ground. Borrowing the reflection of the weak light, the group could vaguely make out a blurry, tall black figure standing in the snow.
Was it a person? But how could a person have pointed ears like a bat?
"I said, leave. Don't make me repeat myself a third time."
However, the scar-faced tough guy wasn't bothered. In his eyes, the person opposite looked like a clown from a TV comedy show or a stage actor in a bizarre costume. Those pointed ears were probably just some cheap, weird decoration.
So he immediately started cursing, "Who the hell are you? How dare you order–"
"Shut up! Idiot!"
The leader stopped his ranting right away. Scar-face didn't know the urban legends about Batman in Gotham City, but the leader had heard about this kind of thing more than once. Although this was the first time he'd seen it with his own eyes, he already knew about the exploits of this nocturnal creature.
Still, didn't Falcone put a million-dollar bounty on this bat's head?
Thinking of that huge sum of money, he instinctively licked his lips.
Batman could see the greedy glint in his eyes. Many of the gangsters beside him showed the same ferocious grin. Maybe in their minds, they were already picturing their future: defecting to the Romans with credit for capturing Batman and living it up with a million bucks.
At this moment, they had made their choice – and they chose wrong.
"Boss, he's gone!"
"What?"
He turned around in surprise. Amidst the dazzling halo of the white flashlight, there was nothing left but the bright white snow. The bat-like shadow that had been standing there had vanished. This made him curse in frustration.
"Damn it! The guy got away!"
"They talked about Batman like he was so terrifying, and he just bolted in like three seconds!"
At this moment, a gangster started stammering.
"Boss, boss, boss, boss..."
"Boss what? Call me 'Chief'!"
"Up top!"
Everyone was startled and turned their gaze towards the sky.
Against the silvery white full moon, the bat-like black figure suddenly spread its dark wings. Its size instantly swelled dramatically with the shadow, almost completely blocking out the moonlight.
For some reason, tonight's Batman was more intimidating than usual. The blurred, twisted, terrifying bat wings rapidly grew larger with the sound of a high-speed dive. In that moment, every gang member understood why Batman in Gotham City represented fear.
"Shoot him! Shoot him with your guns!" The scar-faced brute desperately squeezed out the last bit of courage from his heart, shouting the words in a trembling voice.
However, he still didn't yell fast enough.
"Crack, crack, crack."
The crisp sounds of bones breaking rang out, one after another. Still the same clean, decisive moves, still the same elusive figure. Batman tore through the group of burly toughs like a tiger entering a flock of sheep, knocking them down one by one. Everyone drew their guns, trying to aim at him, but no one dared to shoot because in such a tight group, a bullet could hit one of their own anytime.
The gangsters in the group fell one by one into the cold snow, clutching their hands, feet, or whatever else, wailing. The dim moonlight could only occasionally illuminate Batman's figure, but in the next second, he would melt back into the shadows.
"Flashlights! Shine flashlights on him!"
As soon as the words were out, a flashbang with intense light exploded in the middle of the crowd.
WHOOMPH
The intense high-decibel sonic boom and the nearly blinding intense light immediately engulfed everyone. Suffering severe ringing in their ears and temporary blindness, the gangsters with flashlights were easily harvested by Batman like leeks.
Fire, fire, fire.
The silvery white snowy ground and the silent, dark night sky seemed to be burning at this moment. Bone-chilling fear scorched everyone's minds. Now, everyone who could still stand was trembling. They struggled to raise the guns in their hands, using them to maintain their last shred of courage, but looking at the few companions left, everyone knew the tide had turned.
"Gotham P.D.! Everyone drop your weapons!"
Along with police sirens, flashing lights, and loudspeaker announcements, GCPD patrol cars arrived at the scene. Every gang member practically had tears in their eyes. In their view, these weren't the annoying cops who were about to take them to jail, but kind angels who were about to deliver them from hell.
"Quick! Officer! I confess! Arrest me, fast!"
In the midst of the chaos, Batman's figure quietly vanished from the crowd.
That night, the Gotham City Police Department was packed to the brim. Every gangster who dared to approach the congee shack was beaten to a pulp with broken bones and torn muscles by the Dark Knight.
In contrast, the children drinking the congee had a warm and peaceful night.
P.S. This is probably what Batman looks like when he's trying to be scary.
Chapter 62: That's So Batman
When the faint morning light broke, all the kids had already gone home, or rather, back to the streets and alleys where they survived.
The congee stand, covered in heavy snow, had also grown cold by now. The glowing red charcoal had burned down to ash the color of snow, the flames dying out. Only wisps of smoke remained inside the shelter, the large pot barely holding onto a bit of residual warmth. The chattering voices of children were gone, leaving behind only a lonely Santa Claus, sitting by the pot with the big spoon, looking especially desolate.
"Santa Claus" watched the whitening horizon, faintly making out a few stars through the dark clouds. He casually turned up the dim yellow light inside the shelter.
"Hoo... hoo... hoo..."
Batman walked, gasping for breath, through the dark alleyways. Right now, his black cape was tattered and couldn't glide anymore. His suit was riddled with holes from knives and gunfire. Even with the rapid-healing hemostatic spray suppressing the bleeding from his wounds, crimson liquid still trickled from his nose and lips. Fully armed, his overloaded utility belt had been swapped out three times. Inside his body, broken bones ached faintly, every movement sending sharp jolts of pain.
Even in this state, his steps were incredibly steady, without the slightest stumble. If anything, this situation was within his expectations, even slightly better, because a lot of his old internal injuries had healed, allowing him to perform even better in tonight's fight.
Right now, he was like a beast on low health – the time his fighting power was strongest. Countless times he had turned the tide and survived near-death experiences in this condition. If someone were to underestimate Batman in this state, their end would likely be like all of Batman's previous enemies: defeated by a fully prepared, 'ready-for-a-fight' Batman, then either thrown into Blackgate Prison or Arkham Asylum.
He walked and walked, slowly emerging from the dark alley. In the distance, he could see a faint, yellowish light illuminating a small lean-to, radiating warmth in the deep darkness.
So, he walked towards it, swaying slightly, and stumbled into the shelter, collapsing onto a nearby wooden chair.
The Santa Claus, dressed all in red, turned in surprise to look at him, then turned back, picked up the spoon, scooped out two bowls of warm leftover congee from the big pot, and handed one over.
"Last two bowls, don't waste food – that's the thing I hate most back home."
Batman looked at the bowl of congee and finally took it.
"Why are you so beat up today? Seems like something big went down tonight?"
"...Why are you cooking congee here?"
Cool, no answer. That's so Batman.
"Because my car got stolen, so I followed it, and when I got here, I saw a few kids who were about to freeze and starve. So, I put up a congee stand. I can't tell you why, but it works out for me and the kids."
The part about the reason sounded reasonable enough, but the conclusion part was a bit too weird.
"Wayne Construction is pretty fast. They got the congee stand set up in half a day and even helped me set up the pot and stove. Aside from charging money, I really don't have any complaints."
Batman still didn't answer him, just watched Cody drink the congee from his bowl.
"Drink it, it ain't poisoned, damn it."
Cody casually reached out with his spoon and scooped a mouthful from Batman's bowl. "Don't be an ingrate, jerk. If you don't drink it, give it to me."
Batman finally made a move. His breathing was gradually evening out. He straightened up and asked, "Your apple juice..."
"Can't talk about it, don't ask," Cody shook his head. "Ask again and I am done'
The plan didn't work, Batman thought. Either he really has something he can't explain, or he guessed my intentions.
The pain was real, the injuries were real, but his coming to the congee stand was not without reason. Batman never did unnecessary things, nor would he show weakness without a purpose. When he deliberately presented his battle-damaged appearance, it meant he wanted the other party to lower their guard.
Cody had many secrets, a significant number. But these secrets hadn't caused any negative impact on Gotham City. So, even though strange items kept popping up around him, and even though he kept doing strange things, Batman hadn't considered making a move against him as long as he wasn't breaking the law or doing evil.
But taking action was one thing, gathering intelligence was another. Batman's philosophy was simple: you might not have the thought of taking out a teammate, but you must have the method to take out a teammate. Don't ask if a teammate will do certain things; ask if you can stop a teammate from doing certain things.
Unfortunately, the tactic of showing weakness didn't work.
And so, in the last bit of cooking smoke drifting from the congee stand, two figures, one black and one red, sat facing each other in silence, drinking the warm congee in the dim morning light.
Very warm, and smooth and rich, he thought silently. Although the taste was different, the feeling was somewhat like the dinner the elegant and loyal elder made for him every night – though he occasionally didn't eat it, often only occasionally.
His body began to change. Wounds quickly stopped bleeding, healing. The pain and fatigue in his body vanished. Even the bones that hadn't healed yet, the incredibly sore muscles, and the slightly bruised internal organs returned to normal. Looking at his body again, only the tears in the Batsuit remained, but the flesh wounds beneath the tears had disappeared without a trace.
"Did you put apple juice in the congee?"
"No, but the congee has an effect similar to the apple juice."
Batman immediately thought of the kids who had drunk the congee and couldn't help but look at Cody again. In that moment, he even had some doubt whether Santa Claus truly existed in the world.
And when Cody turned back to stack his bowl on the tall pile of bowls and turned back again, the black bat was gone.
"Alright, that's so Batman."
...
"Master Wayne, if I may be so bold, what sort of magic did you use? Or dare I say, there truly is a Santa Claus in the East End?"
The elderly man looked at the results of the man's examination. The old injuries and hidden ailments from before were gone without a trace. Fractures, hairline cracks, muscle fatigue – even the titanium alloy and iron nails that had been put into his body to stabilize his skeleton had vanished into thin air. His physical condition was terrifyingly healthy. Looking at his smooth, clean muscles without any scars, his face immediately showed unconcealed delight.
"I think, starting today, perhaps I should also hang a stocking by your bed every Christmas?"
"Or should I take up religion? Is there a Santa Claus denomination? Hmm, perhaps I could become a Chris—"
"No, that won't be necessary."
Facing the old man who had suddenly started acting like an old child, the man sighed. The old man was always like this; he would genuinely be happy for every good thing that happened to him, and he still treated Batman like a regular junior.
"Just give me the phone. I need to talk to Lucius."
"Wayne Enterprises shouldn't stand by idly with what that Santa Claus is doing."
Chapter 63: Harmony Without Uniformity
Wayne Enterprises, bless their hearts (and deep pockets), is throwing money around again.
Maybe calling Wayne Enterprises something like "rich people who are idiots with their money" sounds a little strange. Having been deeply entrenched in Gotham City for years, involved in multiple industries like transportation, water systems, agriculture, trade, real estate, new energy, genetic engineering, arms, and aviation, and even monopolizing some sectors, dominating the city for so long... they might have a lot of money, but there's no way they're stupid.
There were originally three other families on the same level as the Waynes who built Gotham City together: the Elliots, the Kanes, and the Cobblepots. Each of these families had their own issues – either the heirs fell into crime, or the families simply declined. But the bottom line is, the one that's still standing strong is the Wayne family.
The only issue is with the successor of Wayne Enterprises, the young playboy, Bruce Wayne.
He doesn't seem to have any particular skills and isn't very focused on running Wayne Enterprises. Most people's impressions of him are just that of a hot-headed young man, a playboy, a super bachelor, rich but maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed, kind-hearted, a tiger's son who turned out to be a dog, and so on.
Oh, and finally, there's the label of 'Gotham Orphan.'
Speaking of which, Cody almost couldn't keep it together yesterday because after Batman drank the congee, his task progress also went up a bit right then and there. This meant he was an orphan too.
Yeah, Gotham City really has a lot of orphans.
Anyway, that's pretty much the image people have of 'Little Bruce' – meaning Bruce Wayne. This impression is deeply ingrained, almost impossible to change. In other words, if Wayne Enterprises makes some weird, off-the-wall decision, it'll most likely be blamed on Bruce.
Whenever that happens, you'll hear comments like, "Haha, that Wayne kid is making decisions again."
Just like a few days ago, nobody knew why Lucius Fox suddenly decided to dispatch Wayne Logistics trucks to help a Santa Claus cosplayer cooking congee deliver hot congee to the East End, and even to every corner of Gotham; why they specifically sent Wayne Security personnel and equipment to protect a small congee shack; or why they sent Wayne Construction's engineering team to do lengthy and tedious repair work.
For Wayne Enterprises, this kind of donation isn't like other companies' charitable contributions. It can't be used for tax write-offs; it's just a pure expense.
But everyone was used to it. When the corporation made decisions that weren't profitable, or even significantly drained funds, everyone would generally agree it was one of Bruce Wayne's impulsive ideas. And if the decision was for charity, everyone would generally agree it was Bruce Wayne's kind-hearted, spur-of-the-moment idea.
In short, it definitely didn't involve any long-term planning.
...
Good morning, Gotham.
Today, Gotham City was still overcast. Although it wasn't snowing, the air before dawn still carried a heavy chill, and the snow on the ground showed no sign of melting.
Cody stirred the congee in the pot, listening to the morning news broadcast on the radio. His hand paused unconsciously.
"Yesterday, at the charity fundraiser for the winter survival of Gotham City's orphans, Mr. Harvey Dent donated a full two million dollars. This matter has sparked quite a heated discussion..."
He donated all that money, Cody thought. Didn't keep a dime – he even threw in some of his own savings.
Harvey Dent, Gotham City's District Attorney, one of Gotham's remaining 'Iron Triangle of Conscience,' the White Knight who hated evil as much as he loved justice.
Judging by his actions, he truly deserved the name 'Justice.'
This wasn't just because he donated the money, but more because donating that amount of money could bring him significant trouble. Maybe he could handle it himself, maybe Gordon could help him, maybe Batman could help him, but more likely...
...
"Where did you get that money?! Who gave you such a huge amount of money!?"
Harvey Dent looked at his furious friend in front of him and couldn't help but remember when they first met.
Back then, his temples weren't white yet, and he didn't have that big beard. There were far fewer wrinkles on his face, and he wasn't wearing those glasses. He looked like a sharp young guy.
Now, he was getting a little old. Many things about him had faded with time, like his physical stamina, his eyesight, his head of blonde hair.
But some things about him hadn't changed. That tightly furrowed brow was still the same. The habit of working late nights hunched over a desk at the Gotham P.D. was still the same. The drive to charge ahead with his police squad was still the same.
Even the way he roared against injustice and unfairness was just like back then, full of anger, full of courage, no matter who the other person was or how much power they had.
Every time he saw his partner, Harvey would feel even more convinced from the bottom of his heart that his path was right; sticking to justice and the law could never be wrong.
"Gordon, I know you're angry, but you know who I am, and you know my style – so just calm down and listen to me. Harvey Dent would never betray justice."
Gordon didn't question him further after hearing that, but sat down angrily on a nearby chair.
"I met... someone whose identity I can't tell you. He gave me this money."
"Why? Who would give you such a huge sum of money for no reason, out of the blue?"
"It wasn't for no reason." Harvey shook his head. "This money was originally Falcone's bounty for having me killed."
"What do you mean?" Gordon was startled. "Those five guys from the Irish mob..."
"I didn't kill them." Harvey sighed. "Why do you always jump to that kind of conclusion?"
Gordon stopped talking, but ever since "Mickey the Mink" asked him that question last time, he couldn't help but think about what the guy meant.
His partner in justice, his trustworthy ally, Harvey Dent – would he use extreme methods to deal with gangsters in pursuit of justice? Was that kind of thing possible?
In his heart, there was a subtle wavering.
"Before the bomb went off, someone contacted me. He swapped out the Irish mob's bomb and helped me avoid the attack. He also stole the bounty money the Irish mob got and gave that money to me."
"It's a shame, though. I didn't protect Griselda well enough. She still had to spend a few days in the hospital."
"...Griselda's physical exam results are all healthy. From the results, you still protected her very well."
Gordon instinctively tried to comfort Harvey, but the next second he remembered he was there to ask questions, so he continued, "But if this person didn't want the money and doesn't know you, why would he help you?"
"I'm not entirely sure either, but he said he's not the Holiday Killer."
"He –"
"He isn't."
From the darkness, the voice of Batman sounded out at the right moment. "I investigated."
"A very detailed investigation."
