Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 62 This is Batman

When the dim morning light came up, all the children had returned home, or rather, returned to the streets where they lived.

The snow-covered porridge stall had grown colder. The red-hot charcoal fire had burned down to a pale gray, like snow. The flames waned, leaving only smoke in the shed. The cauldron still barely retained a trace of warmth. The chirping children's voices faded, leaving only a solitary Santa Claus sitting by the pot, spoon in hand, looking exceptionally desolate.

"Santa Claus" looked at the whitening sky and could vaguely see a few stars through the dark clouds. He turned the pale yellow studio lights up a little brighter.

"Whoo, whoo, whoo"

Batman walked panting in the dark alley. At this moment, his black cape became tattered and could no longer glide; his battle suit was also riddled with holes from swords and guns. Even with the fast-healing hemostatic spray that suppressed the bleeding from the wounds, the bright red liquid still flowed out of his nose and lips; he was fully armed and had changed three full tactical belts. The broken bones in his body were aching slightly, and every movement he made brought him intense pain.

Even in this situation, his steps were still extremely steady, without the slightest stumble. Rather, it could be said that this situation was exactly as he expected, or even better, because most of the hidden injuries in his body had healed, and he performed even better in today's battle.

At this moment, he was like a beast at the bottom of his health, at his peak combat power. He had turned the tide countless times in this state and survived from near death. If anyone underestimated Batman at this moment, their fate would most likely be like all of Batman's previous enemies, defeated by the well-prepared Batman Fight Form and thrown into either Blackgate Prison or Arkham Asylum.

He walked and walked, slowly out of the dark alley, and in the distance he could see a dim light, illuminating a small awning, emitting warmth in the deep darkness.

So he walked over, staggered into the awning, and fell onto a wooden chair beside him.

Santa Claus in red turned his head to look at him in surprise, then turned around, picked up a spoon, scooped two bowls of warm leftover porridge from the pot, and handed one of them to him.

"These are the last two bowls. Don't waste food—that's the most annoying thing in my hometown."

Batman looked at the bowl of porridge and finally took it.

"Why is everything so bad today? Looks like something big is going to happen tonight?"

".Why are you here to cook porridge?"

It's cool not to answer, that's very Batman.

"My car was stolen, so I chased it and saw some children almost freezing to death and starving to death. So I built a soup kitchen - I can't tell you why, but it's good for me and the children."

The reasons at the beginning are reasonable, but the conclusions at the end are a bit too weird.

"Wayne's construction was pretty quick. He finished the porridge stall in just half a day and even helped me set up the pots and stove. Aside from asking for money, I have basically no negative comments."

Batman still didn't respond, but just watched Ma Zhaodi drink the porridge in his bowl.

"Drink it, it's not poisonous."

Ma Zhaodi casually stretched out his spoon and scooped a mouthful from Batman's bowl: "Don't be so ungrateful. If you don't want to drink it, give it to me."

Batman finally made a move. His breathing became even, and he stood up and asked, "Your apple juice?"

"I can't tell you. Don't ask." Ma Zhaodi shook his head. "Ask about Zisha."

The plan hadn't worked. Either the other party had something to hide, or they had guessed his intentions, Batman thought. The pain was real, the injuries were genuine, but there was a reason for coming to the soup kitchen. Batman never did anything unnecessary, nor did he show weakness pointlessly. When he deliberately showed his battle-damaged appearance, it meant he wanted to let his opponent down.

Ma Zhaodi has many secrets, quite a lot, but these secrets have not caused any negative impact on Gotham City. So even though strange props keep appearing on his body and even though he keeps doing strange things, Batman has never thought of taking action against him unless he breaks the law or does evil.

But whether to take action or not is one thing, and intelligence gathering is another. Batman’s philosophy is very simple. He may not have the idea of dealing with his teammates, but he must have a way to deal with them. Don’t ask whether your teammates will do certain things, but ask yourself whether you can stop your teammates from doing certain things.

Unfortunately, the strategy of showing weakness did not work.

So in the last bit of smoke escaping from the porridge shed, two figures, one black and one red, sat quietly facing each other, drinking the warm porridge in the dim morning light.

It was warm and mellow, he thought silently. Although the taste was different, it felt a bit like the dinner that the elegant and loyal elder prepared for him every night - although he occasionally didn't eat it, but often he did.

His body began to change. The wounds stopped bleeding and healed quickly. The pain and fatigue in his body disappeared. Even the bones that had not yet healed, the extremely aching muscles, and the slightly injured internal organs returned to normal.

Looking at the body again, only the tear in the bat suit remained, but the flesh and blood wounds underneath the tear had disappeared without a trace.

"You added apple juice to your porridge?"

"No, but porridge has about the same effect as apple juice."

Batman immediately thought of the children who had drunk the porridge, and couldn't help but look at Ma Zhaodi again. At this moment, he even doubted that there really was a Santa Claus in the world.

When Ma Zhaodi turned around and stacked the bowls on the high pile of bowls, and turned his head again, the black bat had disappeared.

"Well, that's very Batman."

"Master, with all due respect, what kind of magic did you use? Or is there really a Santa Claus in the East District?"

The old man looked at the man's examination results. All his previous hidden injuries and illnesses had disappeared, including broken bones, muscle fatigue, and even the titanium alloy and iron nails that were injected into his body to fix his skeleton. His physical condition was frighteningly healthy. Looking at his smooth and scar-free muscles, an undisguised look of joy suddenly appeared on his face.

"I think, from today on, maybe I should hang a sock on your bedside every Christmas?"

"Or should I join a religion? Is there a religion called Santa Claus? Well, maybe I could become a Christ."

"No, that's not necessary."

Facing the old man who suddenly became like a child, the man sighed. The old man has always been like this. He would be happy from the bottom of his heart for every good thing that happened to him, and he would still treat Batman as an ordinary junior.

"Give me the phone first, I have something to discuss with Lucius."

"Wayne Group shouldn't remain indifferent to what that Santa Claus is doing."

(End of this chapter)