American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 147 A heart like crystal, easily broken and hard to mend.

The Kent family.

A celebration of surviving a disaster.

The smoke and thunder of the great battle subsided into the rainy night in Gotham.

It was completely purified by that healing light that covered the entire city.

After saying goodbye to Martian Manhunter and properly handling the aftermath, Locke and Zatanna used teleportation magic to quietly bring the still unconscious Clark back to Smallville, back to the warm and familiar lights of Kent Farm.

As for Dior…

He simply stated himself—

There are still important matters to be dealt with.

Locke didn't ask any further questions.

He only glanced at the aloof, brown-haired woman.

Watching him carefully help Dior disappear into the night, a complex mix of emotions washed over me.

Unlike the previously well-known secret Harley.

Dior now has its own real little secrets.
I've been leaving early and coming home late every day lately; it turns out I was using the excuse of working to get a girlfriend who seems really unusual...

that is…

Gotham People?
Locke was completely baffled.

A moment later, Locke carried Clark into the house.

When Martha and Jonathan, who had been anxiously waiting for so long, saw the unconscious Clark, their taut and suppressed emotions finally broke down.

Martha covered her mouth, and large tears silently streamed down her face.

She strode forward, her trembling fingers gently brushing across her adopted son's cold forehead.

Jonathan's eyes were red, his lips moved a few times, and his broad, rough hands finally rested heavily and gently on Clark's shoulder.

He seemed to see the baby in swaddling clothes that had fallen from the sky many years ago.

For so many years, they have carefully guarded this secret, hoping to give the child and Dior a normal childhood.

But everything that has happened in the past few days has been like a heavy blow to his senses.
This child possesses extraordinary strength, and the world he is destined to face is far more vast and dangerous than Smallwell's cornfield.

Maybe
it's time.

It's time to tell this child his true origins.

He can no longer be kept in the dark; he needs to know where his power comes from and why, so that he can better protect himself in the future.

After exchanging a glance with Martha, all of Jonathan's worries and fears turned into a sigh of relief mixed with bitterness.

As for Sarafil, who was standing to the side.

He looked at Clark with a mixture of curiosity and worry, then, as if remembering something, he whispered to himself, "Shen Du, where did you go to play just now?"

"Did you secretly watch Dad scold Clark?"

Upon hearing this, a very faint, cold snort echoed in the air.

With a look of disdain and indifference at being exposed, she then completely ignored the boy.

Salafir puffed out his cheeks in anger, bared his teeth at the air, but there was nothing he could do.

After a while.
They didn't ask a single question about the horrific details of Gotham Night, nor did they inquire about the origins of those earth-shattering powers and scars.

Martha simply wiped Clark's cheeks and arms clean with a warm towel and covered him with a soft, dry blanket.

Then, she forcefully wiped away the tears on her face, mustered her spirits, turned around and went into the kitchen, bringing out the birthday cake that, though late, was still carefully prepared and decorated with blueberries.

it is more than words.

After a long while, the sound of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle engine came from outside the door.
Dior returned, travel-worn, his golden hair slightly disheveled by the night wind, and his expensive shirt stained with dust.

But his crimson eyes were much calmer than usual.

He had lost some of his usual arrogance and indifference.

He silently walked up to Locke and took out two things.

A heavy motorcycle key that gleamed with a cold, silvery light, and a strange, dull stone mask.

Happy birthday, Father.

His tone still carried his usual awkwardness, but beneath that deliberately maintained indifference lay an undisguised concern.

Locke accepted the gift, placed the Stone Mask on his person, and planned to throw it into the Dragon Court space at some time.

He didn't inquire about the subsequent turmoil in Gotham, nor did he ask about his relationship with the woman who stood up for him, whose cheek was bruised.

After all, the child has grown up.

Then
It seemed to be to dispel the last trace of the dull atmosphere.

Salafir excitedly jumped onto the open space in the center of the living room and loudly announced that he would perform a super magic trick that he had been preparing for a long time.

Then she waved her little hands in a very convincing manner, muttering to herself, imitating Zatanna.

Under the curious gazes of the crowd, he suddenly waved his hand!

—A flash of light.

It wasn't particularly dazzling, but it carried a strange feeling of space being subtly distorted.

A miraculous transformation?!
A boy, almost identical in height, appearance, and clothing to him, quietly appeared beside Salafir, as if he were a reflection of Salafir stepping out of a mirror.

The only difference was that the boy had a pair of icy, bone-chilling golden eyes.

"?!"

Martha, Jonathan, and Lex, who arrived late, were all dumbfounded.

They looked at Salafir, then at the golden-eyed 'Salafir,' and almost dropped their plates.

Locke smiled, somewhat surprised that the "Divine Capital," which had always disliked showing itself in physical form, was willing to cooperate with Salafir's antics this time.

He still appeared before his family in this dramatic, lifeless manner.

That kid Salafir…

How exactly did they convince Shen Du?
However, he didn't point it out. Instead, he stepped forward and gently put his arms around the shoulders of the two children who looked exactly alike but had vastly different temperaments, explaining to the three shocked children:

“Don’t be surprised, Martha, Jonathan, Lex.”

“This is Salafir’s younger brother, his name is Shendu. Usually… well, he’s a bit shy and a bit unusual. He usually likes to stay inside Salafir’s body to rest, so you’ve never seen him before.”

His explanation was understated.

But it is enough to overturn the common sense of any ordinary family.

but…

For Martha and Jonathan, who have seen their share of ups and downs...
They were able to accept this setting very quickly.

"You're such a cute child, why don't you come out more often?"

Martha pulled the god into her arms, a look of tenderness appearing in her eyes. "Here, have a piece of cake."

Then he took big bites of the cake and put them into Shen Du's mouth.

They were at a loss as to how to feed their child.

Seeing this, Zatanna, standing to the side, also revealed an expression of 'I knew it,' and looked at the being that had materialized from Salafir with great interest, her eyes filled with a desire to study the unknown.

As a result, Shen Du glared at her without any politeness while eating cake, his eyes seeming to warn her to mind her own business.

This made Zatanna instinctively look away sheepishly.

But then I realized...

How could a mature and powerful mage like myself be intimidated by the gaze of a mere brat?!
So she straightened her back and glared back defiantly.
A demon and a dragon clashed in mid-air, their gazes crackling.

In the end, Locke impatiently reached out and separated the two from their childish eye contact.
"Alright, Zatanna, you're a grown woman now."

that's all.
This birthday party was full of twists and turns and had a delicate atmosphere.

The story eventually came to an end amidst this strange yet inexplicably lively interlude.

Meanwhile, Martha and Jonathan began cleaning up the mess, Lex and Dio offered to help, and Salafir excitedly circled around the dishwashing god.

Locke quietly turned around, walked out of the noisy living room, and came to the quiet porch.

He leaned against the railing and looked up at the sky.

Having experienced the chaos and turmoil of Gotham…
The night sky over Smallwell was unusually quiet.

The moon hangs high in the sky, casting its clear light.

Fortunately...

This farmhouse, weathered by time, has always remained warm.
-
嗏

Metropolis
Deep underground in the headquarters building of Lexcorp.

The space here is incredibly vast.

It was as if a portion of the city's foundation had been hollowed out.

The walls, floors, and ceilings are made of cold, composite metal, with an inorganic, matte finish.

Here, countless thick cables flow like capillaries within neatly laid channels, connecting rows of towering server arrays with constantly flashing indicator lights.

A giant holographic projection screen floats in the center, displaying dazzling gene sequence diagrams and physical models so complex that they are beyond contemporary understanding.

The air was cold.

The only sound was the low hum of the server.

"Look, Lionel! Look at our temple! How magnificent, how grand!"

A sound with a strange electronic reverb echoed in the space, filled with fervor and pride.

"This is the cradle of the future! It is the best proof of our perfect wisdom!"

No one responded.

But the voice wasn't annoyed; it simply changed its tone.

"only!"

The data stream on the large main screen temporarily recedes, revealing the video feed.

It was the battle between Clark and Dio, and the final scene where Locke descended on lightning.

"Buzz—!"

The screen shook violently, filled with noise, and finally, with the arrival of thunder, it froze and turned into static.

"Look!"

The voice suddenly rose in pitch, becoming sharp and accusatory:
"Look at the power your 'friend' is displaying! And that alien kid! What are they? They're walking natural disasters! Uncontrollable variables!"

The owner of the voice—

That alien consciousness that is attached to, or rather imprisoned here by Lionel.

His emotions were conveyed through the flashing lights throughout the space and the sudden acceleration of the server fans.

"Our plan! Our meticulous, perfect, grand plan! What it requires is absolute control and order! Not this... this brute force! If they become aware of our existence, if they decide to stop us, our years of hard work could be destroyed in their foolish infighting! All our efforts would be in vain! Do you understand?!"

"Lionel! Do you understand!"

"And you've imprisoned me here, with no backup plan whatsoever! Do you know what that means?!"

"..."

Standing in front of the control panel, Lionel, dressed in an expensive suit, looked out of place in this high-tech environment.

He still didn't look at the roaring screen, nor did he respond to the rage in his mind.

He simply picked up a high-resolution photo from the console.

Reconstructed from satellite data and data from remote monitoring equipment that miraculously survived.

This clearly shows a Gotham building, its charred ruins left after being struck by lightning.

He had a vague premonition when he received the report not long ago.

Now, the premonition has been confirmed.

but.
“Locke, he won’t.” Lionel’s voice was calm and emotionless, as if he were simply stating a fact. “He has no interest in dominating or destroying. His boundaries have always been that farm and his family.”

“I am his friend, I know him.”

"..."

The alien consciousness seemed to be taken aback by this calm certainty, and the data stream on the main screen flickered erratically a few times.

But it's okay.
It quickly found a new direction.

"Hmph, even if your friend is a saintly homebody..."

The voice of consciousness carried a hint of mockery and impatience:
“Then we can’t pin our hopes on his ‘kindness’! Strength, Lionel, we need to ensure unquestionable strength!”

The screen switched to a satellite map of Kansas, and the focus quickly locked on Smallwell's location.

“Listen! Deep within the mountains of Smallwell… lies a weapon. It is a biological weapon created long ago by an interstellar civilization, a failed masterpiece. Before that civilization was collected by a supreme cosmic being, it was launched and landed on Earth.”

The voice of the alien consciousness was full of allure and urgency:

"Go find it! Retrieve it! Once we obtain it, and its unique biological samples and genetic code... the final bottleneck of 'Project Dawn' will be broken!"

"The creation of DOX 1.5 will no longer be just a theory!"

A rapid simulation begins on the screen.

That's the scene after the DNA was obtained.

Two perfect, powerful bodies, brimming with boundless wisdom and strength, will gradually take shape in the incubation tank.

"I'll give you one body, so you can break free from this fragile human shell and gain near-eternal life and wisdom! I'll give you the other, so I can truly descend into the material world and no longer be confined to this cage of data!"

The voices became increasingly inflammatory:
"Imagine it, Lionel! By then, we will be the perfect fusion of wisdom and power in the universe! Not only Earth, but the stars and the sea will be beneath our feet! Human technology? Ha, we will lead it straight into the 30th century! And you…"

He deliberately slowed down, which was full of implications:
"...Your son, Lex...he will live in the absolute safety and absolute superior paradise we have built for him. No more disease, no more vulnerability, no...anything that can threaten him. Isn't this what you ultimately wanted?"

"."

Lionel's eyes narrowed slightly.

A carefully crafted illusion flashed by.

Yes
A healthy, strong Lex who is no longer cold due to genetic distortion.

Lex was not tormented by the suspicion and ambition that come with wisdom, but rather bathed in the light of perfect technology.

He will live in a carefree paradise of his own making... without ambition, without suspicion, without genetic mutations, without radiation, and without baldness.

Lex, he will live a healthy life, just like an ordinary person.

Holding the photo, Lionel remained silent for a moment.

Finally, a barely perceptible ripple flashed in his eyes.

He looked up at the large screen flashing enticing images and said in a low voice:

"What do you need me to do?"
-
The night breeze is slightly cool.

The porch light cast a long shadow behind Locke.

He leaned quietly against the railing, holding two rings in his hand.

One is black, and the other is pink.

This was something Salafir reported, which he found on Clark's desk.

I also went to the antique shop in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

But the place was already deserted.

The unnamed elderly man surnamed Zhou is said to have moved to San Francisco.

Sighed.

Locke gazed at the exceptionally bright moon. The clamor of Gotham was indeed a thing of another world, but the heavy sense of responsibility still weighed on his heart.

"Snapped"

Light footsteps sounded from behind, carrying a hint of playfulness.

"Watch closely, Mr. Kent!"

A slightly languid voice echoed under the lights.

Zatanna had also quietly slipped out at some point and was now standing a few steps behind Locke.

Tonight, she shed her magician's attire and donned a more casual dark purple long-sleeved top and slim-fitting trousers, which accentuated her slender and alluring figure.

Her long, slightly wavy black hair was loosely draped over her shoulders.

A few strands of hair were playfully blown by the night breeze to her cheeks, making her meticulously groomed eyebrows and eyes even more exquisite and charming.

"Wow~"

Her slender fingers gracefully flipped in the air.

As if by magic, she made a wisp of dark blue starlight, which seemed to appear out of nowhere, suddenly leap and condense at her fingertips.

Ultimately, it transformed into a lifelike ice rose.

It's so beautiful it's almost unreal.

"give you."

A smug smile curved her lips.

She then handed the fleeting magical creation to Locke, her eyes sparkling as if expecting praise.

"Very wonderful."

To the hero of the day, Locke clapped lightly twice, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Thank you, Miss Zatanna."

嗏

His smile seemed somewhat brief and formulaic.

That slightly uneasy, detached feeling couldn't escape the keen magician's notice.

Zatanna pursed her lips and clenched her fingers.

Let that ice rose turn into specks of blue light and dissipate into the air.

She crossed her arms, tried to straighten her back, and pretended to be mature and reliable, teasingly saying:
"Sigh, it seems that the patriarch has something on his mind."

"If you have any troubles, you can confide in me, a knowledgeable magician!"

"."

Seeing the undisguised speechlessness on the man's face, Zatanna's expression darkened.

"What kind of expression is that?!"

Locke shrugged, his tone calm yet deadly:
"Usually only young girls who are still quite immature will deliberately imitate the tone of adults and emphasize that they are mature and reliable."

"."

Speechless for a moment, Zatanna's fair cheeks puffed out slightly as she retorted irritably:

"And what about you, Mr. Locke? You always act like you're incredibly tough and in complete control. But I know that deep down you're not that kind of cold-hearted person at all."

Her voice became slightly more serious:

“I see something else in you… a deeper kind of tenderness. I know that you would absolutely sacrifice yourself for the people you care about when it really matters.”

"But what about other times?"

"Are you just going to keep carrying everything on your own, never showing even a hint of your true emotions?"

"."

Locke was slightly taken aback upon hearing this.

Unexpectedly, Zatanna would say something so insightful.

He subconsciously raised his hand to brush the curls from his forehead, as if trying to hide a momentary lapse in composure.

Seeing Locke's rare reaction, Zatanna immediately became smug, chuckling and moving a little closer:
"How about that? Impressive, isn't it? Weren't you amazed by my insight?"

"For a mere 0.1 seconds, I thought you had some depth," Locke commented mercilessly. "Now you've lost points."

"?"

Zatanna's smile vanished.

It transferred to Locke's face.

He smiled slightly and told the truth:

"Then let's talk."

He paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts, or perhaps acknowledging his own worry:

"I'm annoyed by that child."

“I know Clark. And when he wakes up and remembers everything he did… I’m afraid his heart simply can’t bear the guilt and remorse. That’s heavier than any physical injury.”

“The punches I gave him might heal with some sunshine. But the psychological trauma is something he has to deal with on his own.”

Yes.

Locke knew that child very well.

once
Clark was only three or four years old when he was a child.

While playing with Dior in the barn, he accidentally pushed over a whole row of haystacks, almost hitting several newly hatched chicks.

No one blamed him.

But little Clark hid in the cornfield and cried all afternoon.

No matter how much Jonathan coaxed him, he refused to come out for dinner, simply because he "almost hurt the chicks."

He knew that from that time on.

This child's heart is very sensitive and very fragile.

"."

Upon hearing this, Zatanna also dropped her joking expression.

She thought about it carefully and said, "Actually... it wasn't that serious, was it? All the damage and injuries were prevented by you and... uh, us, working together, right? You could even say it left no trace. If you're really worried, I can actually..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but the meaning was clear...

As a master of magic, she also has ways to deal with memories.

"No, Miss Magician, that won't do."

Locke calmly interrupted her, shaking his head. "Erasing the memory or sealing the memory won't work."

He was silent for a moment, and then confessed a thought that even he himself had examined:
"Actually... to be honest, I did consider asking you, this 'professional offender,' for help to erase or seal all of Clark's memories of tonight. It would also be the easiest thing for me to do."

"recidivist?!"

Zatanna's face darkened, and she strongly protested against the title.

But Locke merely raised his hand to signal her to calm down, and continued speaking to himself, as if organizing his thoughts, or perhaps emphasizing to himself:

“But that’s cheating, that’s escaping, and that’s irresponsible towards Clark’s growth.”

"Everyone makes mistakes in life, and when you make mistakes, you have to learn to bear the consequences and face all the pain and shame they bring."

"This may be a crucial stain on Clark's life, a huge scar, but it may also be a turning point that prompts him to truly transform."

"He must remember—remember the near-devastating horror of the destruction he caused when he lost control, remember the ferocity and madness with which he punched his brother, remember the fear and cries that gripped the city because of him, remember the tears he shed for Martha and Jonathan..."

"This pain and shame is the key to his true deep reflection, learning to respect and understand power."

"Although it's cruel."

“But if we simply make him forget his memory, it’s like resetting the game of life with one click.”

"That's too childish."

Locke chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in his laughter.

It seems to be mocking the self that once considered taking shortcuts.

"The root of the conflict has never been just that piece of red kryptonite. It lies in Clark's deep-seated obsession, which was amplified by the red kryptonite, in the long-standing discord and competition between him and Dio, and even more so in his immature understanding and control of the enormous power within him."

"Amnesia only temporarily masks the contradictions, like covering a crack on a table with a pretty tablecloth. The problem itself is still there, and it will only erupt again in a more intense way in the future."

"Only Clark who truly remembers this mistake and is willing to carry this heavy memory forward will have a stronger psychological shadow and will of resistance when he faces similar temptations or his inner darkness in the future."

"What he needs to do is face it, digest it, and overcome it."

"Instead of being 'kindly' erased by us."

"This is a thorny path that Clark must walk himself."

"."

"You're right."

Hear this.

Zatanna seemed to share the same sentiment.

Her voice lowered, carrying a barely perceptible hint of gloom; she was reluctant to recall, but she spoke anyway:
“When I was twelve, a friend of mine accidentally saw me practicing magic. I was so afraid that my family’s magic would be exposed that I used a forgetting spell on him in a panic. It worked very well, and he remembered nothing.”

She unconsciously twirled a strand of hair:

"But we can never be friends again."

“It’s not because he remembers, but because I remember—I remember the pure trust in his eyes when he looked at me, and how I erased that trust with my own hands.”

“Memories can be erased, but the act of choosing to erase memories will leave a permanent scar on the practitioner’s mind and change the nature of a relationship.”

"You're right..."

"Erasing memories is perhaps best left unused."

"Ding--!"

A night breeze swept by.

The old wind chimes hanging in the corner of the eaves were awakened by the wind.

The tone is ethereal yet lonely.

Zatanna didn't say anything more; she simply lowered her head slightly.

It's as if you can still feel the chill of that forgotten spell from back then in your palm.

And the regret that gnawed at my heart for many days and nights afterward.

A cool night breeze brushed against the back of her neck, gently ruffling a few strands of black hair on her forehead. This made her unconsciously hug her arms tighter.

Seeing the girl's rare display of sadness, Locke fell silent for a moment.

He didn't say any empty words of comfort; he simply reached out and gently patted her shoulder with great restraint.

It conveys a silent understanding and support.

Zatanna also subconsciously tilted her head slightly, her cheek almost brushing against Locke's palm, like a cat that couldn't help but want to rub against someone after being unexpectedly comforted.

Enjoying this rare moment of gentle comfort from this always stubborn man…

and many more!

She suddenly realized—

its not right!
It was clearly she who slipped out in the first place to comfort her troubled old father!
How did it turn into her revealing her own dark past and then immersing herself in the other person's comfort?
Her face darkened instantly, and the fragile emotions she had just felt vanished in the face of this frustration. She then sullenly withdrew from Locke's comforting embrace, as if it were something burning hot.

He even raised his hand to tidy his not-so-messy hair, trying to regain his mature magician demeanor.

"Hey! It's me..."

Just as she was about to speak up and reverse this 'humiliating' situation by emphasizing that she was the expert who had come to provide emotional support—

"Well…"

A groan filled with pain and confusion.

The sound was faintly coming from the direction of the living room inside the house.

This was followed by Masha's soft exclamation, filled with both surprise and worry:

"Clark? Kid? Are you awake? How are you feeling?"

The conversation stopped abruptly.

Locke and Zatanna exchanged a glance, their expressions hardening.

Their emotions were immediately suppressed, and the two turned around without hesitation and walked quickly into the house.

Clark woke up.

(End of this chapter)