American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

Not long after.

Joestar, like a victorious general, held the plastic bag containing the steamed buns high above his head and ran up to the second-floor platform.

"Archangel! The steamed buns have arrived!"

Immediately afterwards, he pulled out a large bundle of bright red candles and a stack of yellow paper from his pocket as if presenting a treasure.

"And this too! The shopkeeper said even gods love this, so I bought them all!"

Xiu En watched as he stuck the bundle of candles into the exposed steel bars of the unfinished building and then lit them.

Yellow paper was scattered all over the ground, the firelight flickered, and smoke billowed, instantly turning the already gloomy unfinished building into a large funeral hall.

"you……"

Xiu En picked up a steamed bun and stuffed it into his mouth, trying to suppress the urge to kick the guy off.

"Are you trying to send me away?"

"No! This is so that your glory may transcend both the realms of Yin and Yang!"

Joestar even grabbed a handful of paper money and threw it into the air.

"Look! This is the respect of mortals!"

[System Evaluation: Although the art style is becoming increasingly grotesque, it must be admitted that incense burning is indeed part of the ritual. Rating: At least it's lively.]

Xiu En rolled his eyes and ate his steamed bun.

"Alright, stop spilling."

Xiu En swallowed the steamed bun, and the discomfort in his lungs eased slightly.

His gaze passed over Joestar, who was kowtowing to the candle, and landed behind a load-bearing pillar not far away.

There was a patch of clothing sticking out, dusty and gray, blending into the cement pillar.

"Josta, you brought guests back?" Shum's voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly in the empty, unfinished building.

Joestar whirled around, the movement so abrupt he nearly snapped his neck: "Guests? Where are the guests? There's only filthy air and..."

"come out!"

Shuen interrupted his chanting, gently tapping the plaster mannequin beside him with his Glock.

"Or do you want me to treat you to peanuts?"

There was silence for a few seconds behind the pillar, then a small, thin figure slowly emerged.

He was a boy who looked to be about ten years old. He was so dirty that he looked like he had just crawled out of a coal pile, and his hair was a messy tangled mess.

He stared at the steamed bun in Xiu En's hand, his throat bobbing noticeably.

"Who sent you?"

Joestar immediately jumped up and stood in front of Shuen to protect him.

"A heretic? An assassin??"

The child didn't speak, but cautiously took half a step back, as if ready to run away at any moment.

Xiu En squinted.

There was no murderous intent in this kid, only that survival instinct unique to the underclass of Gotham.

"Put the stick down, Joestar. You've frightened the child."

Xiu En looked at the remaining half of the steamed bun in his hand and threw it into the child's arms.

The child hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the steamed bun and stuffed it into his mouth.

"Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you."

Xiu En watched him wolf down his food.

It's like seeing myself from yesterday.

"If you eat my food, you have to do my bidding. That's fair, isn't it?"

The child choked so hard that his eyes rolled back, and he had to pound his chest twice to catch his breath.

He raised his head.

"What do you want me to do?"

Are you familiar with this area?

Xiu En pointed to the ruins downstairs.

"I need to know if any uniformed cops or armed thugs are near here. If you see any, run up here and let me know beforehand, and also find out what the local gangs are up to about the guy who robbed the convenience store last night."

The child looked at the plastic bag in Xiu En's hand, where there were still several steamed buns.

"make a deal."

He spoke succinctly, then turned and disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell, vanishing like a real mouse.

Joestar looked puzzled: "Archangel, these mortals..."

"This kind of mortal is more useful than you."

Xiu En silently picked up a candle.

Following this line of thought from the mentally ill, they started calling for ordinary people.

Watching the candle flames flicker in the wind.

"At least he knows to shut up."

Jerami.

The name that little homeless boy gave himself—that kid is practically a human-shaped gossip radar.

In less than half an hour, all sorts of news were presented to Xiu En.

Of course, the price was the remaining three steamed buns.

"I heard that guy's a tough one!"

Jeremy's mouth was stuffed full.

He even gestured with his hands to indicate his name.

"That madman single-handedly took down an outpost last night and stole a heavy machine gun this long!"

That heavy machine gun probably refers to a shotgun.

That's the charm of rumors; they get distorted as they're passed around.

"And there's a bounty too."

Jeremy swallowed the last bite and let out a burp.

"Five thousand dollars. The portrait looks like a monkey painted by Picasso, but that's not important. What's important is that people in the underworld say it's a walking wallet."

As soon as he finished speaking, a series of steady footsteps came from outside.

That wasn't the shuffling, muddy steps of a homeless person, nor the arrogant stomping of a gangster; it was the sound of leather shoes scraping against gravel.

The voice of power.

Jeremy didn't even look to see who it was before scurrying into the nearby hole filled with construction debris like a startled cockroach.

This kid's survival instincts are practically maxed out.

Xiu quickly adjusted himself into a comfortable but "half-dead" position, leaning against the stone pillar and covering the bulge in his waist with his old coat.

The footsteps followed the "golden road" paved by Joestar.

That is, the ground was covered with ghost money and paper money that had not yet been burned.

We walked all the way up.

Then, the footsteps stopped.

"My God."

Two policemen stood at the gap, each holding a half-burnt yellow paper money, their expressions a fascinating mix of emotions.

What did they see? A dilapidated ruin, candles scattered all over the ground, a madman kowtowing to a mannequin with a severed hand, and a sickly man who looked like he could die at any moment.

This is not a crime den; it's clearly a branch of a mental hospital that just held a funeral.

"police officer?"

Xiu En coughed weakly twice.

They took the debuff of illness and weakness to the extreme.

"This area doesn't seem to be on the demolition list, does it?"

"This place is not on the list, nor is it on the list of legal cemeteries."

A policeman stepped over a pile of half-burnt incense sticks, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings.

Even in such an absurd situation, the seasoned detective did not let his guard down.

"What are you doing? I received a complaint. Someone said this place is here, well, I don't even know how to describe it."

Joestar stood up.

"This is purification! Mortals! Do not trample this sacred ground with your shoes, which are covered in the dust of the world! This is to pray for the coming of light!"

The two policemen instinctively took a half step back, their hands reaching for the holsters on their waists.

But this is clearly a madman who only has religious fanaticism and no armed threat.

He frowned and looked at Xiu En, the only person here who still seemed somewhat rational.

"It doesn't matter what god you worship."

A policeman pointed to the mess on the ground.

"This is the last warning. If you're going to burn trash for warmth, I have better places to recommend. The prison is very well heated."

Hugh gave a wry smile and raised his hands, a gesture that not only showed weakness but also proved he was unarmed: "Sorry, officer. My friend here... has suffered a bit of a mental breakdown. We just wanted to find a sheltered place. You know, people with lung disease can't stand the wind."

As he spoke, he coughed for a while, coughing up a little blood.

This doesn't require acting skills; it's all about talent!

The police officers looked at the bloody foam, and half of their suspicion disappeared, replaced by a sense of helpless weariness towards the underclass of Gotham.

He gave Xiu En a careful look.

thin.

Pathological.

There was no aggression in his eyes; instead, there was a serene look as if he wanted to die sooner.

"Put out the fire."

The police eventually released their grip on their guns.

"Also, this is really scary. Don't let this pervert or the fire become my next report."

Only after the police car lights disappeared into the distance did Jerami peek his head out of the garbage heap.

"Gone?"

"I'm gone."