American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

"Jon..."

Adrian swayed as he stood up.

His eyes reflected the blue figure that haunted his dreams.

He witnessed an impossible miracle, which truly happened before his very eyes, right before the very end of his life.

"You're here! You really came!"

Adrian's entire world consisted only of this blue god before him.

He staggered around the control panel.

He rushed to the long dining table that had already been set out and pulled out the chair that faced the head of the table.

"Please sit down, Jon."

His voice trembled slightly.

"Dinner! Dinner will be ready soon!"

Dr. Manhattan's suspended body tilted slightly as he silently sat above the hover chair.

His body was suspended at a height that perfectly matched the chair, with his feet still three inches off the ground.

He just watched Adrian quietly.

"First up! The appetizers!"

Adrian's face lit up, and he rushed into the kitchen next door.

Soon, he carefully carried a plate and walked back quickly.

Look!

He proudly lifted the lid, revealing a golden-brown roasted bird inside, emitting a rich aroma.

"This is dodo breast meat paired with late autumn black truffles from the Pyrenees!"

His eyes sparkled as he began his explanation, which he had been preparing for countless years.

"The dodo, a species that went extinct in the late 17th century due to human folly. I extracted the complete DNA sequence from a specimen in the British Museum and, using state-of-the-art cloning technology and an ecological simulation chamber, brought them back to life."

He used his knife to cut off a small piece of tender breast meat, placed it on a porcelain plate, and handed it to Dr. Manhattan.

"Every fiber of it symbolizes humanity's repentance and atonement for its mistakes. Its rich flavor is proof that we have used wisdom to overcome time and try to make amends for regrets! Please taste it, Jon, this is the taste of history."

Dr. Manhattan stared quietly at the piece of meat.

A faint blue light swept across the piece of meat from his body.

"A mixture of carbohydrates, proteins, and fats."

A voice rang out, echoing directly in everyone's mind.

"The caramelization process at 220 degrees Celsius causes the degradation of sulfur-containing amino acids and ribose, producing volatile heterocyclic compounds that stimulate your olfactory neurons."

"Its molecular structure is unstable. Under the current temperature and pressure, its texture vector parameters will decrease by 12 percent after three minutes."

Dr. Manhattan looked at Adrian.

"Furthermore, history is a subjective mental model based on a linear timeline; it does not exist in this matter made of atoms."

Adrian's lips twitched slightly, but he did not give up.

He took a deep breath, removed the dodo bird, and served the second dish.

"This is the main course!"

"The swan song of Easter Island! Made with the heartwood of the last Chilean wine palm tree from 1500 AD, paired with king crab leg meat aged under deep-sea pressure, and slow-cooked with spring water filtered through Icelandic volcanic ash!"

"Its flavor represents the creativity that human civilization unleashes in isolation, and the tragic fate of its inevitable decline! It's a flavor called loneliness, Jon! You'll understand!"

He was almost pleading.

Dr. Manhattan's blue light swept across again.

"The cellulose in palm cores breaks down due to prolonged hydrolysis. The proteins in king crabs undergo irreversible denaturation and necrosis under high pressure. Sulfides in volcanic ash combine with water molecules to form a small amount of sulfurous acid, which is harmful to the digestive system of carbon-based organisms."

Dr. Manhattan added.

"Furthermore, loneliness is a psychological concept, a negative feedback loop that occurs when intelligent individuals fail to communicate within social networks. This concept has no quantum entanglement or causal relationship with this chaotic polymer of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen."

In the corner, Rorschach saw the kettle on the table beside him, and his throat involuntarily bobbed. He was a little thirsty, but he dared not move.

This is a banquet for the gods; he, a mere mortal, is not even worthy to utter a sound.

He just felt that the blond rich man looked like he was about to cry again.

Is it just my imagination?

Isn't he a very tough guy?

Xiu En watched with great interest.

He was too lazy to think about molecules or entropy, but he understood it.

The top-notch state banquet meticulously prepared by the blond handsome man was nothing but a culinary disaster in the eyes of that blue-skinned giant.

This scene is even more interesting than watching a crosstalk performance.

"Hmph, using some random catalysts to brutally accelerate the maturation of food is not cooking, it's abusing the ingredients."

The sunflower snorted dismissively.

"True deliciousness requires time and sunshine to mature slowly, rather than the rarer something is, the better it tastes."

Adrian's hands began to tremble.

He prepared hundreds of dishes, each with a magnificent story behind it about human civilization, art, philosophy, or history.

He had thought this would be enough to pique the interest of this god who was weary of the universe.

He had thought this would be enough to pique the interest of this god who was weary of the universe.

But he was wrong.

Big mistakes.

The other party didn't care about the story at all.

The other party only cares about the molecular formulas of the paper and ink that make up the story.

He served the final dessert, a plate of crystal-clear strawberries grown in a zero-gravity environment.

It is also decorated with a glowing dewdrop wrapped in pure gold leaf.

"This is hope!"

"Gold has an atomic number of 79, which inhibits the activity of luminescent proteins in *Dendrobium nobile*. The fructose-to-glucose ratio in strawberries is 0.97, which causes a sharp, non-linear drop in the perceived sweetness curve..."

"That's enough!"

Adrian slammed his hand on the table, his eyes filled with bloodshot veins and tears.

"Stop talking! Please, stop talking!"

All pride.

All preparations.

All hope.

They were all crushed to powder.

He failed, utterly and completely.

He slumped in the chair, staring blankly at the culmination of his life's work.

Those dishes that he saw as embodying the brilliance of human civilization were ruthlessly deconstructed into piles of meaningless molecular formulas.

Loki enjoyed the scene, feeling that the play had reached his favorite part: the end of an idealist's life.

Rorschach, sitting in the corner, let his Adam's apple bob involuntarily.

He felt sorry for the blond millionaire, but he dared not move or speak. The aura between the two monsters and the blue ghost made him feel like he could be evaporated at any moment.

Xiu En, on the other hand, found it a bit annoying.

He hated these somber scenes where everyone looked miserable and didn't say a word.

How disappointing!

Can't we talk about this after we finish eating?

He glanced at Adrian, then at the expressionless Dr. Manhattan, and finally his gaze settled on the strawberries.

The strawberries were bright red and juicy, and large. .

"Feed".

Xiu En grumbled at the private detective who was still in a daze.

"That detective, do you want some?"

Rorschach shuddered, his face beneath the mask filled with confusion.

Him? Eat? What does he eat?

He followed Xiu En's gaze and realized that he was talking about the plate of strawberries.

"If you don't eat it, I will."

Shuen didn't even wait for Rorschach to answer.

He strode to the dining table, reached into the plate, grabbed the biggest, reddest strawberry, and popped it into his mouth.

"Hmm!"

The strawberry bites The flesh bursts open between your teeth, filling your mouth with a slightly sour, sweet juice.

The flavor was much richer than any strawberry he had ever tasted before, with a perfect touch of sweetness.

"Hmph, a sugar water bomb grown in a greenhouse with nutrient solution."

Ivy's吐槽 (tu cao, a form of online commentary/criticism) began.

"Although it's not very nutritious, at least it's organic, which is better than eating those rusty tin cans."

"It tastes really good."

While chewing, Xiu En gave a vague but highly positive assessment.

He picked up another one, popped it into his mouth, and ate it with relish.

Adrian slowly raised his head, his mind a complete mess.

Dr. Manhattan calmly observed the scene.

Xiu En ate the entire plate of strawberries, even licking the juice off his fingers with lingering satisfaction.

After finishing his meal, he walked up to Adrian, who looked like he had lost his soul.

He looked at the blond man, thought for a moment, then patted him on the shoulder and offered words of comfort in what he thought was a very sincere tone.

"Don't be discouraged, buddy."

Xiu En gave a thumbs up, his expression extremely serious.

"Although the previous dishes were a bit strange, I tried them for you, and these strawberries really do taste great!"

He carefully considered his words and felt he should give it even higher praise.

"Hmm... It's much tastier than the F-35 fighter jet wing I ate at S.H.I.E.L.D. before. It's probably one of the top five non-metallic substances I've eaten recently, besides various ores and hammers."

He felt this was already extremely high praise, so he looked at him very sincerely, waiting for his thanks.

"Honestly, I think you're already half as good as Ah Fu. Keep up the good work, you have a bright future!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

This statement was even more devastating than Loki's long barrage of mental attacks.

Loki barely managed to suppress his laughter; he held his forehead with one hand, his shoulders trembling violently, clearly struggling to hold back his laughter.

Rorschach, huddled in the corner, tried his best to understand every word Shuen said.

Fighter jet wings? Ore? Hammer? Is this some kind of slang or a metaphor? What does he eat? Do metal-eating monsters really exist in this world?

Adrian, the person involved, stared blankly at Shuen's face, which seemed to say, "I praised you, so be happy."

and so……

I have exhausted human wisdom, philosophy, and art.

What was the final evaluation of this banquet prepared in honor of God?

Tastes better than fighter jets?

It's not even half the skill of someone named Afu.

What... what is this?

Should I feel honored?

At this moment.

He even felt a little like laughing.