American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

Xiu En stopped in front of a clothing stall in Chinatown.

He picked out a gray hooded sweatshirt, a size too big for him, just big enough to hide the Glock in the front pocket of his stomach.

The pants were changed to durable work pants. Although the cuffs were a bit long, rolling them up a couple of times made it manageable.

"Thirty in total." The stall owner, an older woman reading a newspaper, didn't even look up.

Xiu En counted out the banknotes, then went into the public restroom and deftly stripped off the conspicuous blue and white striped hospital gown, leaving only the lining underneath.

He crumpled his hospital gown into a ball and stuffed it into the deepest part of the trash can. Xiu En put on his hoodie, pulled the drawstring tight, and only his somewhat gloomy eyes were visible.

"Goodbye, Arkham Reserve look."

He straightened his collar in front of the stained mirror, picked up the white woven bag containing rotten pears and rice wine, and walked out of the public restroom.

However, after walking only two blocks, a fragrant aroma strongly attracted his nose.

It's the aroma of charred fat bursting at high temperatures, mixed with the smoky scent of burning fruitwood, and the sweet aroma of fermented scallions and sweet bean sauce.

Xiu En's steps suddenly became incredibly heavy, his legs seemed to have a mind of their own, automatically navigating towards the source of the fragrance.

"Fuji Roast Duck Restaurant".

In the shop window, several roasted ducks, glistening with oil and a deep reddish-brown color, hung on iron hooks, swaying slightly with the steam.

The chef's slicing knife flew up and down, and with each cut, the crispy crust cracked open, and the rich juices slid down the blade, dripping onto the cutting board and splashing up splattering oil.

"Gurgle."

Xiu En's stomach let out a protest.

He hadn't had a proper meal in a long time. Before he transmigrated, he had a terminal illness; after transmigrating, he still had a terminal illness, and then he had to go on the run.

Xiu En pressed himself against the shop window glass, the green light emanating from his eyes nearly burning through the glass.

"Just one bite..."

He swallowed.

"I'll just try the skin, I won't eat the meat!"

【warn! 】

[The system detected the host's intention to consume high-fat, meaty foods.]

[Rules of Fasting for the White Emperor's Sacrifice: No meat, no oily food, and no pungent spices. Violators will be judged as having an insincere heart in their sacrifice, will have all their current lifespan bonuses deducted, and will be subject to divine retribution (being struck by lightning).]

The cold, blue bullet comments were directly pasted onto his retina, completely obscuring the tempting roast duck.

"Are you the devil?"

Xiu En gritted his teeth, the veins on his forehead throbbing.

"I'm a patient now! Patients need nutrition! What's wrong with me eating a duck leg? Didn't the old man Bai Di grow up eating meat?"

Gods do not partake in mortal food.

The system's reply remained emotionless, but every word was filled with sarcasm.

Xiu En stared at the line of text, feeling a little nostalgic for the system that had spoken in classical Chinese. He then glanced at a duck roll that the chef had just rolled up in the shop window.

Thin as a cicada's wing, the lotus leaf cake.

Duck meat wrapped in scallions and cucumbers and soaked in sauce.

Take a bite...

"Damn it!"

He abruptly turned around, tearing his gaze away from the roast duck, and strode toward the steamed bun shop next door.

"Boss, give me a few big steamed buns. Fresh out of the steamer, and still hot."

Two minutes later.

Xiu En squatted on the curb opposite the roast duck shop, holding a white steamed bun in his hand, and took a big bite.

Although his mouth was filled with the bland taste of flour, he took a deep breath, letting the aroma of roast duck fill his nostrils, and then frantically hypnotized himself in his mind: This is duck skin, this is duck meat, this is sweet bean sauce...

"It smells so good."

After finishing two large steamed buns, leaving one for dinner, Xiu En patted the dough crumbs off his hands and felt like he had come back to life.

The countdown on the system panel continued to tick relentlessly, and the time of the Autumn Equinox hung like the Sword of Damocles over our heads.

"We're full, time to get back to work."

Xiu En stood up and picked up the woven bag.

Now that the offerings are ready and our stomachs are full, we must determine the location of the altar as soon as possible.

Take the bus to the west of the city.

Xiu En huddled in the corner of the last row, his gray hoodie pulled low, hiding his slightly pale face in the shadows.

The scenery outside the bus window gradually changed as the bus bumped along.

The dense tenement buildings and flashing neon signs were left behind, replaced by vast stretches of rusty factory fences and overgrown weeds.

West of the city, this is the scar of Gotham's industrial decline.

"Cough cough..."

Xiu En coughed twice in a low voice. Although the burning sensation in his lungs was somewhat suppressed by the "blessing" of the plastic jade, it still ached faintly in the murky air.

He got off at the "West 7th Street" bus stop.

"System, is this far enough west? Any further west and you'll fall into the sea and become fish food."

The blue cursor flashed and pointed to a wasteland surrounded by barbed wire.

[Direction Determination: Due West (Dui)]

[Environmental Assessment: Desolate, barren, and with an extremely strong metallic aura.]

Conclusion: Acceptable.

Following the system's guidance, Xiu En used a switchblade to pry open the rusty wire mesh and crawled inside.

What came into view was a huge unfinished project.

This appears to have originally been a plaza or memorial park.

The ground was paved with cracked white marble tiles, and wild grasses that had sprouted from the cracks were half a person tall, with withered yellow grass leaves rustling in the wind.

In the very center of the square stands an unfinished white stone platform.

It is about two meters tall, and its original design may have been a fountain base or a statue pedestal.

"It's a bit broken, but it doesn't cost any money."

Xiu En nodded in satisfaction.

He trudged through the gravel and weeds, making his way toward the stone platform.

As Xiu En got closer, he realized that the stone platform was not empty.

A humanoid creature that looks like it's made of garbage is lying on the stone platform.

It was a strange man wearing several layers of thick, tattered raincoats and an old-fashioned gas mask on his head.

He was bending over, carefully arranging several aluminum cans and old gears into a strange triangle, muttering to himself.

"...Gears turn...Steam endures...Praise be to the god of machinery..."

Shuen stopped and raised an eyebrow. These days, even homeless people in Gotham are starting cults?

"Feed".

Xiu En called out.

The strange man shuddered suddenly, and the soda can in his hand rolled to the ground with a "clatter".

He sprang up like a startled cockroach, the two round lenses on his gas mask staring intently at Xiu En.

"Leave! This is forbidden territory!"

The strange man brandished a rusty steel pipe in his hand, his voice shrill.

"This is an offering to the great Ruster! Mortals, begone!"

Xiu En sighed and gently placed the woven bag in his hand on the ground.

Listen up, buddy.

As Xiu En spoke, he reached into the front pocket of his hoodie.

"I don't want to disturb your religious activities, but I need to stay on that platform for three days. I have more important gods to worship."

"Blasphemy! This is blasphemy!"

The strange man clearly didn't listen; he brandished his steel pipe, assuming a charging stance.

"Go back to your sewers! This place belongs to..."

Xiu En took his hand out of his pocket.

The dark muzzle of the gun wasn't pointed at the strange man, but hung at his side. Even at this distance, the unique metallic texture of the Glock 19 was still clearly visible.

"It belongs to you, sir!"

The eccentric man's words changed faster than turning the pages of a book.

The steel pipe in his hand instantly transformed into a cane, and his previously tense body hunched over, adopting a humble posture.

"I'm just... cleaning for you."

As the strange man retreated, he quickly stuffed the tattered items he had placed on the stone platform into his arms.

"I'm leaving now, I'm leaving now. I wish you a pleasant worship ceremony."

In Gotham, guns are the common language.

It can make a manic person become gentle and refined, and a madman become logical and clear-headed.

Watching the strange man, carrying a pile of scrap metal, tumble and crawl into the bushes and disappear, Xiu En put away his gun and walked onto the stone platform.

He kicked away the remaining cans and began cleaning the dust and bird droppings off the stone surface.

[System notification: Altar location confirmed.]

Location: Western suburbs of Gotham (abandoned plaza).

[Feng Shui: The White Tiger position governs warfare and killing.]

[Mission Progress Update: Please start the ceremony precisely on the day of the Autumn Equinox (three days from now).]

Xiu En wiped a section of the area clean and sat down cross-legged.

"Alright, we have the territory."