Chapter 42: The Good Habits Cultivated by Soul 5

Gotham City seemed even gloomier today.

Patters of rain poured from the sky, and the bone-chilling mist seeped into the lungs of pedestrians with every breath, forcing them to shiver. The clouds above were thicker than usual, making the already dim daylight appear even more somber; the entire city felt shrouded in a spectral, eerie gloom.

Gotham in the shadows was an uncomfortable place.

The conversation unfolding inside the GCPD headquarters in the heart of the city was even more unsettling.

"I was in charge of driving the getaway car that day. I’ll write it all down, if you need me to."

"I delivered the package to that woman—Harvey Dent’s wife, Mrs. Dent, you know. I’ll write it all down, if you need me to."

"I followed Dent to his house. Yeah, I did it. Followed him all the way home. If you need it, I’ll write it all down."

"I was the one who pressed that damn remote. And I’ll write it all down, if you need me to."

Five testimonies, including Mickey’s—the stories were perfectly aligned, without a single flaw. Whatever the Roman paid them, he had certainly gotten his money's worth.

Batman thought to himself, silently.

Nearby, an officer on standby heard a low, gravelly voice emerge from the darkness: "Bring Mickey back."

Meanwhile, in another old building in Gotham’s East End—

"Breaking News! Five Irish Mob members who attempted to blow up the home of Gotham District Attorney Harvey Dent have confessed to attempted murder!"

"As of now, Mrs. Dent remains hospitalized and has not yet regained consciousness. This paper will continue to provide updates as the story develops."

Ma Zhaodi stared at the bold, black headlines on the newspaper, the corners of his mouth curling into a satisfied smile.

How did things end up like this?

Perhaps it started with the mission he received a few days ago.

***

"Thank you, System Daddy! You’re the best, mwah!"

One of the fundamental truths of humanity is the "true fragrance" effect—the tendency to change one's mind after experiencing something personally.

"Blocking is not as effective as diverting.

Mission Brief: When Falcone sets his sights on someone, that person is guaranteed not to have a comfortable life in Gotham—unless they are a superhero.

Unfortunately, Harvey Dent is no superhero, and right now, Falcone believes Dent burned twenty million dollars of his dirty money and perhaps even killed his nephew.

In such circumstances, there are very few who can help him, and even fewer who are willing to.

Note: High-risk, low-reward work. It’s understandable if you don’t want to take it—you don’t have infinite money or cheat codes for invincibility.

Status: Pending (0/1)

Reward: Advanced Culinary Mastery."

Ma Zhaodi pondered the mission details for a long time. It wasn’t because he was struggling between his conscience and his own interests, but because the mission requirements were utterly absurd.

"Help the Irish Mob bomb Harvey Dent’s house? Me? I’m supposed to make the bomb? Do you think Two-Face’s origin story would be lacking flavor without a cannon fodder named Ma Zhaodi?"

"Damage to the property must not exceed twenty percent, and both Harvey Dent and Mrs. Dent must survive... Are you hearing yourself? The mission brief is to 'help' him, but the objective is to bomb him. What exactly do you want me to do... Wait."

Ma Zhaodi looked at the mission title and suddenly had an epiphany.

Before coming to Gotham, Ma Zhaodi had played a game called Dark Souls 3. There was a peculiar item in that game called the "Poisonous Dung Pie," which, when thrown, would inflict the poison status on the player themselves.

What kind of ridiculous item was that? What was the point of it?

It wasn't until he encountered enemies that used toxic arrows—arrows whose venom could kill a player in the blink of an eye—that he realized their value. Those annoying creatures had held him up for an entire afternoon.

During a moment of pure, red-faced frustration, he tried throwing the dung pies back at them, only to be surprised to find that by poisoning himself first, the enemies' toxic arrows had no effect.

From then on, every time he defeated an opponent, he would toss two pieces of "dung" at them to refresh his own poisoned state.

"I am a genius!"

Having figured it out, Ma Zhaodi immediately accepted the job. Although dealing with the mob was dangerous and Harvey might remember him for bombing his home, he couldn't escape this.

He was the one who burned that twenty million. Harvey just happened to arrive at the scene. Regardless of how you look at it, letting a justice-seeking prosecutor take the fall for him was already incredibly low; if he stood by and did nothing when he could have helped, that would be a true lack of moral fiber for generations to come.

He didn't want to end up with bad karma. If Harvey was destined to become Two-Face, he hoped his own name wouldn't be part of that origin story—even if he couldn't be a good man, he shouldn't be a villain.

"Ma Zhaodi, what are you spacing out for?"

Santos, standing nearby, slapped him on the shoulder. "Thinking about where to go and live it up tonight?"

"Does that even need asking?" Ma Zhaodi smiled confidently. "As a destitute restaurant waiter, I spend every night 'living it up' by following cooking livestreams, so that when I take photos, I can pretend I have a wife."

"…Sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."

"No, no..." Rick chimed in, joining the fun. "It’s payday tonight, did you forget? Why not spend some money, hit the bar, find a pretty girl, buy her a few drinks, and find a nice place to spend the night? Isn't that better than staying home?"

"Or there’s a party at my place," added Castro, a party addict. "Lots of girls will be there."

"Oh right, payday..." Ma Zhaodi’s ears automatically filtered out the extra noise; his mind was filled entirely with the word "payday."

His salary for the entire month, in asset points, would only be credited after today's payroll. Just thinking about receiving those thousands of dollars in asset points made Ma Zhaodi hum a light tune.