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Ma Zhaodi looked up. A small, clean, and bright restaurant stood in the middle of the street. Seeing that the shop didn't seem very large, he breathed a small sigh of relief.

In Gotham, the bigger the operation, the more shady it was. A smaller target meant a smaller chance of running into trouble.

"Let me give you a heads-up, Donald isn't a simple person. The less you say, the less likely you are to anger him."

"Is he very powerful?"

"At the very least, the people behind him must be."

After a brief exchange, Ma Zhaodi's mind began to wander again. He thought of the small shops he occasionally passed on his way to and from school when he was a child.

The shelves were restocked maybe once a month, the staff were always glued to their phones, and their service was perfunctory. There were basically no customers, and sometimes they didn't even turn on the lights. But miraculously, they managed to stay open, year after year, until Ma Zhaodi graduated, and they were still there, still in business. He had no idea how they hadn't gone bankrupt.

He wished this restaurant was as carefree as those little shops.

However, the moment he stepped inside, Ma Zhaodi's heart sank.

Passing through the entrance, they walked a couple of steps and turned into a gray corridor. They were greeted by a beautiful blonde receptionist who seemed to have been notified by Donald. She smiled and nodded at them, then guided them through the corridor into the restaurant's interior.

Ma Zhaodi didn't know much about restaurant decor, but the artistic wallpaper in the corridor already gave him a sense of foreboding.

Entering the main hall, they were met with rows of beautiful and ornate wine cabinets, warm and soft lighting, simple and elegant wall patterns, vibrant green plants, and elegantly dressed diners in high-end attire.

"High-class, damn high-class," he couldn't help but whisper a curse. "This is what you call a small restaurant? Why would a restaurant like this be here instead of in the Diamond District?"

"Audisburg isn't without its wealthy residents. This place was specifically created to cater to the needs of certain big shots—never mind all that, just tell me if you want to make money."

"."

At this moment, the receptionist who had been leading them turned back and said, "Mr. Donald is waiting for you. Please go directly to his office upstairs."

It seemed that regardless of Ma Zhaodi's answer, he had no choice but to meet this boss, Donald, under the principle of "since we're already here."

Drake gave him a reassuring look, then led Ma Zhaodi towards the nearby stairs.

At the top of the stairs, burly men in black stood on either side of the hallway, clearing the path. It was obvious that if the guests were unwelcome, their attitude would not be so friendly.

Ma Zhaodi's scalp tingled. This judgment call was too damn hasty. This restaurant was anything but an inconspicuous little shop; it was a glaring backdrop for a major event.

If it weren't for the fact that Donald's gun was much closer than the major event, he would have turned and fled the restaurant long ago.

He took a few seconds to gather his scattered thoughts, then followed Drake into Donald's office.

A stout, calm-looking middle-aged man in a high-end suit sat in a chair. Even from a distance, he smiled faintly upon seeing Drake and stood up to walk towards them.

"Drake, it's been a few months. You look much better."

Drake had actually been suffering from months of anxiety and torment, but Donald wasn't wrong. Since last night, the heavy burden on his shoulders had finally been lifted.

Although the dark circles under his eyes and his gaunt face couldn't disappear overnight, his spirit was renewed. He could be considered reborn compared to before.

"Yes, my luck has been good. My wife's illness is finally cured—in a while, I'll take her and leave this city to return to my hometown."

Ma Zhaodi wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but he felt a hint of envy and melancholy flicker in Donald's eyes after hearing Drake's words.

"To spend the rest of your life with the one you love, even in Metropolis, is a rare kind of happiness. Congratulations, Drake."

"What's there to envy? I'm just a poor man. Someone as rich as you can go anywhere you want. The happiness you possess is beyond my imagination."

"Me..." Donald lowered his head and smiled. "My father was from Gotham, so I'm from Gotham too. I'll stay here, I'm not going anywhere."

Seeing that the atmosphere was becoming a bit strange, Drake pushed Ma Zhaodi forward. "This is my new friend in Gotham, just like I told you on the phone. He's new to the city and doesn't understand it well. What he learned before isn't useful here, so he came to me."

Donald looked up again. In a moment, he reverted to his original, typical Gotham demeanor. His gaze became indifferent, his face expressionless, and he scrutinized Ma Zhaodi from head to toe. After a moment, he asked.

"What's your education?"

"University graduate, but from China."

"?"

Not only Donald, but even Drake couldn't help but glance at Ma Zhaodi. Ma Zhaodi's self-introduction was so underwhelming that he had initially assumed Ma Zhaodi only had a junior high or high school education.

Seeing their looks, Ma Zhaodi blushed slightly.

"Don't look at me like that. The school is the school, and I am me. The school's capabilities don't mean I have them too."

Makes sense.

"What can you do?"

"Originally, I made a living writing adult novels back home, but that won't work in Gotham."

"?"

Drake couldn't help but look over again. You said you made a living writing, and I naively didn't ask further, thinking you meant ordinary articles and novels, but you were waiting for me here?

What other tricks do you have that I don't know about?

"...That's fine, you're honest."

"?"

This time, it was Ma Zhaodi and Drake who looked at Donald. No, are you serious? He's a writer of that, and you can still praise him?

"Can you use a gun or a knife?"

"No, but I have them."

Ma Zhaodi spoke, reaching for the gun at his waist, but the next second he suddenly realized the action seemed dangerous and put his hand back.

"Not bad, not stupid."

Donald nodded. "How did you get here today?"

"The bus."

"You've got guts, and your luck isn't terrible—but you need to know how to use a gun if you want to survive in Gotham for long."

Seeing Donald's cold expression deliver one positive evaluation after another, Ma Zhaodi, who had been ready to give up, found himself struggling to maintain his composure.

Damn it, no one who does well in Gotham is normal.