Today was the second day since he had arrived in Gotham, and nothing had happened.
That was Ma Zhaodi's summary of his second day in Gotham. It was already ten o'clock at night, and he lay on the living room sofa, closing his eyes in peace.
Drake and he had bought plenty of ingredients on their way home. Mrs. Camilla had been pleasantly surprised and happily prepared a fairly sumptuous dinner. Everyone had eaten well, and Drake had chatted quite a bit at the dinner table about the plans he and Mrs. Camilla had made for the future.
Their room wasn't very noisy tonight. Ma Zhaodi's ears were blessedly quiet. He guessed that last night, the couple had simply gone too long without a normal life together—absence had made their hearts grow fonder—and tonight they were perhaps embracing each other in bed, silently basking in their warmth.
In any case, Ma Zhaodi had a very peaceful night. Aside from the occasional scattered gunshots and the soft patter of rain outside the window, he could barely hear any of Gotham's other sounds. Looking up at the pitch-black sky, he saw no other chaotic lights besides the colorful neon blurred behind the curtain of rain. Maybe he could get a good night's sleep.
I suppose Gotham has tamed me, he thought. Just being able to sleep well actually feels a little like happiness.
But from another perspective, perhaps the city was simply not as insane as he had imagined. Gotham didn't have major incidents every day, after all.
That was what he had been thinking. Then he opened his eyes and instinctively glanced out the window. A blurry black shadow flashed across the tallest clock tower in Gotham. On the gargoyle statue at the edge of the building, a person hung there, swaying back and forth, apparently still struggling desperately and begging for mercy.
He silently withdrew his previous thought, lay back down on the sofa, and went to sleep.
Bullshit, nothing happened. Another unlucky bastard had been hung from a gargoyle by Batman's grappling gun today. Hopefully he wouldn't be left with psychological trauma after being taken down.
The next morning, Ma Zhaodi got up and washed up at seven as usual. It wasn't that he liked getting up so early, but the rainy night had been incredibly soporific. He had slept so comfortably that once he woke up at seven, he couldn't fall back asleep.
That was pretty good, too.
He dashed into the kitchen and started making breakfast. They had bought eggs, milk, cheap ham, and some bread yesterday. All he had to do was fry everything and put it between the slices. He had at least that much cooking skill.
The sizzling of frying soon woke Drake and Mrs. Camilla in their room. The two of them seemed to have slept well last night too; even the slightest noise from Ma Zhaodi startled them awake.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
Mrs. Camilla seemed to be in an even better mood than yesterday. For a long time, she had suffered from the double torment of mental stress and the sleep deprivation caused by illness. Last night had practically been the best-quality sleep she had gotten in a year.
After breakfast, Ma Zhaodi said goodbye to them and left. He had to go to work today, and getting to the restaurant early wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He could take the opportunity to familiarize himself with the surrounding area.
As for Old Jack's Ride, he definitely wasn't taking that.
He wasn't riding a bicycle today, either. He tucked the Beretta pistol against his waist and walked outside. By then, there were already quite a few people on the streets. Some people with gloomy expressions hurried along, stepping aside whenever they saw someone with tattoos, an unsteady gait, or a pale complexion, lest they get themselves into trouble.
These people were Gotham's true foundation, Ma Zhaodi thought silently. Not black, not white, but the gray of desperate struggle and walking corpses.
Even someone like Drake could rely on his courage and a little savings to carve out a small space to breathe in Gotham. But these impoverished civilians at the bottom, who had nothing and almost no margin for error in their lives, were the foundation that allowed Gotham's criminal network to grow.
To buy his daughter a birthday cake, one person might agree to transport drugs for a gang. To earn a little money for baby formula, a single mother might become a streetwalker.
What a rotten world, Ma Zhaodi thought. Gotham City's thriving criminal industry had been built on their suffering.
But if all the criminals were wiped out, would they be able to live another way?
The sense of security that came from living an orderly life vanished without a trace. Ma Zhaodi's day began in a foul mood.
Bad morning, dumbass Gotham.
Ma Zhaodi called a taxi. When he left home, he had brought less than two hundred dollars in cash, specifically in preparation for getting robbed. He could bring home his tips that night anyway. He had already done the math: if he was lucky, today's tips would be enough, and he could simply use them to buy a wheelchair.
Then he could find somewhere deserted and modify it directly. Beginner Wheelchair Driving only cost one hundred Asset Points, and with the modification service, the total came to two hundred Asset Points.
This was the ultimate bargain.
After getting into the car, Ma Zhaodi subtly adjusted the position of his pistol so the driver could see it through the rearview mirror. Only then did he start browsing the system shop.
There was no helping it. Any taxi driver who dared to start out in the East End had been through countless battles. If he didn't show his gun a little, Ma Zhaodi worried he might attract some kind of trouble.
Of course, this also had something to do with him not belonging to a gang. Otherwise, a gang tattoo or insignia could provide the same kind of protection. As for how safe that was, it depended on the size of the gang's influence.
Beginner Car Driving Mastery cost five hundred dollars. Hmm, very reasonable. Intermediate cost two thousand dollars. That was a little steep. Advanced cost ten thousand?! What the hell, was this skill meant for driving rally cars?
There was also Bicycle Driving Mastery, but that skill was useless. Hmm, what was this thing? System Record Board, System Custom Q&A? One dollar per use? I knew AI applications had broad prospects. Look at this—even a cheat ability like this came with an AI question-and-answer function.
"Feels inferior to Mobius."
"Sir, we've arrived."
The taxi driver's voice interrupted Ma Zhaodi's muttering. He glanced outside and saw that it was only 7:40.
Sigh, Old Jack really wasn't up to it.
"That'll be fifty-seven dollars."
Sigh, Old Jack's value spoke for itself.
This damn place called Gotham was so expensive that even taking a taxi cost a fortune.
Ma Zhaodi secretly grumbled as he paid and got out. If he hadn't had a gun, the driver's fare would probably have been closer to a hundred dollars.
He walked along the streets, circling the neighborhoods and roads around Red Dragon to familiarize himself with the terrain. Only then did he enter the restaurant through the back door.
At eight in the morning, there were hardly any customers in the restaurant. Only the men in black responsible for security, the servers whose shifts were about to end, and the front-desk staff waiting to switch shifts remained. Ma Zhaodi greeted his colleagues one by one, then found the supervisor and returned a book to him.
It was the restaurant's training guide. Normally, new hires were supposed to undergo a period of training, but Ma Zhaodi's situation was special—he was penniless and desperately needed a job—so Donat had made an exception and allowed him to learn while working. The supervisor had given him the book yesterday, never expecting him to return it today.
"You memorized the book?"
"One day was enough. I used to do this all the time before exams."
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