The Worry Finally Settled

"Ma Zhaodi, what happened to that pumpkin you carved yesterday? Did you leave it at home?"

"I remember that pumpkin was pretty unique. You didn't bring it today?"

Faced with Santos and Castro's seemingly curious questions, Ma Zhaodi wore an awkward yet polite smile.

He really shouldn't have carved a pumpkin in the restaurant yesterday. Now his own coworkers were grilling him mercilessly. Could he admit that the pumpkin at the scene was his? He couldn't admit it to Gordon, let alone to these people from the Falcone family. The deceased was Falcone's biological nephew. Supposedly, just a few months ago, Falcone had personally held an extravagant banquet to celebrate his nephew's wedding.

Going by the style of this East End crime lord, the Falcone gang might reason with him—but the odds of them actually reasoning with him were practically nonexistent.

Sweating profusely, he immediately placed a Save Point at that moment. Then he pulled out the Magic Pumpkin Lantern with an ingratiating grin. "No, no. When I went out to set up a stall yesterday, I discovered that nobody was willing to buy such an ugly pumpkin. Look, I still have it right here."

"Oh?"

The group took a close look. The pumpkin in Ma Zhaodi's hands was indeed different from the one on television, but it also bore a striking resemblance to the one he had carved yesterday. That was right—they were both equally ugly.

"But I still feel like both pumpkins look a little like your work." Rick stroked his chin. "Their styles are too similar. They both give off this abstract ugliness."

"Come on, you can't discriminate against me. There are so many people in this world. Surely a few of them, like me, just can't carve pumpkins." Seeing them waver, Ma Zhaodi immediately found his courage and shouted, "You're making it seem like I'm the only bad person in the world, but I'm actually a law-abiding—"

"According to information provided by the Gotham Police Department, approximately twenty million US dollars stored in a large factory were discovered to have caught fire and spontaneously combusted yesterday, turning to ashes on Halloween. Based on tests conducted on several samples that drifted out of the warehouse, all the US currency stored there was legal tender rather than counterfeit. However, the source of this enormous sum remains unknown. Police speculate that the money may have been illegally obtained by a criminal organization and hidden in the warehouse as cover."

"This also means that the criminal organization will be unable to complete its money-laundering procedures for a considerable period of time. This demonstrates the efficiency and reliability of the Gotham Police Department, as well as its deterrent power against unlawful forces, Commissioner Gordon stated."

As he listened to the news report on television, Ma Zhaodi's shouting grew quieter and quieter until it disappeared completely.

Real money? Twenty million?

"Fxxk!"

Just as he was struggling to process the meaning of the news, Santos slammed his fist hard onto the table beside him.

"These goddamn bastards have gone too far! If it weren't for that bank executive, the family's company would have already—"

"Santos."

A voice stopped Santos's hysterical tirade. The manager walked slowly into the restaurant and casually switched off the television.

"Don't be so undignified. We still have guests to attend to today. Don't let this affect your work."

Santos gritted his teeth and nodded heavily.

"What are you panicking for? Everyone knows that nobody can touch the Godfather's money casually. No matter who it is, anyone who dares challenge the Falcone family's authority will eventually pay the price."

"Mr. Ma Zhaodi, today's matter was only casual conversation. I believe you aren't the sort of person who likes to gossip, are you?"

"Ah, hahaha, of course. Haha, of course."

Ma Zhaodi stiffly humored the manager as he saw him off. His smile looked worse than crying. Everyone assumed he was nervous because he had overheard some information about the family.

But in reality, nobody could understand his nervousness.

"Twenty million? Real money? Falcone's money?"

Each of those three words carried more weight than the last. Put together, they filled Ma Zhaodi with boundless shock.

If his previous level of nervousness had been like facing a backpack full of blank assignments on the last day of summer vacation, then his current level of nervousness was like the teacher suddenly announcing that everyone had to return to school a day early.

"System! You set me up!"

"Ma Zhaodi, are you all right?"

The manager suddenly patted him on the shoulder. "Are you sick? Do you need to take the day off?"

"Oh, no need. No need."

Ma Zhaodi forced a smile as he saw the manager off, then carefully went through the newspaper again, hoping that the Gotham news reporter had misspoken—or that he had simply misheard the report.

Finally, after repeatedly confirming everything, he revealed a relieved smile and casually set down the newspaper in his hand.

The worry that had been hanging over him finally settled.

Serene.jpg

Damn it. Judging by the timeline, Falcone's company and the bank had been working on their partnership for more than half a year. During that time, the Falcone family's money-laundering operation had been stuck at its final step. In other words, those twenty million dollars were all dirty money belonging to the Falcone family, and through Falcone's company, the money was about to be laundered clean.

Not only that, the Falcone family was very likely cooperating with gangs from other regions as well. Judging by the scope of Falcone's company's business, those families might be from New York, Metropolis, or even Chicago.

At this critical moment, Ma Zhaodi had burned the money. How was that fighting crime? He had slapped Falcone right in the face.

Fine, fine. One day, when Falcone discovered that some nobody named Ma Zhaodi had left a mark at the scene of his nephew's death, and then found out that this guy had burned twenty million dollars belonging to the family, the residents of Gotham City would be able to watch fireworks in the East End—of the sort where people and buildings alike were blasted into the sky.

Damn it. He couldn't reveal the truth even if it killed him, because if he was exposed, he really would be dead.

"I want that nobody dead! I want that skulking rat, that murderous lunatic who loves playing mind games, and that lawless arsonist dead too! I'll cut off their heads and hang them from the top of Gotham's towers. I'll throw their bodies into the streets and let everyone in Gotham City see what happens when they provoke the Falcone family!"

In a penthouse apartment in Gotham City, the crime lord Falcone, three scars running across his face, was raging furiously. Without question, this was not an emotion he commonly displayed as the Black Gang Godfather. In fact, as a crime lord renowned for his composure, manners, and grace, he had rarely lost his temper to this degree. Ordinary people simply weren't worthy of making him so furious.

It was only today, after his informants throughout the city had meticulously gathered every clue regarding the warehouse fire and ultimately discovered nothing, that he had unleashed this thunderous rage. Because this meant he would be unable to find anyone to take revenge on.

To encounter such a thing—to have fury with nowhere to vent it—was a feeling he had not tasted in a long time. The only other time he had felt this stifled was when facing a masked vigilante like Batman.

Because he could neither find his opponent nor locate his opponent's family.