The Theory of Relativity once told the world this.
Where there is Wolong, there will inevitably be a Phoenix Fengchu.
It's obvious.
Madison was like a Fengchu the ashes; her way of thinking couldn't be summed up by the word "daring." Ian truly felt that she possessed a kind of beauty that suggested she had never truly died.
"Stop!"
Ian was quick-witted and agile.
He crumpled the paper into a ball and stuffed it into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as if he had transformed into a blender. While chewing, he spoke in a muffled voice.
" Little Punk Girl, you're speaking modern English, right? What you just said was actually expressing that we need to love God and donate more money to build more churches, right?"
He frantically winked at Madison, but the Little Punk Girl was still engrossed in her drawing and writing and didn't notice his survival instincts, so her response remained enthusiastic.
"No, I meant we'd tear down the old churches and establish a new church for you—I'd write the New Bible, how about that? Oh, I'd definitely have a chance to become the first Pope!"
As a typical United States girl, Madison's brain is indeed quite different from that of normal people. Normal people's brains have folds, but the brains of girls like hers are completely smooth.
"What? You want to organize the classmates to polish the icon, right? What a devout idea!" Ian's forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat, and he wished he could sew Madison's mouth shut right now. Perhaps this was reaping what he sowed; he had been manipulating Madison all along, and Madison had finally become wiser than him.
"I'm not talking about God! I'm talking about you! You!" Madison bit her pen cap, looked at Ian was wiping sweat with a tissue, and handed him her small portable fan.
"Wow, your 'modern English' is so fluent! You mean to 'overthrow' those outdated religious rituals? Like burning incense, kneeling, and chanting scriptures? That's great, modern people should indeed simplify their faith process. You're advocating 'spiritual worship' of God, not just loving God verbally, right?"
Ian pretended that the other person's words automatically took on a different meaning in his ears.
"No!" Madison remained enthusiastic, even poking Ian's throbbing temple as if she thought something magical was about to pop into Ian's head.
"I mean physically destroy it! Blow it up! Burn it down! Turn the old church into ruins!" This Harley Quinn Little Punk Girl should probably go to Gotham and learn a thing or two from Harley Quinn in college.
She's sure to become Harley Quinn's star pupil.
"Oh, it's turned into ruins"? Isn't that the prototype of "ruin worship"? A kind of postmodern religious art? You're leading people to find the true meaning of faith in God in ruins.
"It's very insightful, but I still think that using concrete from No. 56 to make Italian pasta, along with steel bars produced by Wayne Industries as toppings, better reflects our pursuit of excellence in food."
Unable to think of anything on the spot, Ian started rambling incoherently.
"Look at the totem pole I designed. The top is you stepping on God." Madison pushed her sketchbook to Ian, who immediately ate it with Ian mineral water.
"Yes, yes, yes! Turn the top of the church gutter into a dove shape! It's so retro and beautiful. In the Bible, the dove symbolizes the Holy Spirit!" Ian wanted to grab Madison by the neck, but with so many classmates playing around, he was still mindful of his image as a good student at school.
I said god, not gutter.
Madison looked at Ian with surprise, who seemed to be behaving strangely for some reason.
"Yes, yes, yes! God bless you!" Ian clasped his hands together in a prayerful gesture, his Super Intelligence already at its peak. "You suggested distributing blessing cards at the church!"
Some of the yellow robes were truly something no one dared to even think about wearing. Ian now felt a deep empathy for Liu Xie, Liu Kan, Shi Hong, Wanyan Chenglin, Zhao Huan, Louis XVII, Nero, and Karl I. He truly realized who the person in this classroom most eager to improve was. He had heard of a mother gaining status through her son, but this was the first time he had heard his deskmate want to gain status through Ian.
"I can definitely find a reliable stonemason."
"You want to have a tea party with the Angels? Excellent."
I meant bombing the Vatican!
"A charity sale of French fries!?"
"Where are the fries? No, wait... We need to get down to business. Think about it, believers kneel in worship! They offer sacrifices! They sing hymns for you, how impressive! If all else fails, we can assassinate them—"
"Embroidery! Embroider some new vestments for the hardworking priests! Okay, I'm willing to pay!"
" Ian, we are going to hold a coronation ceremony for you."
"Ah! Coronation? You mean the 'coronation ceremony'? Isn't that a symbol of 'being burdened with responsibility'? You're reminding me that as the Son of Superman, I have to shoulder more social responsibility and be crowned for justice, right? That also aligns with the core values of Catholicism, and I should be a moral role model."
Clouds drifted past the window. The two were having Minotaur conversation, mostly hers, but it didn't affect Ian's understanding. He always managed to translate Madison's audacious words into something like "respecting God" or "erecting an image of God," using the excuse of "modern English."
Madison is still holding on.
Because of the upcoming final exams, she had recently read some history books and learned that these excuses and refusal processes are all necessary procedures.
Madison felt that he and Ian worked together exceptionally well.
However.
Little did he know that Ian's brain CPU was already severely overloaded with the task of saving the day, and was about to burst into flames. Just then, the shrill school bell rang, which saved Ian.
The history teacher walked into the classroom carrying his lesson plan.
The moment he pushed open the door, the whispers that filled the classroom seemed to be paused. Madison sullenly stuffed the note that read "Step-by-step instructions for blowing up the Vatican " back into his pencil case. Ian took the opportunity to swallow the three notes he had in his mouth—which made him let out a burp that smelled of ink.
In the middle school years of normal students, teachers still have authority.
"Classmates."
The history teacher, dressed in a gray suit and wearing gold-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat, his voice deep and resonant, "Today we're going to talk about—the origins of World War II."
The classroom was quiet.
Only the sound of the first stroke of chalk on the blackboard could be heard.
The chalk screeched as it scratched across the blackboard, writing in large letters the words " Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, 1939." Ian stared at the photograph of Stalin and Hitler shaking hands in his textbook.
His brows furrowed unconsciously.
The textbook devotes two full paragraphs to describing how this treaty "disrupted the strategic balance in Europe," but only mentions the specific date of Germany's blitzkrieg against Poland in a footnote.
I have to say, this is really America.
"On August 23, 1939, the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany signed the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact..." The history teacher wrote as he explained, following the textbook.
"On December 7, 1941, the Pearl Harbor Incident occurred, and the United States officially entered the war, injecting powerful strength into the Allied Powers. It can be said that without the United States ' participation, the outcome of the war might have been completely different."
"In truth, the righteous United States did not want to go to war, however..."
During class, Madison tried to Biography of Ian, but Ian didn't even look at them and just ate them all. He was so skilled at it that it was almost pitiful.
The history teacher strolled to the center of the classroom, his leather shoes tapping out a hypnotic rhythm on the floor.
"As President Roosevelt said, good United States was forced into the war." His shadow stretched longer and longer in the sunlight, and as he walked to the back row, chalk dust fell from his suit. Suddenly, as he passed the large Christmas sign at the back, his once upright figure had transformed.
He turned into an old man with white hair.
The wrinkles on the old man's face appeared like the marks of time.
at the same time.
Time seemed to stand still in the classroom, like an oil painting. Madison's pen tip hovered three millimeters above the paper, the black dots formed by the ink droplets remaining suspended in mid-air.
A sparrow outside the window paused at the moment it took flight, every feather on its outstretched wings clearly visible. Ian could even see the dandruff falling from the hair of the student in the row in front of him.
Like snowflakes paused on time, chalk dust floated in the air, and the unfallen dust solidified in the light. Outside the classroom, the students running on the playground, where the PE teacher wasn't sick, were also frozen in the moment of taking their first steps.
"Her drawing is quite good."
When the aged voice rang in my ears, it was as gentle as an autumn breeze.
However, Ian's spine stiffened inch by inch. The old man who had suddenly appeared in the classroom was standing between him and Madison, his wrinkled fingers lightly tapping on the "new church design" on Madison's desk—with a Ian face drawn next to the Vatican bombing site circled in red pen.
"..."
Ian's neck made a clicking sound like rusty gears as he slowly turned toward the source of the sound, his movements as stiff as a robot that had just learned to mimic human expressions.
He had never been so reserved.
He could talk and laugh even when facing the King of Hell, the King of Lies, and the Goddess of Creation, but now, facing this seemingly ordinary old man, he could no longer remain calm.
Yes, the old man looked unremarkable. He wore a faded linen robe, and his silvery-white beard reached his chest, each hair shimmering with stardust-like light. He looked like an ordinary old country pastor, if one ignored his deep-set eyes.
However, in the old man's gray-blue pupils, Ian seemed to see the beginning and end of the universe, and of course, the beginning or end of his own life.
"..."
Ian looked at the old man with terrified eyes. He tried to speak, but his throat seemed to have a mind of its own, and the entire classroom remained silent.
You don't need to be so nervous.
The old man chuckled softly, picked up Madison's notebook, and flipped through it, the pages turning softly between his fingers. "In your heart, am I really that petty?"
This is probably the real life-or-death question.
"No, of course not!" Ian's voice suddenly returned, accompanied by a suspicious swallowing sound. "I'm crying tears of joy; these are tears of excitement."
He wiped his "tears streaming down" face, the sweat he flicked away freezing into tiny crystals in the air, while the old man just watched his performance with a half-smile.
"Here's the thing, I was completely dragged into this passively—" Ian, who had realized who he was facing, was more reserved and guilty than ever before.
He launched into a frantic explanation mode.
However, the other person raised their hand, interrupting him.
"You should really rest assured, I won't hold a grudge against you. It's all my fault; I messed things up," the old man said in a gentle voice.
Ian couldn't believe it.
"You're so busy with work, your family might not understand your good intentions, but I completely do—" Ian quickly flattered, glad he knew how to do it.
However, before he could finish speaking, the old man interrupted him again.
"Are you trying to play the 'green tea' card? Pretending to be understanding, and then talking to me about how we can have a 'family' bond?" the old man suddenly asked, his tone as if discussing the weather. He probably really knew Ian and had anticipated Ian's prediction, stopping him before things even happened.
Ian chuckled awkwardly.
There's a feeling of guilt, like I've been exposed.
"No, no, I just want you to know that I'm just a helpful Ian, I'm not like Napoleon, the French philosopher Sartre, or Zeus."
After much deliberation, Ian still didn't use the brave Little Punk Girl to shield him from the attack. The public relations skills he learned from the entertainment industry ultimately proved useless because of his conscience.
"Of course I'm willing to pretend to believe you." The old man chuckled, and the temperature in the classroom rose a few degrees. The ink droplets suspended in mid-air began to slowly fall.
But time remained eerily still.
"Oh, by the way, is that book any good?" His gaze swept over the half-open copy of " Parenting Guide " sticking out of Ian's pocket, the words " Guide to Dealing with Rebellious Children " on the cover particularly eye-catching.
"It works great."
Ian gave a dry reply.
"Then I'll go out and buy one too."
The old man seemed to be chatting with Ian about everyday matters.
So Ian cautiously tested the waters.
"So, are we alright now?"
He kept a close eye on the old man's expression as he spoke, and the old man gave him a deep look in return, a look that made Ian feel as if his soul was being X-rayed.
"If you're referring to my capricious wife, I still hope that there's more to it than just 'nothing' between us." The old man made no attempt to hide his intentions, but there was still a hint of ambiguity in his words.
Of course, given this was a critical moment for the animal, Ian, with his Super Brain working at full speed, immediately understood what he meant. He nodded vigorously, like a chick pecking at rice, frantically expressing his feelings, "I understand! I understand! My relationship with my goddess aunt is purely that of a doctor and patient! It will never change!"
He really doesn't like older women.
Not to mention a genuine "Mafia" wife. If we're talking about who can be the most ruthless with dirty tricks, no life form in the universe can compare to this one.
"Then there's nothing between us."
The old man didn't hide what he cared about, but there was something wrong with their way of being; after speaking, he would ask Ian a question he already knew the answer to.
Do you think I'm petty?
This sudden question was bound to be a death trap, but fortunately Ian was more astute and immediately realized the seriousness of the problem, shaking his head like a rattle drum.
"How could I misunderstand you? Everything has its own deeper meaning! Just like... just like..." He glanced at the World War II chapter in the history textbook and used a perhaps more appropriate description.
"Just like Churchill said he would fight on the beach, but in reality he was secretly preparing for the Normandy Landings!" This was truly a stroke of genius, and the Super Brain did not betray Ian's trust.
"That was a good flattery."
The old man twirled his beard and smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
"Actually, what I'm worried about isn't just that she wants revenge on me; many times, I don't really understand what she's thinking." He sighed, his voice dimming the light in the classroom.
Upon hearing this...
Ian was stunned.
He never expected to hear such a mortal-like confusion from the Creator.
The old man reached out and brushed across the still tabletop, and the Inverted Cross Emblem that Madison had drawn halfway suddenly transformed into a fairly formal design drawing of Ian Cathedral.
"That's just how women are, they're hard to understand," Ian said quickly, his fingers unconsciously curling the edge of his textbook, the paper making a soft rustling sound.
This is because they were too nervous.
"Then it seems that when I created women, I really did capture their essence." The old man revealed the real reason why human women are so difficult to deal with; his seemingly joking remarks seemed to unveil a shocking truth.
All the strange traits of human women are derived from the imitation of the Goddess of Creation.
This shows that...
What kind of personality did the Goddess of Creation have? Thinking about this, Ian looked at the old man with more sympathy. It has to be said that when it comes to patience, the inventor of patience is the strongest. The old man didn't pay attention to Ian's inner musings. After making a joke, he also fell into nostalgia.
"I actually still remember the first time I saw her." Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a slanting glow on the old man's silver beard, each hair reflecting a different luster.
Ian's Super Brain immediately went into high-speed mode. He quietly took out his notebook and quickly scribbled something on the table, clearly already in the state of Dr. Ian.
The old man is still reminiscing.
"At that time, there was nothing, only endless emptiness. Then she appeared... Not long after, we created and illuminated our first universe."
"Those were truly wonderful times, but happy times are always short-lived. When she created her first galaxy, she added too much pink, saying it didn't conform to celestial aesthetics, so she simply created a supernova explosion, turning all the planets into a fireworks display."
The old man seemed to be talking to himself, or perhaps he had finally found a strong man to listen to his troubles. Ian's lips twitched, but he tried to maintain a serious expression.
He now understood how the concept of "marriage is the tomb of love" came about. It all originated from metaphysics, from those mundane things of the Creator's family.
"Later we had several children, and our favorite was of course Samael, um, Lucifer." The old man's gaze pierced through the wall, looking towards a distant dimension.
"She said the Morningstar should shine, so she gave the child six glowing wings." The old man shook his head helplessly. "And the result? He went through three trillion years of teenage rebellion."
Ian really didn't want to hear these things, but the old man's words gave him a strong sense of déjà vu. It sounded like his father, Clark, always complaining to Ian about how he used his Heat Vision to burn the Christmas turkey when he was a kid. Sure enough, just based on that nagging tone, Superman's father really had the air of God!
"You sound like you need some family counseling," Ian blurted out, almost without thinking. He immediately regretted not biting his tongue off.
Unexpectedly, the old man simply nodded.
What are you writing?
He was definitely asking a question he already knew the answer to.
"Uh, solutions to your family conflicts!" Ian slammed his notebook shut, then quickly added, "I mean, actually, solutions to the crisis I'm currently facing!"
"Oh? Your crisis?"
A hint of amusement flashed in the old man's eyes.
"No," Ian quickly corrected, "It's our crisis."
The old man chuckled softly upon hearing this.
God watched Ian with great interest, but his silence was tantamount to a response.
He seemed curious.
This was actually a subtle hint for Ian to continue speaking.
"My solution, of course, is to get you two back together! She loves you, and you love her! Now all you need is a trigger, and even without Mixue Ice Cream & Tea, you should still be sweet together!"
Ian swallowed hard, hesitated for a moment, and then continued, "Now all we need is a trigger, and... for you to lower your head slightly."
This was an absolutely audacious statement in the eyes of all believers. The old man neither affirmed nor denied it, but simply tapped the podium lightly with his fingertips, each tap causing a subtle change in the atomic vibration frequency in the classroom. Ian knew this was a signal of tacit approval, and he quickly organized his thoughts as if interpreting Batman's silence.
"Of course, we all know you will always win, you are the true founder of the Winning Sect," Ian said, glancing at the old man's expression to make sure there were no signs of thunderclouds gathering.
"So we can take some small precautions."
Ian continued to pause, waiting for a response, but the old man, being the most genuine Riddler, certainly wouldn't speak; only the clouds outside the window began to form question mark shapes.
Only then did Ian dare to speak.
"First of all, you definitely still have feelings for your wife, you just can't quite let go of your pride..." Ian said, kicking Madison's " Pen of Sin " that had fallen to the floor even further under the table. He was convinced that it was that pen that had brought God to his door this morning, and Ian continued his tirade while secretly shifting the blame in his mind.
"So, to avoid losing face, we can arrange for you to 'lose' your belt," Ian continued scribbling in his notebook with his Pen of Kindness.
"Belt?"
The old man was slightly taken aback.
"Right!"
Ian grew more and more excited as he spoke, as if some switch had been flipped. God, being a fellow writer, listened attentively, not interrupting Ian's train of thought, but simply allowing Ian to express himself freely.
"You just need to pretend you didn't notice it was missing. It's not unreasonable, since even Taishang Laojun's house in the east was empty and he didn't notice, so of course you can't notice your belt is missing either."
"This belt fell to earth, and then a mortal found it—like any forty-year-old man, but definitely not a little devil like me."
"Next, this mortal will be influenced by God's will, becoming gentle and affectionate. He will dance with the goddess aunt, reminiscing about the past. The 'first meeting' line you just mentioned should also be added... But don't mention anything about the supernova explosion later on."
Not only the script, Ian even drew storyboards in the notebook. Many writers actually dream of becoming directors, regardless of whether they are 1.5 meters tall or not.
The light in the classroom flickered as he described it.
"You could express your apology for ignoring her a little more at the ball," Ian said, his words flowing like the Declaration of Independence. "If my goddess aunt accepts, all the better, and the mortal will be your embodiment; if she doesn't, then the person who found the belt is just a mortal influenced by divine power."
Ian's considerations were quite thorough.
Do you understand what I mean?
He looked at the old man standing next to his desk.
The old man remained silent for a moment after listening.
"If I'm not so old that I'm senile, I won't be mistaken—I must have invented logic." What an authoritative statement!
The old man's response was impeccable; he even pointed to the portrait of Einstein on the wall behind him, perhaps implying that Einstein was also one of his inventors.
God's voice is always incredibly gentle.
However, his way of speaking always required others to understand the underlying meaning. Ian didn't like playing with this kind of Riddler, but he still had to pretend to be enthusiastic and ask questions.
So what do you think of my plan?
Ian maintained the enthusiasm of a professional matchmaker, knowing that if this deal went through, he would undoubtedly become the most powerful psychologist in the field.
"Oh, Director DC, huh?"
God glanced down at his linen robe, where a belt was indeed found. "Like your example," he said, "Perhaps I could pretend I didn't realize my belt was missing."
It was another response that required decoding. Ian's temples throbbed, but he immediately replied, "Then it's settled! Give me some time to prepare!"
"Let's end this farce!" He extended his hand to the old man, wanting to make a deal, but then immediately withdrew it after thinking of something.
"Are you worried that I'll squeeze you to pieces during our handshake, and then squeeze you back to your original shape?" The old man didn't even need eyes to see through Ian. Of course, the main reason was that Ian was the type who couldn't keep things to himself and whose thoughts were always written on his face.
Do you really think of me as such a coward?
Ian, whose thoughts had been exposed, tried to remain calm.
"What? You said you want to turn into a rat?" The old man suddenly mimicked Ian's hard of hearing, raising his finger, which startled Ian so much that he quickly used several classmates he wasn't very familiar with to shield himself.
See? Do I even need to say anything?
The old man didn't actually make a move; he now looked more like a mischievous old man who had succeeded in a prank. After giving Ian his undisguised opinion, he also headed towards the classroom door.
Just as he was about to disappear into the doorway, the old man suddenly turned around and glanced at Ian. Then, he raised his hand, his gaze sweeping over Madison, who was still frozen in time.
"That interesting girl wasn't lying to you; she really does know a tight-lipped Old Stonemason." Just as Ian was about to "shed tears" with his entire body, God chuckled and disappeared through the doorway. By the time Ian finished wiping his sweat and tried to explain, the old man had already vanished into the halo of light outside the doorframe.
"Class, let's continue with World War II."
Time resumed its flow.
The history teacher's voice suddenly rang out again, as if the conversation had never happened. Ian paused for a second, then noticed a line of gold-embossed text in his notebook.
I left your belt in your school locker.
Just as Ian was staring at the handwriting, secretly relieved that he had finally gotten through a difficult time, Madison had also returned to normal, suddenly snapped back to reality.
She looked at herself in bewilderment as her half-finished explosion drawing turned into a church architectural design.
"Huh? When did I sign up for an architecture design class?" Perhaps Madison was similar to Kogoro Mouri; she actually felt that the blueprints were the result of her own talent emerging from its slumber.
Forget about your architectural plans, let's talk about something else.
Ian stuffed the notebook with the script into the innermost part of his backpack, suddenly missing the days when he only had to deal with aliens—at least back then he didn't have to be the creator god's marriage counselor.
"Huh? Why do you seem cheerful again?" Madison chewed on her pen cap as she looked at Ian. She could always detect changes in Ian's mood immediately.
"I'm always cheerful!" Ian suddenly straightened his back, his voice rising an octave, clearly entering his stubborn mode, "I'm cheerful every day, Ian!"
He flashed an exaggerated smile, his mouth stretching almost to his ears.
"Secretary Wheat, let's not wait until tonight. Let's skip class this afternoon! Let's skip class and teach the Angels, and you can skip class to go find the Old Stonemason who promised you."
Ian changed his mind.
Upon hearing this, Madison's blue eyes instantly shone like real gemstones.
"You finally figured it out? I knew the history book hadn't lied to me!" She lowered her voice excitedly, tilting her head, her golden ponytail sweeping across another draft paper covered with explosion plans.
"What made you suddenly change your mind?" Madison felt that Ian seemed completely different from before, after that sudden change.
Ian's gaze drifted unconsciously toward the classroom door—where a sliver of the setting sun still lingered.
"It was a true DC director who made me change my mind."
He spoke softly.
"Huh?" Madison looked bewildered, but quickly became excited again. Ian's words puzzled Madison, but she was used to this kind of bewilderment.
"So how do you fool the Angels? You'd better come up with three hundred solutions." Madison had always trusted Ian's wisdom; she felt that Ian could come up with three thousand solutions if needed.
"Clever Ian has a brilliant plan. I just need to tell the truth, Angels will believe me." Ian remembered that God had just personally crowned him the second DC director.
Rounding up or down.
The Angels would have to work for him their whole lives. Morning classes continued, sunlight streamed through the windows onto the desks, and the air was filled with the atmosphere of an approaching Christmas.
When the bell rang, Lillian, who was in the front row, suddenly turned around, the end of her red braid brushing against Ian's desk.
"How are you spending Christmas?" She waved her phone, which she had secretly brought to school; the screen saver was a sparkling Christmas tree. "My dad said he's taking us skiing in Switzerland."
"Switzerland? That's a nice place too, but this year my dad promised to take me to the North Pole to find Santa Claus." Madison is never one to miss out on these moments of comparison.
There is no Santa Claus in the world.
Lilly, but Miss Potter rolled her eyes.
"Who says there's no Santa Claus? My mom still firmly believes in Santa Claus." Mark from the football team interjected, chewing gum. "My dad's ridiculous too. To appease my mom, he's throwing an outrageous party this year, requiring everyone to dress up as Santa Claus —even our golden retriever has to wear a red hat."
I don't know if this guy is complaining or showing off his happy family life.
"There will definitely be Santa Claus in Metropolis this year." Ian was in a slightly more relaxed mood, joined the conversation, his tone full of firm conviction.
"Dude, how old are you to still believe in this stuff? Last year I stayed up until 3 a. m. and all I got was a video of my dad stuffing Game Console into my sister's sock." Mark chuckled as he recounted his experience.
I believe you!
Madison suddenly looked up, and the utility knife in her hand snapped open, startling Mark and Lilly so much that they both retreated out of the classroom. Everyone knew that there was a crazy, manipulative woman in the local junior high school.
Seeing others leave.
Madison, his eyes also shining, lowered his voice.
" Ian, are you going to be Santa Claus?"
Her eyes lit up as if she'd discovered a new continent. "You give gifts to obedient children, and AIDS bombs to disobedient children."
Miss Witch still enjoys toying with AIDS.
"The traditional Santa Claus who delivers presents." Ian sighed, turned to Madison thoughtfully, and then suddenly lowered his voice to extend the invitation.
"Want to come along? Santa Claus, who appears every Christmas, should take on an apprentice. Santa Claus could train the girls their own Santa witch."
Ian thought his plan was brilliant, but he was mainly worried about America, fearing that feminists would start suing Santa Claus for sexual harassment this year or next.
Ian's invitation left Madison conflicted; her expression was as if she'd just had a mouthful of sour lemon. "I'd like to go, but I doubt I'll have time."
She took out her phone and swiped a few times. The schedule on the screen was densely packed, with the Christmas schedule being particularly packed, and almost all the destinations on the schedule were Los Angeles.
" Crowley arranged so many film shoots for you?"
Ian asked in surprise.
"Actually, there are only 6 films so far, but I've finally set foot in Hollywood, which has caused some problems." Madison showed Ian the details of his schedule.
"Ever since I became greedy and went astray, but then got back on the right path and helped a kind older sister get pregnant, many celebrities now come to me when they want to have children."
"Those guys seem to all have a bit of adolescent delusions; a lot of them are planning to get pregnant on Christmas Day, thinking they can conceive a Jesus." Madison's voice carried a hint of weariness from exhaustion.
"What?"
This time, it was Ian's turn to be dumbfounded.
"Didn't expect that, did you? I didn't expect it either." Madison twirled his phone smugly, the charms on the case rustling. "I'm making a fortune in Hollywood with pregnancy magic."
Thankfully, it wasn't the situation Ian had imagined. Thanks to his Super Brain's foresight, he didn't let the witch next to him learn gender-swapping magic in his magic notebook.
This is why many renowned teachers are unwilling to teach students real skills. Ian's potion, which he obtained from Thanos, hasn't even been used yet, and it seems he's already been sidelined by the Scarlet Witch.
"Luckily, Lord Ian doesn't care about money and has never liked touching it," Ian consoled himself. By the time the school bell rang at noon, Madison had already packed her backpack full of dangerous items.
"I've gone to contact the Old Stonemason."
Madison is quite different from Ian. She doesn't understand the value of every grain of rice, so she won't eat her lunch at school like Ian, even though she's very rich.
Ian watched the girl's golden ponytail disappear around the corner of the corridor, then turned and blended into the restaurant. After eating and drinking his fill, he ate the equivalent of fifty people's worth of food before skipping his afternoon classes.
"I never thought I'd go astray like this." Ian never imagined he'd miss a single class; he felt he might have lost his mind in the power lately.
This matter requires drinking two bottles of disinfectant recommended by the Donald to cleanse one's soul.
[ Berserker XP +1]
[ Savage Tyrant Experience Points +2]
[ Berserker XP +1]
[ Savage Tyrant Experience Points +2]
As the saying goes, every little bit counts. Nothing major has happened in the past two days, and Ian, who couldn't open any treasure chests, has found a cheap alternative. It's a wise choice that's better than nothing.
Soon, Ian arrived at his [New Heaven ] factory in his Hellcat, where he inspected the [ Angel-Made ] products, which were certainly of higher quality than those made by Hanyang.
The product qualification rate was very high, and Ian was very satisfied, so he decided to reward the Angels with the opportunity to hold a general meeting, and had the chief Angels gather all the Angels together.
"I just had afternoon tea with my Uncle God, and he said you guys have been doing well lately, but you still need to keep working hard!"
Ian jumped onto the makeshift platform made of stacked packing boxes and clapped his hands. Five hundred Angels immediately folded their wings and formed a square formation, with several even taking out notebooks to take notes.
He started with a winning hand.
A commotion arose within the Angels formation.
Ian snapped his fingers.
The holographic projection displayed the [ Five-Year Development Plan for Heaven Factory ].
The "Employee Benefits" section, written in bold, states: Working overtime every Sunday earns you Heaven Points; 100 points can be exchanged for a one-minute opportunity to meet Saint Ian.
"We aim to build an innovative company that surpasses Silicon Valley!"
Ian's speech was reaching its climax. "Don't ask what New Heaven can give you, ask what you can contribute to New Heaven! Our goal for next quarter is to increase our market share."
Ian's speech, which revolved around the themes of struggle and hard work, was something he had been learning from Twitter while traveling. The effect was remarkable. Apart from Michael, who was living a second life dressed in a greasy, domineering CEO outfit, all the other Angels were excited. Just as he was getting to the crucial moment of his speech, his cell phone suddenly rang, interrupting his impassioned speech.
The caller ID displayed a Batarang icon.
"Hey, Bruce?"
As soon as Ian answered the phone, he began to change how he addressed people.
"Your marketing director, Don Draper, said..." Batman's voice came through a voice changer, with the screams of criminals in the background, "You canceled our outsourced customer service and replaced it with a more 'down-to-earth' team?"
Ian gestured to the Angels to "keep clapping."
Walk to the new holy water pool in the corner.
"It means exactly what it says. Don't worry, the new customer service team still uses Wayne Tech."
He made a guarantee.
"I screened all the qualified outsourcing teams."
Batman's voice carried a dangerous calm, yet still tinged with a hint of confusion. "No qualified outsourcing team has ever taken your order."
This is something that Batman, with his limited imagination, could never have researched.
Ian didn't know how to explain it either.
He could only speak softly and gently.
"Hey Bruce, find somewhere to park your wheelchair. If you're not feeling well, you don't need to kneel. Your Uncle Ian has something to tell you."
Ian was a little embarrassed to be an elder like this for the first time, and his words weren't quite bold enough.
certainly.
Even so.
"??????"
On the other side.
Then came the sound of Batman's wheelchair running over the criminal's hand.
He didn't say anything.
It was just the familiar panting of the Nine Dragons.
The main reason was that the Batman's intelligence had already made the King of Gotham realize that something was seriously wrong.