Passing through the thick, dark clouds that perpetually shroud Gotham, the Batplane silently glided into a hidden passage behind a secret waterfall.
The airflow and the sounds of mechanical hydraulics mingled as the machine steadily landed on the lifting platform.
The canopy slid open, and Chen Mo flipped and jumped out, stepping onto the cold steel mesh floor.
He put his hands in his pockets and looked around with great interest.
The entire Batcave was cold and damp, and apart from a few dim spotlights overhead, it was filled with a musty smell unique to cave creatures.
Not far away stood a giant supercomputer, as tall as a three-story building, its screen displaying a dense stream of surveillance data from across Gotham.
In the deeper shadows, besides the Batmobile and various tools, there was a huge model of an old coin and a nearly life-size mechanical Tyrannosaurus Rex.
"I didn't realize, Batman, that you'd be so cunning behind the scenes."
Chen Mo walked up to the mechanical Tyrannosaurus Rex, raised his hand and patted its metal belly, making a dull thud.
"Why would someone with a mansion choose to stay in a cave staring at a bunch of dinosaur models? Is this what the rich are happy about?"
The black-clad figure walking behind ignored the teasing remark.
With the sound of the valve unlocking the neck clip of the armor, the helmet with pointed ears was removed by two gloved people wearing armor.
His black hair was slightly disheveled, and his handsome, angular face, which often appeared in Gotham Business Headlines, was exposed to the spotlight.
My name is Bruce Wayne.
Bruce casually placed his helmet on the workbench, met Chen Mo's gaze, and spoke in a tone as indifferent as if he were reciting a menu.
"Since we're aiming to build a long-term foundation of mutual trust, there's no point in hiding the true identity behind your code name from you."
Chen Mo raised an eyebrow, his face showing no surprise whatsoever, but rather an exaggerated expression of sudden realization.
"Wow, Gotham's richest man!"
"No wonder he's always modifying cars or fighter jets when he goes out. I was wondering where ordinary street vigilantes get such a fortune. Turns out, the guy who's out fighting in the streets every night in a bodysuit is the big taxpayer, Young Master Wayne."
Bruce:...
He knew this guy wouldn't say anything nice.
Just then, the vintage brass elevator leading to the main house sounded a clear ding-dong.
The iron gates slid open to both sides.
An elderly gentleman with his hair perfectly combed and his tailcoat without a single wrinkle stepped out, steadily carrying a silver tray.
On the tray were a white porcelain teapot, bone china cups, and a plate of golden-brown, crispy cookies.
The old butler walked across the cables scattered on the ground in his gleaming leather shoes, his steps as unhurried as if he were strolling on the red carpet of the Buckingham Palace.
"Master Bruce, considering that you only destroyed half a wing on this trip and returned to the cave on time before dinner, I think I can give tonight's operation a perfect score."
Alfred gently placed the tray on the oil-stained workbench, then turned around and bowed slightly to Chen Mo.
"And you, esteemed guest, welcome to the Wayne Manor."
"I must say, among all the friends the master brought back, you are one of the very few respectable people who don't require me to prepare gas masks or body bags before entering the house."
Chen Mo chuckled, casually picked up a freshly baked cookie from the tray, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it with a crunching sound.
"This old man's words are much more agreeable than yours, Batman."
Chen Mo pointed to the empty teacup, indicating that another cup should be poured. "The biscuits are baked quite well, and there's plenty of butter."
"Thank you for your compliment, sir."
Alfred calmly lifted the teapot, and the golden, clear Darjeeling tea flowed from the spout into the porcelain cup without spilling a single drop.
"If you'd like to move upstairs to the living room, the sofa there might be more respectful to your pelvis than this cold worktop."
Five minutes later.
Inside the luxurious drawing room at the Wayne Manor, with its nearly ten-meter-high ceiling and walls adorned with paintings of the ancestors.
The firewood crackled softly in the fireplace, and its warmth dispelled the chill and dampness brought up from the ground.
Chen Mo sank into the large leather sofa, his legs casually propped up on the edge of the expensive rosewood coffee table, holding his third cup of hot black tea, and constantly eating cookies.
Bruce had changed out of his heavy armor and into a loose, dark cashmere sweater, and was sitting upright on the single sofa opposite him.
Stripped of Batman's sinister and ruthless exterior, he looks more like a tired and wary rich kid.
"Come to think of it, you scanned me at least forty-two times with seven different types of radar along the way."
Chen Mo swallowed the biscuit and glanced at the person opposite him with a half-smile.
"And that communicator, the miniature signal transmitter inside is set to pretty high power, isn't it?"
Bruce picked up his teacup, took a sip, his expression completely unchanged, not even a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"Yes, so my satellites can maintain their position on Earth at all times."
Bruce put down his teacup. "I won't deny my wariness of you, Chen Mo."
"If I were to be completely unprepared for something that can turn the Earth to ashes in minutes, it would be a crime against myself and the entire planet."
Alfred quietly stepped forward and refilled their empty cups with black tea.
"Please forgive my husband's rudeness, Mr. Chen."
The old butler smiled, his tone impeccably gentle, "After he turned eight, he developed a rare psychological disorder: he couldn't sleep all night unless he compiled a list of every friend's weaknesses into an encrypted document. We usually call it paranoia, and it's incurable."
Chen Mo almost spat out his tea on the coffee table, then turned and gave the old butler a thumbs up.
"Insightful."
" Alfred, go and retrieve the security logs from the third basement level."
Bruce interrupted the butler's sarcastic remarks with a blank expression, his brows slightly furrowed.
"Yes, sir. I am happy to leave this room filled with the truth."
Alfred bowed slightly, carried the empty tray, and calmly withdrew from the reception room, closing the heavy, carved wooden door behind him.
With the butler gone, the atmosphere in the room quieted down a bit.
Chen Mo leaned back on the sofa, his tone languid.
"Alright, stop looking at me like I'm some kind of thief. If I want to do something, nobody can stop me here!"
Bruce leaned back on the sofa, his gaze lingering on Chen Mo's face for a moment.
He was well aware that what the other person said was true.
That's why he chose to keep people under his watchful eye.
"I believe you mean no harm," Bruce finally concluded, "But Gotham is not peaceful, and tonight will be no exception."
He pointed to the antique wall clock, whose hands were pointing to 5:40 p. m.
"There's a celebrity charity gala at City Hall tonight, with several councilors and the Penguin's Shell Foundation in attendance. I must be there on time as Bruce Wayne."
Bruce looked up at Chen Mo, his tone carrying a hint of inquiry and probing.
"Interested in experiencing the 'simple and honest' Gotham high society you described?"