Twenty minutes later, in the dressing room of the Wayne Manor.
Chen Mo tugged at the tightly tied dark tie around his neck, his brows furrowed deeply.
" Alfred, are you sure I'm wearing this to a banquet, and not that you're planning to strangle me, stuff me in a coffin, and send me off?"
Alfred was carefully grooming Chen Mo's shoulders with a soft-bristled brush.
The old butler moved with elegance, not even lifting an eyelid upon hearing these words.
"Mr. Chen, please trust the aesthetic sense of someone who has served the Wayne Family for forty years."
"Here, if your bow tie is even a millimeter crooked, those arrogant guys will think you're a nouveau riche. For their safety, I'll have to work much harder."
Chen Mo looked down at the expensive, handmade, custom-made suit he was wearing, then glanced at his own presentable appearance in the mirror.
"I still prefer pullovers and sweatpants; they're convenient for fighting and making mealtimes easier."
"That's such a pity, Mr. Chen. It's actually an old man like me who saw your handsome and dashing side first."
Alfred put away the small brush and handed over a neatly folded silk pocket square.
"However, I still have to say that in the city hall's banquet hall, the only consequence of wearing sweatpants is being mistaken for a champagne thief and thrown into the fountain by the guards."
On the other side of the dressing room, in front of a huge fitting mirror.
Bruce Wayne changed into a well-tailored dark gray three-piece suit, his slightly wavy black hair styled with hair gel to create a just-right messy look, and he even had two light dark circles under his eyes.
He casually unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt collar, and the gloom and wariness he had felt in the Batcave completely vanished, replaced by a kind of indolence and frivolity that emanated from his very bones.
Chen Mo turned around with his hands in his pockets, glancing sideways at the young master in front of him.
"Tsk tsk, look at you. It's a real waste that Gotham University's drama department didn't offer you an honorary professorship."
Bruce picked up the cologne on the table, sprayed it on his wrist, and curled his lips into a standard smug, fake smile.
"If someone rolls around in mud and sewers three times every night, they'd better wear strong perfume, otherwise Alfred will nag them all day while he's doing laundry."
Alfred handed over the car keys at the opportune moment, bowing slightly in greeting.
"Young master, your car is already parked in front of the porch."
"Also, if I may remind you, as you previously instructed, your budget limit for tonight's charity auction is thirty million US dollars."
Bruce took the key and walked calmly towards the door.
"Okay, I'll just snap up a few broken vases then."
Outside Gotham City Hall, the night was deep.
Rain washed over the white marble steps, and the long red carpet in front of the door was crowded with reporters from all walks of life carrying telephoto lenses.
As a custom-made, jet-black Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up at the edge of the red carpet, a barrage of flashbulbs went off.
The attendant quickly stepped forward and opened the car door.
Bruce stepped out of the car, a bright and approachable smile on his face, and casually waved to the cameras around him.
Several well-dressed Gotham City council members and bank executives immediately swarmed around them like sharks smelling blood.
"Young Master Wayne! I heard you bought an entire ski resort in Switzerland last week?"
" Bruce, when will Wayne Enterprises officially invest in that new plot of land belonging to the Municipal Planning Bureau?"
A deluge of flattering and fawning words poured in.
Bruce moved effortlessly through the crowd, his left arm casually around a blonde socialite who was throwing herself at him, spouting a string of absurd yet perfectly logical nonsense.
"A ski resort in Switzerland? Oh, that place is too cold. I'm planning to convert it into an indoor, heated water park next week."
"Don't come to me with the land issue. Go talk to those old men on the board. I can't even remember which way the main gate of the company faces."
A knowing, unspoken laugh immediately erupted from the surrounding area.
Everyone knows that Gotham's richest second-generation heir is a good-for-nothing who doesn't care about anything, but no one dares to underestimate this walking gold mine.
Chen Mo followed Bruce leisurely into the banquet hall.
The Crystal chandelier emitted a golden glow, and the air was filled with the aroma of expensive perfumes and fine cigars.
Chen Mo had absolutely no interest in joining in this kind of hypocritical social interaction in the world of fame and fortune.
His gaze shifted and landed directly on the twenty-meter-long buffet table in the center of the hall.
"Roasted lamb chops, caviar tarts, and Boston lobster..."
Chen Mo casually took two champagne glasses from a passing waiter's tray and picked through the food as he walked.
"At least the food was pretty good, so the trip wasn't a waste."
Chen Mo picked up a large silver plate and unceremoniously scooped the whole French-style baked lobster that had just been served into the plate.
Next came several thick slices of black truffle filet mignon.
In less than two minutes, the plate in his hand had piled up into a teetering mountain of meat.
Chen Mo leaned against a marble Roman column, carrying a mountain of meat, and while enjoying his meal with a silver fork, he coldly observed the well-dressed politicians and Blackheart businessmen filling the hall.
Gotham is a really interesting place.
On the surface, it's a charity fundraising event, but the business cards handed out in private all have money laundering channels and smuggling quotas written on them.
Batman catches thieves every night, but during the day he has to be a money-grubber for the thieves' clients.
Being a young master in Gotham is truly a miserable experience.
Just as Chen Mo swallowed a piece of roasted meat, a faint floral fragrance wafted over.
A young woman in a black backless evening gown, holding a glass of red wine, stopped two steps away.
The woman wore elaborate makeup, her eyes filled with inquiry as her gaze lingered on Chen Mo's young and utterly unfamiliar Eastern face.
In Gotham, anyone who can ride in the same car as Bruce Wayne is definitely not a nobody.
Even before he boarded that car, he was just an unknown Asian.
"Sir, I don't recall ever seeing you at a party in Gotham before."
The woman walked forward with a smile, her tone deliberately friendly.
Are you Mr. Wayne's new friend?
Chen Mo used his fork to pick up the last piece of lobster meat and stuffed it into his mouth, replying indistinctly.
"No, I'm the new chef at the Wayne Manor, specifically in charge of quality control tonight's dishes."
The woman's smile froze for a moment.
She coughed lightly, taking it as a peculiar dry humor of Easterners, and handed over a gold-embossed business card.
"Sir, you have a good sense of humor. I am the assistant to the chairman of Kane Shipping..."
Before the words were finished, a muffled thud suddenly came from the heavy, carved wooden door of the banquet hall.
Several waiters in black suits stumbled back into the lobby.
The elegant music abruptly stopped.
The guests, who had been clinking glasses and exchanging toasts, all stopped what they were doing and turned to look in astonishment.
From the shadows at the main entrance of the hall, several uninvited guests slowly walked in.