Chapter 57: Jason Todd

"Winter in Gotham City"

Mission Introduction: Gotham City is a place that typically experiences ten months of gloomy rain followed by a two-month-long snowy season. These two months are a nuisance to some, no big deal to others, but to a few, they represent a bitter winter that demands every ounce of effort just to survive. For them, a single bowl of porridge might mean the difference between life and death.

Note: Sima Xiangru, despite having walls as his only furniture at least had a home; sometimes, you can never imagine just how malicious fate can be.

Status: In Progress (0%)
Reward: Will scale synchronously with mission completion.
Imbues the food you cook with the 'Holiday' attribute. For every orphan who receives a food handout from you, the effect of the 'Holiday' attribute is enhanced by one hundred-thousandth.

Additional Reward: For every one-thousandth of enhancement gained, receive one hundred dollars in asset points.

"How much?" Ma Zhaodi read the reward carefully, unable to tear his eyes away from the additional reward clause: "Why so generous this time?"

According to the system's settlement method, one percent completion equaled one thousand, ten percent equaled ten thousand, and one hundred percent equaled one hundred thousand—one hundred thousand dollars in asset points. Even if the mission progress only reached halfway, that would still be fifty thousand dollars in asset points.

As for the difficulty of the mission, Ma Zhaodi didn't dwell on it much. At any rate, its level of danger was definitely lower than the previous few.

Thinking thus, he paced around the street corners near the burned building ruins several times.

"Sigh, where's my car?"

Ma Zhaodi scratched his head and searched for a long time. However, the street corner was completely empty; forget the car, even the tire tracks had been completely buried by the swirling heavy snow. At that moment, Ma Zhaodi's composure cracked just a little.

"Wait a minute, buddy? Who the hell is so bold? My car has been parked here for so long that the gangsters wouldn't touch it, and the thieves wouldn't dare either—I could practically use it as a door-guard deity. Exactly which materialist stole it from me?"

"Aren't they afraid of a bloody disaster?"

Right at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught a familiar silhouette flashing across the road, its shape looking remarkably like his beloved car.

"No, holy crap! That's my car! This rebellious wretch has gained sentience and run away from home!"

He immediately broke into a sprint and charged forward. As it turned out, the car, which had looked as though it was about to stop at the street corner, seemed startled by his approach, revved its engine once more, and bolted down the street like a wisp of smoke.

"Where do you think you're running!"

***

At this moment, Ma Zhaodi was moving like the wind. The restorative effects of his healthy diet over recent times seemed to extend far beyond wound regeneration; even his physique was gradually returning to normal, no longer featuring the scrawny limbs he had possessed when he first arrived in Gotham, and even his mild myopia had completely vanished.

The muddy and slippery snow-covered roads made it impossible for the car to pick up much speed, which worked to his advantage during the chase. Man and car chased each other back and forth through the avenues of Gotham, while all the passersby looked on as Ma Zhaodi pursued the vehicle on foot, their expressions entirely unmoved, and some even wearing mocking smiles.

Very good, Gotham was still Gotham.

Yet Ma Zhaodi was no longer a newcomer to Gotham; he was no pushover. As he ran, he recorded every single passerby who had laughed in the system's memo pad.

"You'd better not show up at any banquet I cater, or you'll find out just how cruel the system's high-potency laxatives can be."

The chase lasted a full fifteen minutes. The car turned into a narrow alley and finally came to a halt inside. Following the tire tracks in the snow, Ma Zhaodi stumbled in, gasping for breath. At this point, his condition could hardly be described as half-dead; at the very least, it could be called the dregs of exhaustion.

Seeing the car in the alley, tears nearly welled up in his eyes, and the first thought that popped into his head wasn't "I finally caught it," but rather "I finally don't have to run anymore."

There was no helping it; his athletic ability had peaked in middle school, begun to decline in high school, and completely transformed into absolute trash by university.

Out of breath, he leaned against the car and weakly patted the window glass: "Well isn't this nice? The most useful thing in the house even knows to take the most useless thing in the house out for exercise—am I spoiling you too much?"

Yet it gave no response whatsoever to Ma Zhaodi's accusations.

Ma Zhaodi didn't press the matter further. He searched the mall, hoping to find something useful for dealing with spirits. However, when his gaze swept across the alley's ground, he noticed something seemed amiss, because the ground here looked as though it had been swept.

The technique was light, but the movements were too rushed. Ma Zhaodi was an amateur and couldn't track such traces, but he could still tell something was off.

No, my beloved car didn't turn into a spirit; someone really did steal it.

He opened the car door and, sure enough, saw the wires pulled out from inside.

"This person must be a beginner."

Thinking this, Ma Zhaodi grew less anxious. He rummaged through the mall, found a tracking skill, spent three thousand five hundred points to purchase intermediate tracking mastery, and spent ten dollars on a car repair kit. Basic driving mastery included a bit of vehicle repair knowledge, making this situation easy to handle.

He intended to track them down and see what kind of bold soul dared to steal his car.

***

In the white snow, a child hammered fiercely against an old, dilapidated sheet-iron door, looking anxious and glancing back over his shoulder from time to time.

"Open the door! It's Jason! Open the door!"

"Jason? Jason is back!"

Cheers immediately erupted from inside, and the clinking sound of chains rang out. The locking mechanism of this door seemed even more secure than its actual defensive capabilities.

Ten seconds later, the door finally opened, and a dirty little face poked out. Before he could even get a proper look, Jason shoved him back inside.

"Don't dawdle! Someone's going to catch up and see us!"

"Who's chasing you? Wait, didn't you go out to sell the car—"

His companion watched as Jason hurriedly secured the door with a rusted half-length iron chain, then looked him up and down. The boy's bright eyes instantly dimmed, and the question on his lips cut off abruptly.

"That car... didn't sell?"

Jason's movements paused. After locking the door, he avoided the other's gaze and walked straight ahead, but after taking only two steps, he abruptly stopped.

The drafty, dilapidated shack inside was patched with newspapers and wooden boards like a patchwork quilt, and melted snow occasionally leaked from the ceiling overhead. The room was packed tight with children—their faces sallow, thin, and emaciated, wearing tattered clothes—huddled together around a campfire for warmth. Right now, they were gazing with hopeful eyes at Jason, the smartest and sturdiest older boy.

Another slightly older child rushed excitedly to his side, hugging him and asking, "Jason, that car we stole last time, did it sell?"

Seeing the expectant gazes of his other companions, Jason felt as though he might squeeze blood from his fists. His lips trembled twice, and he didn't know what to say, because he knew everyone was counting on what he brought back today to eat their first meal in three days.

"It sold."

A man's voice suddenly rang out.

"Help open the door. I'm the cook he hired."