r18novel Page 1390
Page 1390
Batman muttered to himself.
"Hello, Bruce." As Superman landed in front of him, his bright red cape, which looked out of place in the cave, fluttered gently. Superman smiled and said to him, "I heard you haven't celebrated Christmas since I left all these years, is that right?"
"Did Alfred say that?" Batman asked in a low voice. He hadn't taken off his mask yet, which meant his voice adapter was malfunctioning.
“It’s me, sir.” Alfred appeared between the two men just in time, carrying a tray and a strong coffee. “I’m the one who invited Mr. Clark, because I don’t think anyone else can change your stubbornness on the Christmas issue.”
“I was only planning to bring one Christmas tree,” Superman explained, “but I realized it’s too small for your cave, and it wouldn’t be visible anywhere. So…”
“So you brought a dozen,” Batman looked at him incredulously. “What a brilliant idea. Can you come up with your own super brain?”
“Come on, tell me the truth, Bruce.” Superman clasped his hands together. “You have to admit, these decorations make your cave more festive. I always thought it was too lifeless, and given the owner’s naturally stern nature… it doesn’t do you any good.”
"It helps me concentrate, it lets me focus on my work." Batman gave a cold snort. "Thanks to you, my current work environment is filled with glittering pendants and Christmas lights. I have a few things to do right now..."
“And I’m certain that no problem requires such an urgent solution, sir,” Alfred interrupted. “If you could see your next guest—perhaps she could change your mind.”
Batman wanted to say something, but upon seeing his daughter, he swallowed his words. Strangely, Helena didn't hide behind a cape, mask, and tight-fitting combat suit. Instead, she changed into a casual jacket and jeans like an ordinary girl, her smooth black hair hanging down her back, as if she had transformed back into a young girl the moment she appeared before her father.
Batman frowned the moment he saw her: his daughter was the only blunder in the Dark Knight's formidable mental defenses. He removed his mask and, using his normal voice after his voice-changing system malfunctioned, softly called out, "Helena."
“Hi, Dad,” Helena waved to him habitually, even a little awkwardly. She went up to her father and gave him a warm hug, whispering in his ear, “Merry Christmas.”
Superman watched this scene with a smile, relieved, and quietly took a step back. Alfred handed him a candy cane, and the big blue guy unhesitatingly tore open the wrapper and stuffed it into his mouth, the open part looking like a loose mustache.
Chapter 1738 Father
Metropolis, late at night.
Since the Reynolds family only had two bedrooms and two beds, one for the Reynolds couple and the other for Xu Fu, Xu Fu very kindly gave his bed to Kara, making room for their rare guest to sleep, while he himself went to the living room to lie on the sofa.
“Actually, your bed is quite big.” Mr. Reynolds raised an eyebrow, half-jokingly. “I think you could use this bed.”
“No, no, I… I slept on the sofa,” Xu Fu said breathlessly. Joking aside, although their relationship was progressing quite quickly, it was still a bit too early. He glanced at Kara and found her cheeks were as red as ripe apples, and the unstable, rapid heartbeat in his exceptionally sharp ears sounded like pounding drums.
Surprisingly, she didn't object at all, which meant...
Xu Fu slowed his pace before his thoughts wandered into a forbidden zone. He shook his head, preventing his thoughts from straying any further. Whether from the perspective of their relationship or from his own, it was still a bit early, and considering he had only been in a relationship for less than six months, it was best not to think too much.
Mrs. Reynolds took out a thick red and white blanket from the wardrobe, which was specially prepared for Carla. She carefully spread the blanket on the bed and said that the temperature had been very low recently. If you were cold, just let her know and she would give you another one.
Kara politely thanked her. Xu Fu pulled his mother aside and reminded her that Kara, like him, was usually insensitive to temperature changes. If the temperature dropped to the point where she felt cold, it would be a real "disaster."
Xu Fu said goodnight to Kara while making himself comfortable, then turned off the light and closed the door. In the darkness after the lights were off, Kara sat alone on the edge of the bed in her bathrobe, curiously looking around Xu Fu's bedroom.
Neither the darkness nor the closet door could obstruct her magnificent view. Peeking into the desk, she saw over a dozen medals and certificates Xu Fu had received from junior high to the present, along with love letters from girls in his class, clubs, and even girls he had no connection with… it was astonishing. It's no exaggeration to say that the love letters he received could practically be bound into a book.
Kara was taken aback; she hadn't expected the boy to be so popular.
Then she noticed a black-covered book sitting quietly on the table at the foot of the bed, the contents of which were invisible to her X-ray vision.
Was the packaging paper soaked in lead? Who would put lead in the book cover?
Has this thing been here all day? It doesn't remind me of anything at all.
Curious, she picked up the book: the cover was completely black, with nothing on it, but when she opened it, the paper was a slightly darker color. Her body instinctively felt something strange, as if an indescribable chill had crept up her spine, but she didn't know where it came from.
Perhaps this is just an illusion.
Kara instinctively flipped through the book; the title page read "The Last Story." She continued turning the pages, and as she read a few more lines, her pupils contracted sharply, as if she had seen something terrifying and unusual. After a moment, her gaze became blank.
Wayne House in Gotham City
This may be the first time in six years that the Wayne family’s long dining table has been used. Before this, the owners had almost always eaten their meals in a dark, sunless cave underground.
Alfred was also in exceptionally good spirits. He prepared a more elaborate meal than usual, as if he wanted to use up all the ingredients in the refrigerator for the entire year. Bruce, Helena, and Clark sat at the back of the table. Behind Bruce hung a family portrait from his childhood; his father, Thomas Wayne, sat in an armchair by the fireplace, with his wife, Martha Wayne, and young Bruce beside him. Thomas's dark eyes reflected the warm glow of the fireplace, as if he were looking at the framed picture on the table, his gaze filled with warmth and contentment.
From the moment Clark sat down at the table, his mouth barely moved. While stuffing himself with the exquisite dishes Alfred had prepared, he still managed to find time to tell Helena stories of her father's youth. When he recounted a charity event where orphanage children played a treasure hunt at the Justice League Watchtower, she made no attempt to hide her astonishment.
“Am I mistaken, or was my father more talkative when he was younger?” She looked at Bruce incredulously. “Do you approve of this plan?”
“No,” Bruce scoffed, “but the league voted six to one, so my word doesn’t count.”
“You’re too callous; nobody agrees.” Clark grinned, waving a spoon across a plate of Sultan rice pudding, and continued, “We hid the Flash’s badge, my cape, the Green Lantern’s ring, Aquaman’s trident, and a whole bunch of other stuff in the watchtower. The kids were thrilled; they had a blast that day. But in the end, the hardest item won.”
Clark deliberately kept everyone in suspense. He scooped up a spoonful of pudding, glanced at Bruce, who gave a soft hum.
Clark ate his pudding and said with a smile, "You'd never guess that the person who won in the end had a picture of Batman smiling in his camera."
"Are you kidding me?" Helena laughed, imagining all of this. She couldn't help but turn her gaze to her father. Before Bruce could ask another question, she said with a wry smile, "When you showed me the event plan before, this wasn't in it. Whose idea was this?"
“It was The Flash’s idea.” Clark seemed unable to suppress his laughter either. “But can you blame us? We all thought it was a good idea. If you had known earlier, you wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Barry, I knew Bruce would say that he always has that kind of thinking.”
“Yes, he always does,” Clark repeated, but unconsciously put down his spoon, his voice broken.
The atmosphere grew somewhat heavy. Helena realized that they were thinking of their former comrades-in-arms again.
“Barry, Hal, Diana, Ron, and Arthur,” Bruce whispered. “They were all the elite of the elite, the best warriors, the most reliable shields in the world. Looking back, Clark, how many good men are left?”
After a pause, he said expressionlessly, "Sometimes I feel like this world is becoming more and more like Gotham."
"But we are still here, Bruce. The world is still burning with new flames; it has not lost hope."
Bruce chuckled softly, “Clark Kent, you always see the bright side of things.”
“You’re always prepared for the bad side,” Clark raised his glass. “To those who aren’t here.”
Bruce and Helena also raised their glasses, "To those who are not here."
After finishing his drink, Clark wiped his mouth, pushed back his chair, and stood up. "Alright, I think I should go back to the farm. There's a gift-giving opening ceremony tomorrow." As he passed her, he gently patted Helena's head again. He was probably one of the few people in the world who could pat Helena's head without making her angry. Then he said, "Next time I'll tell you more about your father. Believe me, I know a lot more stories he didn't want you to know."
· ·Requesting flowers····· ·······
If you continue to spout nonsense about my daughter Clark Kent, I'll have to impose a curfew on you coming and going from the Wayne house.
No, you didn't.
After hearing the last sentence, Clark grinned, then darted out of the restaurant window like a gust of wind, skimmed across the snow, and flew away from Wayne Manor.
So only the father and daughter were at the dinner table.
To put it bluntly, watching the father and daughter sit quietly at the table with their two plates of food, struggling to utter superfluous syllables, was undeniably awkward. In public social situations, Bruce and Helena are both eloquent social butterflies, but they are better at playing the role required by the task at hand in appropriate settings. When they need to remove their masks and speak frankly, they both awkwardly realize their lack of eloquence.
Perhaps this is a genetic trait inherited from both father and daughter.
"How's work?" Bruce asked coldly, taking a bite of gingerbread.
Helena suddenly glanced in her father's direction, and when she received a look from him, she realized he was trying to strike up a conversation.
"It's fine, there's nothing wrong with it."
0...
“I heard your new boss is Amanda Waller,” Bruce said. “You’d better watch out. I’ve looked into her background; she’s no pushover.”
Helena raised an eyebrow: "Are you investigating my boss? Are you secretly spying on me?"
If someone else had asked him, Bruce would undoubtedly have denied that he had been secretly watching over her. But considering that the question was from his own daughter, he hesitated only for a moment before admitting, "Yes, I have never stopped caring about you, Helena."
Helena felt an indescribable warmth in her heart when her father confessed his love to her. She smiled gently: "Don't worry too much, I'm a grown woman now, Dad. You know I can take care of myself."
“Yes, I know,” Bruce said affectionately, reaching out to stroke her smooth, dark hair. “I’ve been training you to see your actions… I think you’re really ready.”
Helena was stunned: "What are you planning to do?"
Bruce lowered his head slightly, looking sullen for a long time, seemingly choosing his words. Then he said, "Although I'm reluctant to admit it, and reluctant to tell anyone, ... I really am getting older every day, it's inevitable. I'm becoming more and more lethargic, and perhaps soon I won't be able to pick up my battle robes anymore."
Helena wanted to say something, but he waved her off. "I didn't want you to go down this path, Helena. I wanted you to be someone different from me. But you chose your own cloak and became better than I was at your age, and I'm proud of that. So I thought: ...if in the near future I can no longer take care of Gotham... you can inherit my cloak and take my place."
This request came so suddenly, so very suddenly. Helena was stunned for a moment, even forgetting to answer.
“Of course you can refuse. You can choose your own path.” Bruce looked at her gently. “You should know that no matter what you choose… I will support you, and I will always be proud of you.”
Helena stared blankly into her father's eyes, his eyes already lined with wrinkles, his steel-blue eyes seeming to hold the scars of time. Tears welled up in her eyes involuntarily, and she unconsciously tilted her head back to wipe them away.
"You're shameless, Helena Wayne," she said to herself. The last time she cried was six years ago when her mother died, and today was the first time she had shed tears in six years.
Chapter 1739 The Writer
One dinner was all Helena had left for her entire Christmas holiday. After having dinner with her father at Wayne Manor, Helena left that very night to return to her work. Bruce didn't linger for long either.
In the early hours of the morning, while most children in Gotham City were dreaming of Santa Claus, Helena flew off the roof and fell into a residential area of Ricks Heights.
She rolled onto the snow-covered rooftop and answered her partner Cisco's call through the earpiece under her mask. About half a minute later, Cisco's voice came through the other end, accompanied by rock music that sounded like it was coming from surround sound.
“A huntress?” Cisco asked in surprise. “Is it urgent?”
“No, remember I told you I was going to find out the origins of the leader of the Knights? I suspect he’s from Gotham, from Rix Heights, and might be an author named Wesley Degren. I’m in Gotham right now, heading to his former residence to investigate, and I need your logistical support.”
"Wait, wait, wait! I thought you went back to Gotham for Christmas!"
“Yes, but I’ve quit.” Helena said, unfolding her cloak so she could slip off and slide onto the balcony of the building across the street. Then she climbed up to the roof on all fours. “Now I can finally do some research on ‘063’.”
"So you only have a few hours until Christmas. Never mind, never mind."
Cisco was remarkably efficient; the background rock music around him quickly faded, making it seem as if he might be trapped in a soundproof room. After a moment, he turned back and said, “Wesley DeGlen, I know him. Bestselling author, mostly children's books, wrote for several major magazines, but not very successfully. His wife and son died in an accident two years ago, and he hasn't published a book since. Six months ago, he completely disappeared, and no one has seen him since. But a friend who knew him said that for a while after the accident, he was obsessed with the occult.”
“Mysticism.” Helena repeated, frowning slightly. “I hate that word.”
"Agreed," Cisco agreed.
As they spoke, Helena found the house where Wesley DiGeron had lived before he disappeared. She jumped from the roof onto the balcony, opened the windows that were frozen shut, and slipped inside, brushing the ice and snow off the windowsill.