Chapter 166: The Blood-Red Question Mark

By the time Ma Ma Zhaodi came out of the hospital, it was already noon.

"Nice weather today, too," Ma Ma Zhaodi said, looking up at a cloudless sky — a sight he had never seen in the other Gotham.

He took out a business card and, by the sunlight, read the name and phone number printed on it. A lightly injured comedian who had already regained consciousness had given it to him in the ward. Knowing Ma Ma Zhaodi had no fixed residence in Gotham yet, the man had handed him the card.

This comedian rented a place in the East End, and the place he rented was one of the relatively safe spots in the East End — hard to move into without an introduction.

Ma Ma Zhaodi learned that he was a widowed single father, raising a son on his own, along with his own elderly mother. Every day he performed with all his heart, seizing every chance to make money, single-handedly raising his son to the age of thirteen, while his old mother was already seventy. He could not help but feel genuine admiration.

He gave the man some money as thanks. The man looked very conflicted, but in the end accepted it, appearing deeply ashamed. But Ma Ma Zhaodi felt that he had only taken the money for the sake of his son and mother — with the extra burden of medical bills, he was already on the verge of breaking.

To die proudly for one's beliefs, or to live tenaciously for others — both require immense courage.

There were many others in the ward too: good men telling jokes to earn a living and support their families; dreamers, destitute and down on their luck, chasing the comedy dream; or simply people trying to get by in Gotham — men, women, those with families, those who were single.

They were all immensely grateful to Ma Ma Zhaodi. Ma Ma Zhaodi felt he was not the kind of hero they imagined, but he was also a little glad, because he had saved many people who were trying hard to keep living in Gotham.

Amid the thanks, he instinctively recalled the night he had first arrived in Gotham by train — back then, he too had nowhere to go, no home to return to. Back then, he too had run into someone trying hard to live; back then, he had helped that person too, and received their repeated thanks, along with a great deal of help — including that place to stay in the East End.

The people in the ward reminded him very much of those two friends he had not seen in a long time, which gave him an inexplicable sense of joy at reuniting with old acquaintances.

"I wonder how Drake and Camilla are doing over in Metropolis."

A moment later, Ma Ma Zhaodi snapped out of his reverie. He memorized the name and phone number on the card, hailed a taxi with a wave, and only after subconsciously confirming that the driver was normal did he get in.

"Mr., I want to go to the East End."

"No problem, Mr., which street are you headed to."

The taxi started up, and the voices of the two people inside gradually faded away, finally disappearing around the street corner.

"All officers near Gotham Hospital, all officers near Gotham Hospital — the criminal Riddler has just escaped from Gotham Hospital. His whereabouts are currently unknown. One doctor and two nurses at the hospital have been seriously injured and have now been sent into emergency surgery."

By this time, Ma Ma Zhaodi had already entered the East End and found the landlord, completely unaware that the moment he had left the hospital, the Riddler had escaped right behind him.

Sheriff Gordon, who had been busy the entire previous day, once again had no time to rest. He and several officers immediately rushed to the hospital to investigate the Riddler's escape.

"Sheriff Gordon, the Riddler seems to have vanished the moment he stepped outside. We can't determine his route or destination."

Walking down the hospital corridor, Gordon listened to the officer's report and could not help but sigh. This was already the third time the police had been outfoxed by the Riddler. Fortunately, the previous two times a rookie had bailed them out and managed to catch him — but that wasn't because Gordon's command ability was strong enough, only because the rookie's luck was good enough.

"What about the three hospital staff he attacked during his escape? How are they?"

"The attacked doctor and nurses were discovered early, and since it happened inside the hospital, they received treatment right away. They've just been confirmed out of life-threatening danger."

"That's a blessing in disguise."

Gordon sighed, then led the other officers into the hospital's surveillance room.

"Pull up the surveillance? Sheriff Gordon?"

"Yes, the usual routine. Just hand the footage over to me."

The security guard nodded. Gotham was a place where the public morals were, shall we say, honest and simple — crimes occurring inside hospitals were hardly uncommon. Sheriff Gordon had dealt with the hospital's upper management many times. For this major and vicious incident, the upper management had already briefed those below, telling them not to refuse Sheriff Gordon's request to pull surveillance.

Gordon took out a USB drive, and the security guard took it smoothly, copying all the footage of the Riddler from admission to escape — two days' worth — onto it.

"Here you go, Sheriff Gordon."

"Thank you."

Gordon opened the laptop he carried with him. Going back to the precinct to review it might cost some time, so he planned to extract the main leads here first.

"What is loved more than life itself, yet feared more than a violent death?"

A figure in a green suit stood before the window. The reflection on the glass revealed a man's face — gloomy, indifferent, with a faint undercurrent of anger.

His tone was icy, as though posing riddles to his own reflection in the glass, one after another.

And on the floor behind him, fresh red blood had spread wide; three figures lay collapsed in the pool of blood.

"What is it that the contented man desires, yet the poor possess and the rich lack?"

His suit jacket hung open at the chest, revealing the lines of his torso muscles, and most striking of all was that conspicuous smear of blood just above his lower abdomen — a savage, terrifying circular wound clearly visible.

The wound, which had originally been stitched shut, had torn open again from the violent exertion just now, but Nigma did not seem to care, letting the blood flow freely from it.

"What is it that the miser spends freely, and the spendthrift hoards? What is it that everyone takes with them into the grave?"

He took out a small knife and carved a graceful three-quarter arc across his own chest, joining with the circular wound below to form the shape of a question mark.

The sharp blade parted the skin, then severed the clearly textured muscle, and finally sliced through tiny blood vessels — and so the question mark on his chest immediately began to bleed fresh red.

"The answer is, of course — nothing."

Using the fresh blood from his chest, he wrote three large question marks on the fallen doctor and nurses, then strolled out of the ward.

Or rather, walked out of the camera's surveillance frame.

At this point, Sheriff Gordon pressed pause, and wearily rubbed his brow.

"Nigma's criminal style is still the same as ever — he loves leaving riddles at the crime scene. But the priority now is finding him. I think the surveillance footage can probably be used for conviction, but it won't be of much help in catching him."

At that moment, Sheriff Gordon's phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Sheriff Gordon, a citizen has reported that news of the Riddler has surfaced again."

Gordon instinctively glanced out the window. It was nearly afternoon, and the sun was at its peak.

"What news?"

"A blood-red question mark has appeared on the wall of Gotham Square."

(End of chapter)