Chapter 3: Does Someone Really Rob a Pauper?

Ma Ma Zhaodi wandered aimlessly through the streets of Gotham; strangely, he had been drifting like this for twenty minutes yet hadn't encountered a single robber.

He even began to suspect he had arrived in a fake Gotham.

"Hey, friend."

Just as he thought this, a man wearing sunglasses, a face mask, and a hood, dressed in a hoodie, stopped him on the street.

Damn, finally found one, Ma Ma Zhaodi thought; whether he could scrape together his first pot of gold tonight depended entirely on this attempt.

Although begging might not count as getting rich through labor, it could at least help him buy some food, allowing him to save every possible penny from the system's funds.

In the next second, the man pulled a handgun from his waistband, pointed it directly at Ma Ma Zhaodi, and spoke with a fierce, high-pitched voice: "Cut the crap, hand over everything you have on you."

The voice was so loud that several passersby turned to glance, then quickened their pace and vanished down the street.

Staring into the dark muzzle of the gun, the words Ma Ma Zhaodi originally intended to beg for money suddenly stuck in his throat; damn it, the criminal caliber in Gotham City was too high, starting straight at the level of pulling out handguns.

Even if you had just pulled out a machete, I would at least have retained some courage to speak.

Ma Ma Zhaodi dared not look directly at the gun muzzle again; instead, he instinctively glanced at the upper right corner of his vision, where Rapid Health Regeneration and a Save Point remained, ready to activate and take effect at any time, but most importantly, about ten minutes of Safe Time remained, which restored a sliver of his rationality.

Seeing him hesitate without making a move, the man's voice grew even louder, escalating into a nearly hysterical scream: "I said! Hand over everything you have on you!"

The handgun thrust forward violently, almost pressing against Ma Ma Zhaodi's head; he instinctively shrank back a few steps, then froze in place, trembling as he reached his hand into his coat pocket.

Then he yanked out two turned-out, empty pockets, cleaner than his face.

The reason he said they were cleaner than his face was that Ma Ma Zhaodi felt he had stayed in Gotham City a bit too long, and stubble had already begun to sprout slightly on his cheeks.

"Are you fucking kidding me!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi could sense the robber opposite him rapidly heating up in anger, so despite his intense fear, the will to survive drove him to offer an explanation.

"It's not my fault I have no money; do you think I actually want to be a pauper?"

"Who are you calling a pauper!"

Damn it, how can someone have PTSD over those two words? I don't even react that strongly myself.

Cursing silently in his heart, Ma Ma Zhaodi felt his emotions settle slightly again; he reached toward his trouser pocket, saying, "Let me show you; my pants pockets are equally empty."

The man's gaze followed Ma Ma Zhaodi's hand; since the sunglasses made it difficult to see clearly at night, he had to free one hand to lift his glasses, warning, "I'm watching you; don't try any tricks."

Then he saw Ma Ma Zhaodi, playing no tricks, yank out two more turned-out, empty trouser pockets.

His voice even carried a hint of a sob: "You must be hiding something, damn it; take off your clothes! Let me search!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi offered no resistance, immediately removing his coat and holding his hands up flat.

If you can find even a single coin, I'll call you the God of Wealth right here on the spot.

The man searched for a long time but indeed found nothing; nearly despairing, he sat dumbly on the ground, ignoring Ma Ma Zhaodi beside him, lost in thought, and before long, he actually hugged his head and began to cry.

Ma Ma Zhaodi put his coat back on, sat beside him, and comforted, "It's okay; everyone has unlucky moments. If you really can't bear to go home empty-handed, I can give you my coat."

"Who the hell wants your coat!"

The man smashed the gun down, striking Ma Ma Zhaodi's arm painfully, then raised the weapon to aim at him again: "What does a pauper like you know! You won't even survive tonight!"

"I know you're a novice doing this for the first time; I've walked these streets for so long that every robber could tell I'm a penniless pauper with pockets cleaner than my face, yet you failed to notice."

The man's gun-wielding hand trembled twice, the tears in his eyes gradually turning into redness spreading across his face.

"You're robbing at night while wearing sunglasses, a face mask, and a hoodie, yet you're neither wearing gloves nor have you switched off the safety on your handgun, and your gun might not even be real. After restraining me, you didn't immediately drag me into an alley; your voice during the robbery was too loud, drawing excessive attention; you repeatedly extended the barrel too far forward, and when I reached for my pants pocket, your attention completely left the hand holding the gun, giving others far too many opportunities to disarm you."

"You fucking—"

"Your emotions aren't stable enough, and your plundering isn't thorough enough; a thief never leaves empty-handed. You could have taken my coat and other clothes, but you didn't; after a failed robbery, you could have left immediately, but you didn't do that either, instead sitting here crying."

"Shut your damn mouth!"

The man swung the gun stock again, but this time Ma Ma Zhaodi dodged.

"I know you're anxious, but calm down first; ordinary people don't just run out onto the street to commit robbery without cause, so something must have happened to you—what if I can help?"

The man didn't want to waste words with him; he holstered the handgun and wiped the tears from his face. As he removed his sunglasses, Ma Ma Zhaodi saw his bloodshot eyes, the dark bruises under them, and a mental state on the verge of collapse.

"Gotham City already has enough madmen; there's no need to add another one."

Speaking from behind him, Ma Ma Zhaodi continued, "You came out to rob money, meaning you lack funds; you used a fake gun, indicating you originally possessed a relatively high moral and educational standard; you've developed such severe dark circles from staying up late, showing that financial troubles have plagued you for a long time; the amount of money you need must not be small."

"You certainly can't rob a bank; that's business for super-criminals and gangs, and I don't recommend you get involved. Hitting the streets to test your luck is testing your luck, and testing your luck on me is also testing your luck; if you tell me your situation, perhaps I can help."

The man paused in his steps, his voice hoarse as he spoke again: "Why would you help me?"

"I don't help people for free; being new to Gotham City, I know no one and nowhere, I need a relatively reliable job, and I have nowhere to stay tonight. If I can't help you, we go our separate ways: you return to your home, and I sleep on the streets. If I can help you, we strike a deal immediately: I temporarily stay at your place to help you solve your problem, and you help me find a reliable job. Of course, an unreliable one is fine too, as long as it doesn't get me killed."

The man hesitated for a long time before finally turning around, walking back, and slowly sitting down beside Ma Ma Zhaodi.

"You're not from Gotham; I'll trust you once." He removed his glasses, staring blankly at Gotham's dark night sky, saying, "Anyway, I have no other options left."

(End of Chapter)