Chapter 1197

Under Bruce's slightly expectant gaze, Jason shook his head and said, "I don't know, I fell asleep when I heard that part."

Bruce was choked up; he felt a breath get stuck in his throat again, and a fishy, sweet taste kept rising up. He took a deep breath, looked at Jason, and said, "So you sleep in class too, is that it?"

"Aren't you the same?" Jason felt very surprised. He looked at Bruce with a surprised and puzzled expression and said, "Last time I went to deliver lesson plans to Professor Shiler, I saw you slumped over at the back desk, sleeping very soundly."

Bruce was speechless.

He suddenly discovered a very serious problem: he seemed to have no qualifications to demand that Dick achieve good grades.

Dick's grades in his class were considered middle-to-low, while Bruce was simply at the bottom of his class.

If one could explain it away during his freshman and sophomore years by saying Bruce wanted to disguise himself as a ne'er-do-well playboy, by his junior year, the Wei En Group had expanded many businesses and business was booming; the "ne'er-do-well" point could no longer be faked, as everyone knew he was a lucky business genius.

So at that time, Bruce should have been studying hard, but back then, he felt he was very busy, and his academic grades were not of great necessity to him, so he would occasionally choose to spend his rest time in the classroom.

"I am an adult, I can manage..." Bruce instinctively wanted to explain, but looking at Jason's gaze fixed on him, Bruce truly could not bring himself to say the second half of the sentence.

If, one day, Jason were caught sleeping in class by a teacher and the teacher asked him for a reason, and Jason told the teacher he could manage his work and study time, and the teacher asked him who he learned that from, things would be terrible.

"Why does Dick feel afraid?" Jason asked and answered himself: "There is another reason why children in their rebellious phase challenge authority: they want to know to what extent their parents will tolerate them."

"They believe that this degree represents the extent to which their parents love them. Their reason also knows this is excessive, but they cannot help it; they want to know if their parents will still love them after they move toward independence."

"They want to know what status family affection should occupy in the personality they are building for the future, and what position their parents should be placed in, and the basis for their judgment is their parents' reaction after they provoke authority."

"I shouldn't have scolded him, right?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know either." Jason shook his head again. He thought for a while and continued: "But I think Dick's behavior might be because his previous mental trauma hasn't healed yet."

"If a lunatic ran into my dream and kidnapped me, and even cut off my ears, and I couldn't resist, only able to watch him hurt me, and no one came to save me, this desperate scene would make me have nightmares for at least half a year." A rare flash of fear crossed Jason's face.

Bruce pursed his lips, revealing a look of guilt. He said in a low tone, "Last night, I shouldn't have blamed Dick, but I was too angry at the time."

"You said it yourself, you are an adult, you have the ability to manage everything." Jason shrugged lightly, glanced into the room, and continued: "But it's not too late now; you can go keep Dick company and let him know that those terrible things that happened in his dream aren't real."

Bruce stood up and walked slowly into the room, but Dick started trembling all over again, or else he would stare blankly and shed tears. Bruce stood in the center of the room, not knowing whether he should approach.

After a while, he walked out anyway, called Alfred over, and coaxed Dick to sleep.

Bruce lay on the bed in the bedroom, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, with chaotic thoughts filling his mind.

During the day, the emotion called anger would be brewed in the darkness of the night into a glass of wine called grievance, but if there was no one to confide in, one would have to pour countless sorrows into the wine glass, and then blend it into loneliness.

Loneliness is a bitter wine that is hard to drink; all the flavors tasted from it are nothing but the self-consolation of a pitiful person. Even if one has drunk it many times, when swallowing it, one still wants to pick out a word or two from the drunken, insane ramblings to ask the heavens why it is so unfair.

Bruce held back a heart full of worries; no matter how he adjusted his emotions, he could not fall asleep, but this was not because of disappointment; perhaps it was precisely because he felt hope, because he had seen Thomas today.

Thinking of that tall figure, Bruce imagined him even stronger in his mind. The days and nights he had once spent with Thomas replayed constantly in his mind, making him sit up from the bed.

Standing in front of the bedroom window, Bruce could not suppress the impulse in his heart. He put on his clothes as fast as he could, not even having time to put on Batman's gear, and just like that, he rushed into the rainy night of Cat Getan.

He kept leaping through the dark city, his speed getting faster and faster, his blood getting hotter and hotter, until white mist rose from his body due to the temperature. Standing at the top of the building, Bruce was panting more violently than ever before.

Bruce knew that exhausting his physical strength to this extent was extremely unwise; the fishy, sweet taste brought up by his breathing and the pain in his lungs were both reminding him that if a dangerous criminal approached him now, he would be finished.

But what made him feel more terrified than this fact was that after he circled the city, he did not find that figure.

Panicked, disappointed, and carrying a bit of wishful thinking, Bruce finally turned around, intending to leave, and mocked himself in his heart, thinking that his emotional madness was useless for anything other than increasing the possibility of a fever.

But just then, Bruce turned his head and, through the hazy halo of light blurred by the rainwater on his eyelashes, saw a figure standing at the top of the Wei En building, so tall and strong, like a high mountain.

As if guided by something, Bruce walked toward that direction until he reached the back of that figure.

Before he could even open his mouth to ask, the person opposite had already taken off his mask; it was his father, Thomas Wei En, whom Bruce had dreamed of for countless days and nights.

But the scene of father and son reuniting had not a shred of warmth; Thomas appeared too old and weary, while Bruce was frantic and fragile.

The emotional fluctuations of the past few days had stretched Bruce's heartstrings to the limit.

The questions and grievances in his heart all turned into a burst of anger; he wanted to demand an explanation for the hysterical sorrow of the past and the loneliness of so many years.

"Swish, swish, swish!"

After the initial cold glint, when the Batarang spun, the first things to be sliced were the fine lines of rain, and then it returned to extreme speed, passing by Thomas's graying hair at his temples with the force of a thunderbolt, the bright blade reflecting the wrinkles at the corners of his aging father's eyes.

"This is you, Batman." Thomas said: "When reuniting with your own father, you choose to attack him; such a heartless monster should not exist at all."

The moment the Batarang was thrown, Bruce already regretted it, but Thomas's attitude angered him even more. He stared fixedly into Thomas's eyes and said, "You lied to me, and you abandoned me."

"You have no patience to investigate the facts, relying only on your narrow delusions, pushing all responsibility onto others." Thomas said: "But this is also my responsibility; in the days I was away, you did not receive enough education, nor did you receive any lessons."

"And now, I have returned to correct all these mistakes, Bruce; I will kill Batman and make you walk back onto the right path."

The moment the words fell, the black figure leaned forward. Bruce did not show any weakness, raising his arms to block in front of him. After blocking Thomas's punch, he turned and elbowed; Thomas bent over to dodge, then threw another punch.

Bruce sidestepped, dodging his punch in the simplest way, but the next second, a cold light flashed in Thomas's eyes. He stepped forward, his right foot stepping on the ground between Bruce's legs, and flicked it lightly to the right, causing Bruce to stagger.

Thomas took the opportunity to step forward, stretched out his arm to choke Bruce's neck from behind, slammed him onto the ground, and punched him in the cheekbone.

This punch was heavy; Bruce felt dizzy almost instantly, a sharp buzzing sound rang in his ears, his tongue scraped against his teeth to the side, cutting a large gash, and fresh blood flowed out along his lips.

Thomas knelt halfway on Bruce, choked his neck, and punched him again. Bruce let out a dying gasp, and more blood spilled from his mouth.

Thomas stood up slowly. The black mist brought by the bouts of dizziness made Bruce only able to see his figure clearly through the haze, still as tall and strong, still as perfectly suited to the Cat Getan night as ever.

"You are not... Thomas..."

"I am."

Thomas squatted down again, grabbed Bruce's jaw tightly with one hand, straightened his head, forced him to look at himself, and said: "The ignorance and shallowness caused by the lack of education have made you do all sorts of wrong things, wasting your life in places where it shouldn't be wasted, and since I have such an opportunity to reverse all this... you had better do as I say, otherwise, I will make you learn your lesson."

Thomas flung Bruce's face away. After standing up, he stepped on Bruce's chest, then threw the mask he had taken off onto Bruce, saying:

"Do you think I'm crazy? But this is the price of being Batman; I have worn away all my patience and emotions, turning myself into a heartless, violent law-enforcement machine."

"If you want the patient explanations and warm reunions you desire, take off that ridiculous uniform; I will not allow my son to become Batman."

"In order to prevent those terrible tragedies from repeating themselves on you, I will use every means; today is just the beginning."

Thomas lifted his foot, but the next second he stepped heavily on Bruce's chest, and the sound of ribs breaking was clearly audible even in the rain.

Bruce clutched his chest, breathing rapidly, emitting a dying groan.

He was trying to convince himself that it was only because he was unwilling to attack Thomas that he had fallen into such a miserable situation, but his reason told him that he truly could not beat Thomas; even if he were fully armed in his uniform, he would not be his match.

But the moment he learned this fact, what rose in Bruce was not fear, but boundless anger.

Thomas turned around, wanting to leave, but Bruce, still clutching his injured chest, squeezed a sentence out from his throat.

"Only a loser would view his own life as a tragedy; you are not only a failure, but also despicable, making me feel ashamed... ugh!"

A Batarang pierced Bruce's shoulder blade, and the rain lines carried fresh red blood onto the cold ground. Bruce struggled, wanting to crawl up from the ground, but Thomas looked back at him and said:

"I am a failed father, and you are the same; you will only bring pain to your children."

Instantly, Bruce's arm became limp, and he fell back onto the ground, watching with unfocused eyes as the blood from his mouth and nose dripped into a puddle, staining everything a bloody red.