Chapter 170: The Long Easter (Five)

"First, I need to tell you that, as you guessed, your base has now become a completely sealed environment—like a can."

"And the oxygen inside the can is limited. How many of you are there? Hmm? I'd guess at least twenty?"

"At that number, the current oxygen supply will last you no more than three hours."

"You thought you hid your base well, but we discovered it long ago."

"And just as you suspected, this is a premeditated trap—and now, I'm going to play a game with you."

"An oxygen pipe leads into this can, but the outlet is hidden inside the walls. You must dig through the walls yourselves to find it—otherwise, in three hours, the oxygen will be completely gone."

Tomato Free Reading

"Even owls need to breathe, don't they?"

The woman wearing the bird-shaped mask began to tremble slightly, but the voice from the radio did not stop; everyone heard him say: "Don't imagine your companions or the assassins you've trained will come to save you. Based on the thickness and hardness of the ice surrounding you, no person—or machine—can reach you within three hours."

The recording's voice grew rhythmic and cadenced, echoing through the conference room, darker and more terrifying than the nursery rhymes spread by the Owl Court.

"Once, you stood atop Gotham's skyscrapers, looking down on the masses, watching suffering civilians dig in the earth for food to fill their bellies."

"Later, you hid underground, gazing up at countless pairs of ordinary, scarred feet rushing desperately for survival."

"Now, you will taste the flavor of earning your survival with your own hands."

They heard the recording's voice soften, almost tender, like a dream's whisper: "... y little birds, dig. To gain even the most common, worthless breath of air, break your fingers."

"Or, offer your deaths as sacrifice for Gotham's resurrection."

When the voice ended, someone in the conference room finally broke. A masked man, trembling all over, hurled the recorder across the room—it crashed to the floor. The others watched his frantic act in silence.

"... re we really going to dig?" The woman's voice trembled. "We have no tools. How are we supposed to break through these walls...?"

"We're trapped! If we don't dig, we'll suffocate!"

"But what if he's lying?" A hoarse voice said.

"But if we just sit here, we'll die! This is a carefully laid trap—they won't spare us!"

"Do you expect me to dig through these bricks with my fingers?!" Another man shouted, then stood up, waving his bulky arms. "I'm one of the Thirteen Jury members—and the most senior! My family is too! You all dig! I order you!"

Others rose to argue. One said: "My family is the richest now—you should be the ones digging!"

Another said: "The physically strong should dig!"

"Why should I?"

"It's your fault! You should go!"

"You too..."

In the pause between their bickering, silence suddenly fell for several seconds.

Clearly, someone among them had thought of a better way to extend their lives than digging through walls.

In Gotham Police Department's office, everyone fell silent. Gordon shivered, looking at Shi Ler: "I think the Owl Court's problem might not be so serious after all—the real problem is..."

"You didn't plan this from the start, did you?" Victor also turned to Shi Ler.

Shi Ler rolled his eyes. "I was lying to them. How the hell would I know where their hidden bases are? Do you think I'd go through the trouble of laying an oxygen pipe for them?"

"Enough about that. The next step is negotiation. Detective Gordon, didn't you say a few crime bosses are especially stubborn and love to bargain with police?"

"Don't remind me," Gordon rubbed his temples. "Just mentioning them gives me a headache."

"Then it's settled. Have them take turns arguing with the Owl Court. Tell them: if they pay, we'll raise their compensation by five percent."

"Sss..." Gordon sucked in a sharp breath. "The Owl Court will be stripped bare!"

Then Gordon clicked his tongue. "I still think you planned this all along."

"Would you like to hear a fairy tale?" Shi Ler smiled, winking.

"Once, there was a flock of little birds with golden feathers. Poor little birds, careless, fell into a hunter's hands. They begged for mercy and offered to pluck out their precious feathers in exchange for freedom..."

Shi Ler suddenly changed the subject. "What are you planning to eat for Easter?"

He answered himself: "I'm having roast chicken."

Overnight, the next morning, headlines across every newspaper screamed: GOTHAM SUFFERS MASSIVE TERRORIST ATTACK.

Mayor Luo Yi wept publicly at the press conference, condemning the terrorists' casualties and blaming the Lianbangzheng Prefecture for failing its security duties, calling Gotham "the abandoned city."

Images of collapsed buildings, shattered streets, flooded shops, and ice-encased cars spread widely. The Owl Court became universally reviled as cruel terrorists.

Confusing news reports piled up. Casualty figures ballooned—from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands. By the end, rumors claimed nearly half of Gotham's citizens were dead or injured.

Yet strangely, faster than any rescue operation, fundraising campaigns began. Every major newspaper published donation channels. Within a week before Easter, Gotham hosted dozens of charity galas.

On a cold Saturday morning, reports on the mayor's office desk fluttered gently with the breeze outside.

Thin pages turned one by one, numbers climbing higher—until a stamp clicked firmly down. Luo Yi raised his hand and handed the report to his subordinate. "Happy Easter."

As he spoke, the branches outside began to grow. Tender green buds unfurled from every joint. Gotham's largest reconstruction in history had begun.

Previously, Gotham's renovations were patchwork: empty space? Build a warehouse. Another empty space? Open a station. This haphazard rebuilding drove Gotham University's urban planning professors mad—it was the least effective method. But back then, they had no better option.

This time was different. A wave of flooding followed by freezing turned water into ice, expanding in volume and cracking nearly all surface layers. Without repairs, no vehicle could pass.

Even those unwilling to surrender their territory had no choice. Roads were destroyed beyond walking. Refuse reconstruction, and you'd starve at home.

The damage was done. To keep living, you had to rebuild.

Overnight, Gotham's unemployment rate dropped nearly to zero. Everywhere needed labor: rebuilding sewers, repairing roads and collapsed homes, constructing new logistics facilities under the new plan...

It seemed irrational—no output in the short term, yet massive labor costs required. The upfront investment was astronomical.

But thanks to the already stripped Owl Court, those imprisoned fools, desperate to survive, wept as they plucked every last feather from their bodies, funding Gotham's reconstruction. Even without immediate profit, the project could continue.

With money and manpower secured, reconstruction proceeded smoothly. And the underground ice brought more than one benefit.

Gotham, a coastal city, had a humid monsoon climate—distinct seasons: cold winters, hot summers.

In April, temperatures had normally risen sharply, entering summer. But the massive underground ice layer altered local climate, dropping Gotham's average temperature by more than ten degrees—back to early winter.

Gotham citizens struggled to adapt. Cold-related illnesses surged.

But some people were desperately seeking cooler places.

The East Coast wasn't all like Gotham. Some regions were already scorching by April. To escape the heat, they had to travel farther north. Now, Gotham was the nearest cool city.

Of course, they dared not visit Gotham itself. But Gotham's climate shift affected nearby areas—like Broodhaven. Suddenly, Broodhaven's tourism boomed.

Broodhaven was nearly knocked out by the falling pie.

It was just a small town, too close to Gotham to attract outsiders, so development remained low. It retained natural countryside scenery and, unlike Gotham, rarely rained.

Since Gotham's climate changed, Broodhaven enjoyed bright days and cool breezes at dawn and dusk—comfortable, drawing tourists from surrounding cities.

Because Broodhaven was so close to Gotham, news from Gotham arrived instantly.

But these tourists saw not a city of murders and daily bloodshed. All reports from Gotham summed up to two words: short-staffed.

As mentioned, Gotham's residents were numerous but idle, with abysmal work efficiency. Even with full employment, rebuilding the city was still insufficient.

Though a metropolis, Gotham had few migrant workers. In this era of infrastructure overhaul, labor shortage became the biggest bottleneck. Crime bosses scrambled for workers, offering high wages to hire outsiders.

As the saying goes: in a big forest, any bird can be found. Among so many people, a few dared to risk their lives and come to Gotham for work.

They weren't just curious—they were drawn by the absurdly high pay. Since the money came from the Owl Court's plucked feathers, the gangs spent it without regret. Wages kept rising, paid daily. Who could resist?

Outsiders arriving in Gotham found it unlike their expectations. They'd imagined a city of daily gunfights and looting. Instead, they discovered Gotham had order.

Compared to other regions, Gotham was strange—its enforcers were crime bosses: brutal, aggressive, inventive, erratic. But violent order was still order.

As the entire city entered a feverish frenzy of building a bigger pie, many flaws of violent order faded. What remained were astonishing strengths: efficiency and stability.

Calling such a city "stable" sounded absurd—but it was true. Outsiders found the crime bosses' order genuinely stable—at least while funds flowed and everyone had work.

The world never lacked desperate men willing to risk their lives for money. News of Gotham's wealth spread fast. Many began moving, hoping to strike it rich.

Increasing numbers of outsiders drew attention to Gotham's internal situation. The city's mysterious veil slowly lifted. Media and newspapers began featuring Gotham.

Many saw it as a bloodthirsty wasteland. Others called it a criminal capital. But more saw, in these reports, a chaotic yet wealthy metropolis.

Its crime lords drove luxury cars, smoked cigars, tossed stacks of cash from rooftops. Rock singers belted heavy metal amid falling money. Behind them, chaotic, dazzling graffiti. Neon lights reflected on endless traffic. Crowds screamed wildly on sidewalks...

Like Shi Ler, people realized: this wasn't just a city of crime—it was a city of genius. A city of evil, and also of art.

No city in the world had Gotham's absurd, bizarre beauty. It was soil for performance art, a paradise for misunderstood madmen.

Many found resonance in this aura. They tried to deconstruct the city's origins and current state—and were infected by its overflowing madness, becoming spiritual residents of the criminal metropolis.

Artists worshipped madness. Libertarians shouted for freedom. Fools lived absurdly. Smart men amassed fortunes. Gotham's chaos birthed countless radically different souls. No other place had people so unlike any other.

As this aura gradually became recognized, Gotham's image shifted—from a depraved evil city to a sinister source with traces of divinity and mystery.

It's hard to say if this was a good change—but at least it was a change.

This shift in public image brought other changes. Calls to Gotham University's admissions office rang nonstop. Rebellious, curious youths began adding Gotham University to their application lists.

But Gotham University's professors had no time to answer questions. The ice freeze damaged campus facilities—mainly cracked pavement, a nightmare.

With large cracks in courtyards and fields, students couldn't move. Dormitories, damaged foundations, became unsafe overnight—no one dared enter. Teaching halted. No one could spare hands to help. Teachers and students had to fix it themselves.

Original Easter pre-event plans were canceled. A corner of the cafeteria collapsed—forgetting any banquet. Everyone seemed to have forgotten Easter. All focused on rebuilding campus.

Shi Ler led several students swiftly down the corridor, arriving at the lecture hall door. He pushed it open. The students, seeing him, shouted: "Professor! Here! We can't hold him down!"

Shi Ler walked over. Several students held a boy violently thrashing, waving his arms, foaming at the mouth, convulsing—like a psychiatric episode.

Shi Ler said: "Subdue him, then carry him to the car. Take him to the hospital."

After arriving at Arkham Psychiatric Hospital with the car, before Shi Ler could examine the boy, another call came. Victor said: "Another patient in Dormitory Building 2—looks like a sophomore girl. What's going on?"

"Possibly a lingering effect from the rain. I need detailed examinations. If any more cases appear, send them directly to the hospital."

After hanging up, Shi Ler entered the boy's ward. Through the observation window, he saw the boy cowering in fear against the bed, screaming meaningless syllables. Shi Ler shook his head, murmuring: "These symptoms are unusual..."

He called Victor: "Have these students been exposed to anything unusual?"

"You said it was rain..."

"These symptoms differ from rain exposure. Though both involve convulsions and agitation, the details are different."

"Exposed to what...?" Victor's voice was confused. "I'll ask. These two students aren't in the same class... Oh! Wait—what did you say? Damn... another case! Where is he? Take me there now..."

Victor ran while speaking into the phone: "Another student collapsed. I'll find the common link and tell you..."

——————Author's Note——————

Today's update: ten thousand characters!

Recent new subscriptions have dropped by a quarter.

I've noticed DC really does have fewer readers than Marvel.

But I'm still going to write DC.

I love DC.