Chapter 285

Soon, the circus performance began; the first few acts were animal training routines, and neither Bruce nor Selina had much interest in them—while the stage performed, they chatted in the audience.

"You said you used to be a street vendor—so why didn't you keep doing it, and instead turned to stealing?"

Selina rolled her eyes and said, "My dear young master, you don't actually think being a street vendor is better than stealing, do you?"

Bruce turned to look at Selina; he had wanted to say that at least being a vendor wasn't illegal, but after spending so much time with her, he knew life in Gotham's underbelly was probably nothing like he imagined.

After spending so long with Selina, he recognized a harsh truth: in this dark city of Gotham, some people struggled just to survive—talking to them about obeying laws was nothing but a joke.

loubiqu.

"Actually, the street vendors, cigarette boys, and flower girls are the worst off," Selina sighed, her tone carrying a hint of sympathy. "When I told you about my past, you might've thought Lucky Mama was a bad person—she taught me how to steal, made me steal, even hit me—but honestly, I don't hate her. I still call her sometimes…"

Bruce gave her a puzzled look and asked, "You still keep in touch with that thief boss?"

"We don't talk business—just ask how she's doing, small talk. I was angry when she tried to take the diamond necklace I stole, but after I cooled down, I called her anyway…"

Seeing Bruce's slightly shocked expression, Selina suddenly smiled. "You're Wayne Young Master—you're treated like royalty wherever you go. Everyone bows and flatters you just to get your money. But me? The most praise I ever got was during my training with Lucky Mama."

"She always said I was the most talented child she'd ever seen—learned everything fast. You know, when she was young, she worked as a bar girl in the East End, could flatter anyone into the clouds. When she was in a good mood, she'd even sing while I danced in her old dresses…"

Selina rested her hands on her knees, took a deep breath, and said, "I know you think I'm useless, but she was truly good to me."

"You might think it's monstrous for her to recruit all kinds of kids to steal for her, but honestly, Lucky Mama treated these kids better than most."

"She had sharp eyes—picked only the most gifted children, who could make her a fortune. So she was generous too—sometimes even slipped us a few extra dollars for pocket money…"

"But the old bastard next door? He ran street vendors and cigarette boys—every cent those kids earned had to be handed over, and they were searched daily—no penny allowed to be hidden. If they failed to meet his quota, they got beaten."

"He fed them only scraps, starved them when he was in a bad mood. I once saw a kid who tried to run away—he had both feet chopped off and bled to death right there."

Selina shrugged at Bruce. "Honestly, I'm never hungry, and I don't even like cheese pancakes—but when I see a vendor like this, if I've got a few coins, I buy something. Maybe it lets them have a full meal tonight."

"Do you know," Bruce said, looking into Selina's eyes, "every time you tell me stories like this, my heart sinks."

Selina smiled, reached out, and brushed her fingers across Bruce's cheek. "That's exactly the problem—this is a sad story to you, but for us, it's just ordinary life."

Selina took another deep breath. "Actually, you've taught me a lot too—like that thing you told me last time about meridians…"

"I thought about it—I think Lucky Mama once mentioned she had to hand over part of her earnings, and the person she paid had to pay someone else too—it was layers upon layers, all the way up to one person…"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Who's that?"

Selina shook her head. "I don't even know Lucky Mama's boss—how could I know who the final person is?"

"Someone's controlling all the children in Gotham, right?"

Selina nodded. "Gotham's children are easy to control—most are orphans, either dead parents or abandoned. Give them a meal, and you can make them do anything."

"And…" Bruce added, "hardly anyone bothers with these kids—even high-end nightclubs let cigarette boys in to sell cigarettes…"

Clearly, he recalled the scenes he'd once entered—back then he hadn't noticed, because it was normal. But now he remembered: at every ball, dinner, or banquet, children waited at the edges, waiting for wealthy patrons to buy cigarettes from them.

"Exactly. If these kids mess up or make a mistake, they just look pitiful, beg a few times, and anyone with pride won't punish them."

Bruce hadn't expected that casual chatter with Selina would yield such an unexpected insight: someone in Gotham had long controlled a layered network exploiting these Suichukejian children.

"It's even worse," Selina continued. "These kids form gangs too—even back then, competition among them was fierce."

"You know, some areas are profitable, others aren't. Everyone wants the good spots. Above them, the adults fight over territory; below them, the kids form gangs—we call them 'Boy Gangs.'"

"Which gang did you join back then?"

Selina shook her head. "I joined none. Those are ground-level affairs—I'm a cat burglar."

"I don't need to claim any territory to steal. Or rather, if I want to hit someone's patch, I don't need to ask permission—they can't catch me anyway."

"Everyone in the East End knows my name—even now. They know: when the black cat appears on the rooftops, don't even think of aiming a gun—you won't hit her. It's just wasting bullets."

"Of the four top cat burglars in the East End, I'm the only one who can move freely across all of Gotham. The others won't even dare enter commercial streets—get caught by a high-ranking mob boss, and they're done. But I'm not afraid—I know they can't catch me."

Every time Selina spoke of her career, Bruce felt something strange—she was the classic example of rising purely by skill. As always: had her abilities been even slightly weaker, she'd never have reached this point.

Such a story of self-made success should be inspiring, something to take pride in—but her profession was theft. The harder she worked, the richer her life became.

The two kept talking about Gotham's children; Selina's underworld intelligence combined with Bruce's top-tier knowledge led them to deduce who controlled this network.

Throughout, Elsa's attention remained fixed on the stage performances, unusually quiet.

Suddenly, the stage lights brightened, and the host shouted in a high voice: "Ladies and gentlemen! Next, we bring you the most spectacular act—the Flying Trapeze!!!"

A man and a woman stepped onto the stage; as they climbed the ladder, the host continued enthusiastically: "Some of you may have heard of the famed Grayson family of the East Coast—once hailed as America's greatest flying trapeze dynasty…"

"Some may also know that the previous generation of Graysons fell to their deaths during a trapeze accident—crushed to pieces from the heights…"

The host whistled. "But I say, that's exactly what makes this act thrilling—without the risk of falling, who'd bother watching? Right?"

The host's jokes were meant to stir excitement, but the tall man named Grayson, who had just reached the platform, clenched his fists.

Just as he was about to begin, he shouted to the audience: "The Graysons are the greatest flying trapeze family—we…"

Then he saw the circus owner making a threatening gesture below. He glanced at his wife beside him, and finally fell silent.

The circus owner cursed loudly below: "What the hell is this idiot saying?! Down there's Wayne! I told you he'd ruin everything—this son of a bitch!"

Now the Graysons began their act: the flying trapeze, where they swung from a bar, twisting and flipping through the air.

The Graysons truly had skill—their coordination was flawless; whether matching or symmetrical moves, every motion was beautiful, met with continuous applause.

Elsa was delighted—though Selina was skilled, the manor had limited space, and Bruce would never allow her to swing from such heights. But this performance satisfied Elsa's love of watching people move.

She screamed shrilly, waving wildly at the stage. Bruce held her tightly, fearing she'd tumble into the seat ahead. Selina patted Bruce's arm. "Give her some water—I can hear her voice is hoarse."

Bruce pulled out a water bottle to give Elsa a drink—just then, the two aerialists paused mid-performance, landing on the platform. Mrs. Grayson happened to see Elsa waving at her.

The woman looked tired, but she smiled back and waved specifically toward Elsa—clearly, this overly excited little audience member charmed her.

Seeing she was noticed, Elsa grew even more excited and lunged forward, trying to scramble out of Bruce's arms.

But Bruce was just opening the water bottle—Elsa's lunge knocked his arm, spilling water all over him.

Bruce gave a helpless look, handed Elsa to Selina, and said, "I'll go clean my clothes in the restroom."

As Bruce left his seat for the restroom, the circus owner watched everything.

That Grayson had defied him, even punched him, then blurted nonsense before the act—and now his wife deliberately drew attention to the Wayne princess, causing Wayne to spill water on himself. If Wayne was upset, his sponsorship would vanish…

The circus owner's face darkened further—his fury had reached its peak. The Graysons' behavior had nearly driven him mad.