Chapter 4302

Martha patted his back, and Clark reluctantly let go of her. Martha hurried over to help Bruce up. Bruce touched his split lip, turned to look at Clark, and said: "Looks like you're badly hurt; otherwise, I should be in the Kuiper Belt by now..."

"You damned bastard!" Clark gritted his teeth and glared at him, saying, "You tricked me!"

"Good heavens! Clark! Don't talk to him like that!" Martha hurriedly stepped between them, then said to Clark, "Your friend saved me. I was almost kidnapped by those thugs."

Clark stared wide-eyed at Bruce. Bruce wiped his mouth, then sat back down at the table. Clark had no choice but to follow his movement, coming to the table and sitting opposite him.

"When I arrived at the Kent farm, those people had already broken in. They had tied up your mother and were about to load her onto a truck. I knocked them all down."

Only then did Clark feel a wave of dread. So Lex Luthor had really done it—only Batman had arrived a step earlier and saved his mother.

But why...

"Oh, dear, you don't know yet, do you?" At that moment, Martha also brought him a bowl of oatmeal porridge and said, "I have an accidental injury insurance policy, taken out back when the Kent farm was doing well, with a high coverage amount."

"In recent years, the harvests haven't been good, especially this autumn. The wheat we grew failed to meet standards, so it was all classified as livestock feed. This caused us a major loss. That way, we won't have money to buy seeds for next spring."

"The Kent farm is too old—the house needs repairs, the tools need replacing, and we simply don't have that much money. I've been patching east wall to fix west wall, but I won't be able to hold on much longer. We need that insurance payout."

"Believe me, this isn't insurance fraud. Those kidnappers were already preparing to set fire. If your friend hadn't arrived in time, the entire farmhouse would have burned down. So I thought, might as well cause a commotion—pretend I was truly kidnapped. That way, at least we can get some insurance money, and the farm can keep going."

A pained expression appeared on Clark's face. In fact, he had always known the Kent farm's cash flow was poor, but regarding this matter, from beginning to end, he had been utterly helpless.

He could help plow the fields, but he couldn't understand how those wheat standards were evaluated; he could work day and night without rest, but the farm's fixed expenses were still too high. He couldn't very well go rob money, could he?

So he went to the big city to work, giving almost all his earnings to his family. Yet even that wasn't enough. Even if he hadn't gone to college and found a job with decent pay, he still couldn't support this farm.

Moreover, being exposed in front of Batman like this made Clark feel an inexplicable embarrassment. Because he had already become this strong, and believed he had already given his all, yet he was still this poor. This made his earlier words—like "having the ability to take responsibility for everyone"—sound utterly ridiculous.

"Don't worry, ma'am," Bruce said, "I know exactly how those insurance assessors judge the extent of damage. The destruction I caused in your house is enough for you to get full compensation. If not, I can also provide you legal aid. After all, the house really was collapsed by me driving my car into it; besides helping you, I also have my own purpose, so naturally I must bear part of the responsibility."

"Thank you so much," Martha said, taking Bruce's hand, "I'll go get you another bowl of porridge, Clark—would you like some?"

"I..." Clark originally wanted to say he didn't want any, but when he turned his head, he exposed the bandage on his neck. Martha let out another scream.

Oh no, Clark thought, how am I going to explain my injuries to Martha?

But unexpectedly, what he got wasn't a reprimand. Martha just stared blankly at him for a moment, leaned on the table, turned, stood up, and walked toward the kitchen. Not long after, she brought over a bowl of steaming hot porridge.

"Come eat something, dear. It'll be better soon."

Clark picked up the spoon and brought the porridge to his lips. For some reason, the oatmeal porridge that used to be fragrant and sweet now tasted like chewing wax. A sour, bitter emotion welled up from his chest, first rushing to his eyes, then continuing down to his throat and jaw—both places feeling sore and swollen, making it somewhat hard for him to swallow.

Clark truly couldn't believe he had cried in front of Batman. And even more unbelievable was that Batman didn't even glance at him, finished the food on his plate, and went upstairs.

Martha walked over and hugged him, wiped the tears from his face, then said: "Go get some sleep. Rest well."

Clark didn't even know how he got upstairs, nor how he fell asleep. But he then had an extraordinarily clear dream. In the dream, he recalled the latter part of that story.

One morning, he was again awakened by the familiar sound of the tractor. As he walked down the stairs, he smelled the familiar aroma of oatmeal porridge. Just as he reached the bottom, his father Jonathan came rushing in.

"Come on, Clark! Hurry over!"

Clark ran toward his father. They met outside, Jonathan picked him up, and then he found himself in the trailer being pulled by the tractor, where he saw a brand-new lamb.

It was a pure white lamb, just born not long ago, with curly wool, and in the morning sunlight, it looked as soft as clouds on the horizon.

He looked delighted at his father, and this middle-aged man with a sun-tanned face smiled even more happily than he did.

This time, Clark finally wasn't startled awake. He repeated that beautiful dream many times, then slowly woke up, but still felt somewhat uncomfortable as he turned over. The bed at Wayne Manor was a bit too soft; if his own bed were like that, he wouldn't be able to get up for work even once all winter.

After wriggling in bed for a while, Clark still sat up. Because he had slept too deeply, he felt a bit dizzy and lightheaded. He pulled up his clothes to check his chest—external injuries were mostly healed, but that weak feeling remained. Those green crystals had entered his bloodstream, and perhaps it would take a long time before they could be metabolized away.

After getting up, Clark tidied his clothes, pushed open the door, but the entire manor was utterly silent, with no sound at all. Standing by the courtyard on the second floor, Clark felt an inexplicable emotion, as if this place were a huge tomb.

Before Clark's eyes again appeared the tombstone engraved with the name "Damian Wayne." He sighed, then walked downstairs.

Batman wasn't downstairs—Clark didn't know where he had gone. Clark also didn't know what to do; he wanted to wait for Batman to return and then talk to him. But since this period couldn't be spent doing nothing, he began wandering around the manor.

Soon, he found himself in the display cabinet behind the living room, where he saw a set of combat gear. It was clearly tailor-made for a child, with small pant legs and sleeves. Clark instinctively reached out and touched the glass of the cabinet, feeling a tightness in his chest.

"What are you doing?" a low voice came from the other end.

Clark turned his head, and Bruce stood at the end of the hallway. Clark hurriedly pulled his hand back, saying: "Sorry, I shouldn't have touched that."

Bruce turned and walked back, Clark followed behind him. Clark heard him say: "Your mother already went home this morning. I installed surveillance cameras nearby to ensure she won't face danger again. So, what do you plan to do next?"

"I..." Clark actually had a bellyful of plans, but when facing Batman, he found himself unable to speak them out.

They sat down again by the fireplace. The warm flames gave Clark some strength, and he said: "Before that, I have a few questions I want to ask you."

"What questions?"

Clark had many things he wanted to ask—for example, who that Black officer really was, or what exactly the green crystals that weakened him were. But he still asked first what he considered the most important question.

"Why am I always so angry?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Then you should really think carefully—when have you ever felt angry?"

Clark thought back carefully, more thoroughly than ever before. Of course, he couldn't possibly recall from his birth, so he selected some recent fragments, especially those involving Batman.

Then he realized: his first real anger—and that uncontrollable rage—actually happened when Batman died in his arms during the dungeon run.

At that time, their relationship hadn't eased yet; they were merely ordinary teammates. So this anger didn't seem to stem from someone close being hurt—he was just purely furious.

Then, the next time, compared to this, it was better when he was being chased and beaten by that evil spirit—he was also furious, to the point of even ignoring physical pain.

Then, when the dungeon reached its end and the villain was punished, he was still furious. This anger had been building up in his chest until the night the alien spaceship appeared.

But even after blowing up the alien spaceship, this anger hadn't been vented out—it remained faintly present, as if there yet not quite.

In other words, he had actually been angry all along, with no moment he could point to where he wasn't angry.

But Clark refused to accept that—he didn't believe he was such an easily angered person. So he began to think back, starting from his childhood, determined to find moments when he wasn't angry.

He remembered: when he was a child, a classmate mocked him on the school bus—by rights he should have been angry, but he actually wasn't; then the school bus plunged headfirst into the river, encountering such bad luck, he should have been angry, but he still wasn't. Moreover, he didn't hold a grudge and even rescued that classmate who had mocked him.

After leaving the small town, he took on several jobs and also faced exclusion from coworkers. He didn't get angry, and when coworkers were in danger, he would still go to save them.

There was also once when he encountered something that should have made him angry, but he was only angry for a moment, after putting the other person's car up in a tree, he immediately calmed down—indeed, afterward he even felt a bit guilty and regretful.

So, during this period, what on earth was this unexplained anger all about?

Clark finished recounting his experiences in fragments, then looked at Bruce. Bruce showed an expression of "as I thought," but also began to zone out, as if recalling something.

A freezing rainy night, a solitary high-rise, a tiny figure falling like a raindrop……

"Helplessness brings anger. And anger…… will destroy everything."