Chapter 5: Chapter Four: Welcome to Getan

Shi Ler woke up without needing to turn over—he knew instantly he’d returned to the morally pure city of Getan, because the smell of kerosene in the air and the perpetually overcast sky outside the window told him he was damned back again.

And time hadn’t moved at all.

He turned off his alarm, glanced at the calendar—it was the day after the night he’d crossed over to Marvel, meaning time in the DC world had stood still during his trip.

Shi Ler sighed, unsure for a moment whether morally pure Getan was more dangerous or New York City, the center of the universe.

Honestly, though New York was more comfortable, Getan was still home—at least here, the cosmic mode hadn’t been activated yet, and Shi Ler wasn’t ready to face a purple potato spirit.

He rolled out of bed, dressed himself—Getan University required professors to wear formal attire to class, so Shi Ler wore shirts, waistcoats, and suits daily, occasionally switching suit styles or donning a trench coat.

September in Getan was still fairly warm, not cold—perhaps because it was a coastal city, with gentle breezes blowing through, keeping it pleasantly mild.

The moment Shi Ler stepped outside, he saw someone he desperately did not want to see—Bruce Wayne.

Shi Ler turned around and walked back.

Bruce hurried after him, calling out: “Professor! Professor! I have some psychological questions I’d like to ask you! Could you wait a moment?”

Shi Ler cursed under his breath. There were plenty of faculty near the professor’s apartment—he couldn’t just refuse outright. He said: “Fine, fine, I’m not deaf, Mr. Wayne. Let’s discuss this in the counseling office.”

They entered the counseling office. Bruce didn’t sit down; instead, he went to brew coffee, placed the steaming cup in front of Shi Ler.

He said: “Shi Ler Andael Rodriguez, world-renowned criminal psychologist, holder of four doctoral degrees in psychology, involved in the investigation and resolution of the infamous Rush City Blood Massacre, the Emperor City Red Gloves Serial Killings, and the Haibincheng Underground Dismemberment Case—and most importantly, four months ago, you abruptly resigned during the trial of the Metropolis Deputy Mayor and accepted an appointment from Getan University...”

“Professor Shi Ler, can you tell me why you came to Getan?”

Shi Ler’s hair stood on end. Holy shit, this guy’s resume could get him directly admitted to Arkham Asylum! Even the Joker couldn’t outdo this!

You didn’t just participate in one of these terrifying cases—you participated in a whole string of them! And Bruce was even holding back!

Shi Ler internally swore like a sailor, but his face remained expressionless. He took a sip of coffee and said: “Getan is a good place.”

“Is it? The city with the highest crime rate in America?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Oh?”

“Metropolis has a low crime rate, kid. Sit down. You think Metropolis is safer than Getan, right?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not for me,” Shi Ler said.

Shi Ler had inherited the original owner’s knowledge and abilities, but he suspected that before his own crossing-over, the original had already lost some crucial memories—at least now Shi Ler couldn’t recall any details about those terrifying cases, only vague, blurry shadows he couldn’t grasp.

Shi Ler knew the original must have been involved in an unspeakably complex case—and then been ambushed.

Shi Ler said: “What you see as safety is only an illusion, Mr. Wayne. Behind Metropolis’s glittering facade lies darkness you cannot possibly imagine.”

“Then why come to Getan?”

“...I assume you’ve checked my resume, but it’s still incomplete. I’ve made too many enemies. Only here am I safe.”

“Why?”

“Only criminals can fight criminals,” Shi Ler said.

Bruce Wayne seemed shaken by this. He said: “Only criminals can fight criminals? Professor, is that really how you think?”

“Bruce, let’s change the subject,” Shi Ler said.

Bruce stared at him, his eyes as dark as Getan’s sky. Shi Ler realized he was no longer facing the carefree playboy Bruce Wayne—he was facing Batman, the most complex superhero in history, a dark hero, an incomprehensible obsessive, a genius teetering on the edge of madness.

“If you want more from me, you must pay a price,” Shi Ler said.

“What do you want?” Bruce asked.

“What I want, you can’t give me now. You understand what I mean,” Shi Ler said.

“So you’ll let me give it to you later, right?”

“Certainly.”

Bruce’s expression hardened, revealing nothing of his thoughts. He said: “Professor Shi Ler, I regret to inform you that your coffee contains one of my homemade little devices—a nanovirus...”

“Bruce, dishonesty won’t get you more from me, kid. This isn’t some childish trick to beg for candy,” Shi Ler said.

“Looks like I’m leaving empty-handed today,” Bruce said.

“Not necessarily,” Shi Ler said.

“I want you to give me a strong enough grade on the final exam, Bruce—prove you truly want to learn this skill, then come back to me,” Shi Ler said.

“I won’t waste any more time here,” Bruce said.

“You’re far from being a teacher, Bruce. You’re still a student,” Shi Ler said.

“I’ve learned every skill and body of knowledge in the world—hundreds of combat styles, detective work, lock-picking, counter-surveillance...”

“Except Getan. You haven’t learned Getan yet,” Shi Ler said.

Bruce fell silent. Shi Ler could see now: Bruce wasn’t yet the later Dark Hero Batman. The drive for revenge and justice burned inside him, perhaps even darker impulses—but he still didn’t understand what Getan, this human hell, truly was.

Bruce wanted to use every available force—like this Professor Shi Ler.

Batman was a hero with almost no weaknesses—brilliant, meticulous, a mortal who rivaled gods—but only after he donned the Batsuit, fully becoming the Dark Knight who spread fear in the night, claiming Getan and all its evils, resolving to face every filthy facet of humanity and fight it. But now? Bruce wasn’t Batman yet. He had weaknesses.

Shi Ler suddenly felt relieved—if he’d truly faced the Dark Knight standing in Getan’s shadows, none of his tactics would’ve worked, because Batman wasn’t Superman. He wasn’t a hero of justice. He was a thoroughgoing outlaw.

After Bruce left, Shi Ler stood by the window for a long time. Batman would come soon—Bruce couldn’t wait any longer.

The next day, Shi Ler taught as usual—his first class for freshmen. Unfortunately, his attempt to stop Bruce from enrolling in psychology had failed. This young Batman was determined to appear in Shi Ler’s quiet life, reminding him that this place was about to become a mire.

But strangely, Shi Ler noticed Bruce was limping—his right foot seemed injured, yet he still came to class. Shi Ler taught while pondering: What had Bruce been doing?

He owned billions. The old Wayne family of Getan’s elite. Could he really have been beaten up by thugs?

After class, Shi Ler ignored Bruce’s obvious “let’s talk” hint. He swiftly packed his books and materials and slipped away with the student crowd—he had an errand tonight.

If Getan was hell, then nighttime Getan made even Satan fear it. This city of crime never ceased its waves of evil. Shi Ler left the safety of the university and truly entered Getan.

He was tracking Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane.

Jonathan wasn’t normal—he’d been committing murders since he was eighteen. Even if he wasn’t yet Scarecrow, he’d already begun his fear gas experiments.

Shi Ler wasn’t here to deliver justice or stop him—he wanted to steal some fear gas for his own protection.

In this dangerous city, a chemist’s secret lab was among the safest places to steal from—at least Jonathan and Shi Ler were both intellectuals, not burly gangsters who relied on fists or guns. They relied only on their minds.

That night, Getan rained again. The night was as black as ink. The rain carried a heavy kerosene scent. No matter how mild the weather, September’s cold rain still chilled the bones. Shi Ler wore a long trench coat and carried a black umbrella, walking down a narrow alley. He’d nearly pinpointed Jonathan’s hidden gas stash—a basement beneath an abandoned church in the neighborhood. All he needed was to wait until Jonathan left, then enter and take the fear gas.

Suddenly, Shi Ler’s heart raced. A vision flashed before him: he was struck by an unknown weapon. He spun instantly—*pop*—opened his umbrella.

Two hidden projectiles failed to pierce his umbrella, clattering to the ground. Spider-sense had saved Shi Ler’s life.

Shi Ler slowly lowered the umbrella. His face bore none of the daytime warmth—he’d nearly died.

Anyone barely escaping death would look grim. At the alley’s end, Bruce in his Batsuit watched as his precisely guided, high-speed batarangs were blocked by the mysterious man’s instant umbrella defense—his reaction was as if he’d foreseen it.

As the rain-soaked black umbrella lowered, the face revealed was one Bruce knew well: his university professor, Shi Ler.

It was him—but it wasn’t. Shi Ler’s demeanor was utterly different from daytime. Now, he resembled the man described in his resume: a madman obsessed with criminal psychology.

Shi Ler took a deep breath and said: “You should know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t blocked it.”

“The batarangs would’ve stopped thirty centimeters from you,” Batman said.

Batman’s voice was also completely different from daytime. Shi Ler knew he was using a voice modulator.

This Batman was still far from mature. His suit was crude—no cape, no belt. His batarangs seemed unreliable. Clearly, the rookie Batman had taken some wrong turns. After all, bringing justice to Getan meant starting at hell difficulty.

Shi Ler said: “Let me remind you, Mr. Batman—unlike your wealthy district, the rooftops of Mossen Street have no railings. If you fall again, you might rupture your organs.”

The shadow across from him remained silent. He asked: “How did you know?”

“You’re still green, hero. The drug you used has almost no odor—it’s high-end chemical, not something slum dwellers can afford. And...” Shi Ler’s gaze settled on Bruce’s only exposed chin. “No one here shaves their beard so neatly and symmetrically.”

“Who are you?” Batman asked.

Shi Ler reopened his umbrella. “Go home, young master. No one answers every question you ask. I’m not your novice mentor.”

He walked away into the rain. Batman stood in the alley for a long time, limping out, turning down another street, where he saw a beggar shivering in the rain.

He pulled out a stack of cash and handed it to the beggar. Then he heard footsteps behind him—leather soles on wet pavement—and a voice that made his hair stand on end: “That’s why I said you don’t understand Getan, Bruce.”

Batman turned. Shi Ler stood at the intersection. He walked over, handed the umbrella to the beggar. The beggar took it, opened it to shield herself from the cold rain, then trembled as she returned the stack of dollars to Batman.

“Why?” Batman asked, taking the cash.

“Because this is Drain Gang territory. If they find out she has this much cash, her body will be found in the sewer tomorrow.”

“A lot of cash?” Batman’s voice betrayed disbelief. “Thirty-seven dollars?”

“Yes,” Shi Ler said, looking down the street. “This is Getan...”

“Welcome to Getan.”