Chapter 793: The Deadly Joke (Seventeen)

Harvey Dent had worked at Gotham Court for years, primarily offering legal consultation services.

Previously, his situation had been difficult, because the gangs he consulted for rarely had legitimate issues—most hired him just to get out of legal trouble—but since the logistics industry took off, things had improved for him.

Expecting gangsters to understand the law was naive, but shipping goods inevitably required communication with other cities, signing contracts, and understanding local statutes; now, lawyers and accountants were the two most sought-after professions in Gotham, and Harvey was no exception.

He now primarily served as legal advisor to the Falcone family, and the Don himself didn't care that Harvey refused to defend gang members—so long as he provided the most professional legal support for the Falcones' logistics operations, the family was happy to pay.

When he received Gordon's call, he was still working late; upon hearing Bruce was in trouble, he immediately dropped what he was doing, even took tomorrow's leave, and rushed to Gordon's location.

Harvey and Bruce had always stayed in touch; they shared many common interests, especially in law—the principles of the Knight of Light and the Knight of Darkness were nearly identical, their moral standards aligned, and they often spent entire afternoons chatting at Wayne Manor.

Harvey was perfectly at ease talking with Bruce, answering all his questions, so when he saw this situation, he showed no surprise, simply sat down beside him, and patted his shoulder:

"I know—you wanted to understand the people of Gotham, to see how they truly live, so you came here, spent over a month among them, and realized it's far harder than you imagined."

"People here each have their own good and their own bad; the pitiful have hateful traits, and the hateful have pitiful ones. Tolerating criminals isn't necessarily evil, and fighting them isn't necessarily justice. Should we judge by deeds or by intent… you can't answer these questions."

"You realized the world is far more complex than you ever imagined, and every solution you'd once conceived fails to resolve these problems."

"You felt your past self was childish and foolish, that you'd wasted too much time; your former misunderstandings and resentments now seemed meaningless, and now you don't know what to do next…"

Harvey reached out and wrapped an arm around Bruce, noticing his body was cold—as if it held no warmth at all—and said: "Tell me, is this how you feel, Bruce?"

"I've just suddenly seen the truth of this world," Bruce replied, his tone always calm, almost mechanical—another sign of his catatonic state.

"You know, in this past month, I've experienced so much. I'm not depressed because of the evil I witnessed—I'm depressed because every time I thought things were improving, something less deadly but still devastating would drag me back down."

"These misfortunes aren't my fault, but they're beyond my control—I've remained passive, powerless over everything."

"I avoided countless traps, convinced I made no wrong choices, yet everything slipped irreversibly downward."

"But worse—I realized I've done enough already: I didn't fall into traps like treating drugs as medicine, splurging after gaining steady income, sinking into gambling debt, taking out loan shark loans I couldn't repay, or confronting gangs and getting hurt…"

"I avoided all of that—not because I'm morally superior, but because I received a good education, have more exposure than ordinary people. Can the people here truly escape these traps one after another?"

"I had the apartment Selina left me, a few dozen dollars she didn't take, strong muscles and a tough exterior, plus fat and calories accumulated from my old life—but what do ordinary people have?"

"Forget money, homes, or muscles—they might be born addicted, born with gambling debts, born owing money to gangs."

"When I thought I'd hit rock bottom, I imagined even more terrifying possibilities—and then I realized…"

Bruce paused, forcing a stiff smile, then said: "All it takes is one bad day for an ordinary person to lose everything."

"No—not even a full day. Maybe bad weather keeps them from working. Maybe road repairs delay their commute. Maybe they ate something rotten and got diarrhea. Just a few minutes, a few hours—and everything is beyond repair."

"Harvey… Harvey…" Bruce called his friend's name dully. "Don't you find all this terrifying?"

"In mere minutes, your life plummets into the abyss—and you can only watch, powerless. This is the daily reality for everyone here…"

Harvey closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said: "Are you afraid, Bruce? I feel your fear—but you're not one of them. You don't belong here. You won't be crushed by these small things…"

"Precisely because I'm not one of them," Bruce replied stiffly, "that's why I'm afraid. How can I be there in those few minutes for every person, stop them from falling? Miss one, and the world gains another mad criminal."

Harvey lowered his head, staring at his reflection in his polished shoes. "Long ago, I told you—this path doesn't need to reach its end to be meaningful."

"How far you've walked, how fast—you won't change that because of when you gave up," Harvey said, pressing his lips together. "If you think you've done too little, do more. But don't fear you can't finish, don't suffer because of it…"

Harvey patted Bruce's arm. "I once felt this pain too—because I realized law can't guarantee justice for everyone. It isn't omnipotent."

"No person, system, or society in this world is flawless. If you've clearly seen how long this road is, your choice isn't how far to go—it's whether to walk it or turn back."

Harvey looked at Bruce, who remained silent. Then, at the end of the street, a car appeared. Harvey squinted—he thought he'd seen that vehicle before, in Wayne Manor's garage.

When the headlights turned off, Harvey saw Alfred's face in the driver's seat.

Gordon, standing nearby, gave Harvey a glance and spoke: "We've work to do—we'll leave now. Your butler's here to pick you up. Go with him."

"Get some good sleep. Everything will pass."

As Gordon finished speaking, Gotham began to rain again—light, drizzling drops fell on Bruce's head. He trembled again, but not from cold—he no longer felt cold.

He felt hot, intensely exhilarated—a joy he'd never known surged within his chest.

When the shadow of Alfred's umbrella covered his head, he calmed slightly. Alfred studied his condition, his wounds, and said nothing. After a pause, he spoke: "Master, let's go home. Esa and Dick are waiting for you."

At that moment, Bruce seized Alfred like a lifeline and asked: "Is there truly no perfect system in this world?"

Alfred stood still, a stream of rain flowing between them; its surface reflected their faces—one ancient yet vigorous, the other young but utterly worn down.

"Yes, Master," Alfred replied. Bruce heard no hesitation in his voice—not a thought-out answer, but a universal truth.

Alfred turned his gaze to the end of the alley, where neon lights danced on puddles, turning tiny pools into more dazzling seas. He spoke:

"There is no perfect system because there are no perfect people. People change."

Alfred lowered his eyes to Bruce. "Yet many imperfect people strive to create perfect systems. They believe they've succeeded. Later generations assume no further effort is needed—just follow the rules, and all will unfold as intended. And so…"

Alfred shook his head, leaving it unsaid. Bruce spoke: "Do you want me to go back, Alfred?"

Bruce expected an immediate yes—but Alfred paused before answering:

"Master, I wish to take your soul away from here, not just your body. If you wish to stay and seek answers, take this umbrella. Don't catch a cold."

Alfred handed Bruce the umbrella. Bruce looked up, hesitated, didn't reach for it immediately. He stared for a long moment, then asked: "Don't you have anything to say to me?"

"What would you like to hear?"

"Don't you have some solution to offer me?" Bruce asked, not speaking too plainly—but Alfred understood. "Didn't you already read Marx's works?"

"If you truly believed in it, if you truly wanted to walk that path, you wouldn't be here seeking answers now," Alfred shook his head. "Marxists aren't missionaries. No one walks down the street handing you a book to explain its contents."

Alfred's tone remained respectful, but his words were blunt: "You're asking me for a shortcut—but this isn't one. Understanding an ideology won't grant you all answers, free you from pain, or let you blindly march forward."

"That behavior contradicts Marxism—it resembles theology. There are no shortcuts here, no single answer."

"On the contrary," Alfred added, "as you study, learn, and deconstruct such ideologies, you'll encounter even more similar pain."

In the end, Alfred still left; Bruce sat on the roadside with his umbrella, and as his excited state subsided, he no longer felt like laughing.

Eventually, Alfred left. Bruce sat on the curb, clutching the umbrella. His exhilaration faded, and the urge to laugh lessened.

Yet that absurd, grotesque feeling still clung to him—he didn't know when he'd burst into laughter.

After returning to Wayne Manor, Alfred didn't rest. He picked up the phone and dialed a number he didn't recognize.

"Hello? Is this Miss Maggie? This is Alfred, the butler of Wayne Manor. Selina once gave me your number…"

"Yes, I'd like you to contact Selina. I don't have her current contact…"

"Bruce's condition is very poor. He may be suffering from PTSD. We can't stop his mania—but Selina might be able to help…"

"Yes, I know they had conflicts before. But I think it's necessary to inform her—before something happens and both regret it."

"Understood. I'll wait for your reply. Thank you."

She knew Bruce's journey through the slums wouldn't go smoothly, but she hadn't expected the consequences to be this severe.

She'd known Bruce's journey into the slums wouldn't go smoothly—but she hadn't expected consequences this severe.

Bruce Wayne's mental collapse affected more than just him. Maggie hadn't been to school, yet she'd survived the slums despite her frail body—she possessed deep practical wisdom.

She'd resented Bruce for neglecting Selina these past months, but she also knew: if she didn't tell Selina, and something went wrong later, Selina might blame her. After all, she could see—they couldn't let go, still loved each other.

Finally, Maggie called Selina. As expected, Selina—already cast in a film crew—immediately dropped everything and rushed back to Gotham.

After Alfred and Alfred piloted the Batplane to bring her back, Selina found Bruce immediately—and slapped him.