[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-84":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2322652,4544,"Chapter 84","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-84",84,"\u003Cp>Gordon and Barbara argued when he returned home; Barbara had waited for him until late. She sat alone in the dark room, the dinner on the table long cold—prepared with care by Barbara to celebrate their upcoming purchase of their first little home, yet missing its most important guest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barbara knew Gordon was busy, but she knew better: his busyness wasn’t due to incompetence, but because the place he worked didn’t need police.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barbara, who had walked beside Gordon all these years, understood clearly that with his abilities, he wouldn’t have struggled so much in any city but Gotham. More importantly, she also knew that even his suffering was meaningless—he couldn’t save this place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Gordon returned, Barbara sat on the sofa, stroking a photograph: it was taken after their internship, showing both of them young, almost children.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back then, they were both under twenty, their relationship barely two months old, drunk at a party, speaking together of their dreams.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barbara’s family was in dire straits; she wanted to earn money to improve her parents’ and brothers’ lives. Gordon came from a modest middle-class home; because police had once saved his family, he had dreamed since childhood of becoming a just and righteous officer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though their ambitions differed, they fell in love—even years of long-distance didn’t dim their bond.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But that night, emotions long suppressed erupted at once: Barbara sat on the sofa, silent tears streaming, while Gordon stood at the door, saying nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wasn’t unwilling to comfort her, nor could he bear to see his beloved fiancée weep alone without moving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he knew—knew exactly what she was about to ask, and knew he could not answer her question: why must he stay in Gotham?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon was not a native of Gotham; he was born in Chicago. He wasn’t poor—he was a middle-class child who grew up comfortably. He wasn’t a genius; most of his achievements came from sheer effort.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From his teachers to his classmates, to his fiancée who lived beside him daily, none understood: why had Gordon abandoned his bright future at the Chicago PD to come to this hellhole—and stay for years?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon had achieved nothing in the Gotham PD.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His promotion was painfully slow; after years, he was still only a team leader. He had never solved any major cases. Even when he contributed to some, the credit never went to him—let alone justice or changing Gotham.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet Gordon was as if possessed—he insisted on staying. Every teacher and classmate who spoke of him did so with regret; in their eyes, even a little flexibility would have made his achievements far greater than they were.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon walked over and embraced Barbara. She kept crying, but asked nothing—because she knew the question she most wanted to ask, Gordon had never answered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When faced with the choice between his badge and his lover, Gordon always remained silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gotham’s nights never lacked cries, but Barbara’s weeping was special; few here wept for lovers. The fire in their chests barely warmed themselves—they had no energy left to weep for something as insubstantial as love.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Precisely because he had seen so many Gotham nights of weeping, Barbara’s sorrow and tears hurt him more deeply—he felt himself a worse murderer than any criminal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He thought: when he chose to live in this abyss, he should no longer expect anyone aboveground to spare him a glance. Even if someone did, their end would only be to weep for him—like Gotham’s cold midnight rain. But these tears were wasted; a thousand lovers’ tears, like a thousand fine rains, could not change this unyielding stone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next day, Harvey visited Shiler, surprising him—this lawyer always valued etiquette and rarely showed up unannounced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Harvey said: “Gordon came to me yesterday, asking me to find a legal consultant job for his fiancée—preferably in Metropolis or another southern city.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I thought his mental state was off, so I came to you. I don’t think they just argued. They’d already bought a house, even planned how many children to have—yet now Gordon seems to want to break up with Barbara. Something’s wrong…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler trusted Harvey’s instinct. He called Gordon—no answer. He called the police station; Gordon’s colleagues told him the detective who worked overtime day after day hadn’t shown up that afternoon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler had a bad feeling. He immediately contacted Gordon’s partner: Batman.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Last night, Gordon thought all night. Finally, the next morning, he broke up with Barbara.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To get her out of Gotham as soon as possible, he asked Harvey, the prominent lawyer, to find her a new job—preferably as far from Gotham as possible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon was just a man. The emotional shock of breaking up with his long-term girlfriend nearly broke him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the station, he couldn’t focus all morning, numb and dazed. By noon, when everyone went to eat, the empty office became unbearable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wandered out in a daze, seeking a crowded place—anything to escape the crushing despair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>yawenku.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But fate mocked him: as expected, his troubles were far from over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon after stepping out, he noticed someone following him. He snapped to clarity, wanting to return to the station—armed guards, hard to breach.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But his pursuers were cunning. When he saw several hostile faces watching him from ahead, he knew continuing forward meant disaster.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He carried only a pistol—magazine full, but handguns had limited power. He relied on his knowledge of the terrain, turned right into an alley, and hid in a blind spot around the corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It did nothing. His pursuers clearly knew the area well. Seeing him turn right, they followed immediately.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Footsteps outside the alley grew closer. Darkness fell. Gordon silently timed it. When footsteps reached the alley’s mouth, he fired—just as the light shifted from dim to black, when vision was poorest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing his bullet miss, he abandoned plan A. He knew: the other side were trained killers, unaffected by visibility.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He immediately holstered his gun and ran backward. Two gunshots rang out behind him. What puzzled him: the muffled thuds of suppressors. He understood instantly—these weren’t Gotham locals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gotham killers never used suppressors. It meant nothing here. No one reacted to gunshots—it was like putting earplugs on the deaf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Realizing this, Gordon formulated a new plan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His pursuers closed in faster—clearly stronger, faster than he was. He reached the alley’s end, then scrambled up an exterior wall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he reached the top, his pursuers arrived—the exact moment his movement stalled. *Bang.* A bullet struck him. He rolled off the wall, falling into the yard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bullet hit his arm—not fatal. He clutched it and kept running, shouting: “Black Tower gang attacked! They shot! They shot!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The yard belonged to a nightclub. At his cry, men rushed out—and the pursuer behind him was immediately surrounded by gang enforcers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had just climbed the wall, immobilized. Three or four bullets tore into him on the spot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gotham’s rule: regardless of visibility, regardless of identity—shoot first, talk later.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Gordon’s crisis wasn’t over. Clearly, there were multiple pursuers. The first was just bait. Soon, as he dashed from the alley onto the street, he saw a car speeding toward him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They had multiple plans—or perhaps they’d intended all along to drive him onto the street and run him down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon rolled right. The car missed him—but a black muzzle extended from its window.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon had barely stood when another bullet struck his back. He screamed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the shot came from a moving vehicle—glancing blow, not vital. Agony overwhelmed him, yet his will to live kept him running.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The more he hurt, the clearer his mind became. He knew if he kept running, he’d be caught in minutes. He gritted his teeth, clamping his wounded chest with one arm, the other bleeding freely from the gunshot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Following memory, he ran to the back door of an apartment. The lock was broken, always ajar. He yanked it with one arm—each motion sent unbearable pain through his chest. His breathing grew heavy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, the door cracked open. Gordon wasn’t tall or bulky—he squeezed through.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t stop. He bounded up a short flight of stairs, yanked open the nearest window, scrambled out, shut it behind him, and hid on the overhanging eave of the second floor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing pounding below, he bit his lip, slid down the eave, and landed straight onto a canopy. Luckily, as he fell backward, his blood left no trace.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After landing, he used his last strength to roll over, letting garbage bags cover him. After a while, footsteps inside faded. They hadn’t found him—seemed to have left.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon lay in garbage. Each breath carried thick coppery blood—the bullet had pierced his lung.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His arm was numb from blood loss, yet he still felt his engagement ring on his middle finger. His body heat was merging with the cold metal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He remembered Barbara’s face when he broke up with her—shocked, heartbroken.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He thought: she was right. He was a fool. A hopeless fool. A man who never learned to bend—a fool destined to die alone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A crushing cold swept over him, then a warmth surged from within. Blood from his forehead wound—knocked during the fall—trickled into his eyes, staining his vision red, then veiled in black mist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, Gotham rained again. This rain was nothing special—just another Gotham night rain: fine, cold.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon’s consciousness blurred, like a beast trapped in an abyss. These falling tears from above could not save his fading life—but they reminded him of his lover’s tears, and from deep within, a fiercer resolve rose. He thought:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he was born a fool who could never bend, let him exhaust every spark of life in this mire, his heart as hard as unyielding stone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Let him die alone here. Let the rotting wind blow through his bones, erasing every trace of his life—then, facing endless darkness, his final soul still resist, refusing to kneel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gordon thought—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Let him stand here, one against ten thousand, until dawn.\u003C\u002Fp>",1659,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","5069caae9c4e1bd3323e51a846c7b9fb91bb86a0fa2fb66b7f93689b82854211","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-85","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-83",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]