American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 173 Bruce: This is the observation log of the Kingdom of Locke.

The warm atmosphere of Thanksgiving seems like it was just yesterday.

But several successive heavy snowfalls have completely covered the Kent farm in a thick blanket of snow.

Icicles hung from the eaves, like strings of crystal wind chimes, gently colliding in the cold wind.

Despite the cold weather, the farm work couldn't stop.

In particular, the frequent snowfalls have put considerable pressure on old barns and houses.

Jonathan and Locke were busy reinforcing the barn roof and repairing the eaves, which were creaking under the weight of the snow.

Breathing white steam from his mouth, Jonathan clumsily nailed the planks to the ground while complaining incessantly:
"Hey Locke, you could have easily done all this with that... uh... 'Super Intelligence' in a few swishes, why did you have to drag me here to do it all myself, freezing like an icicle?"

Um.
The 'super intelligence' he was referring to was naturally 'super power'.

“Jonathan… last Wednesday you were holding up a frying pan and telling Clark not to misuse the heat vision, and yesterday you scolded him for wasting the heat vision by using it to defrost the pipes.”

“So,” Locke said, steadily holding onto a rafter that needed replacing, and rolled his eyes at him, “what do you mean by ‘only the magistrate is allowed to set fires’?”

"Remember when we used to play hide-and-seek in the barn when we were kids? You always managed to find where I was hiding."

Jonathan's lips curled into a nostalgic smile:

"Because you always hide behind the same haystack."

“But what if I had used super speed to dodge everything, or used X-ray vision to see through your moves?” Locke hammered on a nail. “That wouldn’t have been fun.”

He gazed at the distant, white fields:
"These times spent busily working on farm chores together—that's real life. For me, superpowers should only be used on special occasions."

"What are you mumbling about?"

“But now my super intelligence is reminding me that I should urge you to use your superpowers.” Pretending not to understand, Jonathan tucked the hammer into his back pocket and pretended to seriously examine the crooked nail. “After all, you are the man who awakened the power of our Kent family bloodline and obtained a ‘Stand’! You should make the most of it!”

"."

Locke covered his face, letting out a soft sigh through his fingers.

When he opened his mouth again, he remained calm, hooked his toe, picked up a half-melted snowball at his feet, and suddenly stuffed it into the back of Jonathan's neck.

"?!"

The icy snowball slid precisely into the back of Jonathan's collar.

"Ow-!!"

Jonathan jumped up and down, frantically patting his back to let the snow water run down his back, making him grimace. "You son of a bitch—!"

Locke chuckled and turned his head forward.

The snow was the same thickness, the same white.
It was like a deluge of cotton wool falling on Kent's backyard.

Back then, young Jonathan also held his breath, grabbed a handful of snow, kneaded it until it was firm and icy cold, and then—

"Hi~!"

"What the hell?"

Feeling the sudden chill on his neck, and seeing Jonathan, who was also young and making the same gesture, Locke laughed in exasperation.

What does "Only the magistrate is allowed to set fires" mean?

Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"Just you wait," Locke scoffed, casually crushing a snowball and letting the snowflakes drift away in the wind. "Next time, I'll definitely stuff it in your crotch. Time stops, you know that."

"Gudu."

Jonathan's Adam's apple bobbed as he imagined the scene, and his face turned green.

"Ahem. Get to work! After we're done, we'll go back and have some hot cocoa made by Masha!"

He said seriously.

"."

quickly
With the two working together seamlessly.

Locke was in charge of the heavy work that required immense strength and delicate manipulation, while Jonathan was in charge of assisting and nagging.

This collaboration brought the renovation work to a swift conclusion.

Although it still looks like those old pieces of wood and nails, the internal structure has been reinforced by Locke to be incredibly sturdy.

We can't let the wood Clark brought go to waste.

Finished with the work.

The two men then climbed down the ladder from the top of the barn, brushing the snow and wood dust off their clothes.

Jonathan habitually glanced around the snow-covered farm, his gaze lingering on a small hill in the distance. He squinted for a moment, then nudged Locke with his elbow, his tone a mixture of displeasure and curiosity:

"Hey, look at that black dot on that hillside over there, see it?"

"Under that dead tree. That kid... lately he seems to sit there every day, with binoculars or a drawing board or something, peeking this way. It's been like this for several days in a row! Acting suspiciously, aren't you going to go and ask him what's going on?"

I glanced in the direction Jonathan was pointing.

That distance might be just a blurry shadow to an ordinary person, but to Locke, it was enough to see clearly the young man wearing a black overcoat, sitting on a folding stool, shivering.

He smiled helplessly: "Maybe they're just an artist or photography enthusiast who came to sketch? Our farm's snow scene is quite photogenic."

"Come on!" Jonathan scoffed. "What artist can sit in the freezing cold for most of the day for days on end? And specifically choose an angle where they can see our barn and house? I think that kid is definitely up to something!"

My intuition is pretty accurate.
Locke didn't reply, but just glanced casually in that direction.

He naturally recognized who that guy was.
Bruce Wayne, huh?
The young man who lost his coat and hat in the rainy night in Gotham.

He is also the future Batman.

But Locke hadn't expected that the other party would come knocking so quickly, and in such a patient... even obsessive way.
Spend a lot of time quietly observing yourself.

He had thought the other person would disappear for a while, going to the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas or a temple in Kyoto to practice asceticism for a few years.

Unexpectedly, it was done in such a clumsy, almost ascetic way.
They were stationed in the snowy plains of Kansas.

Patience. Stubbornness.

Like a wolf cub, once it bites its prey, it won't let go.

"Let him be."

Locke withdrew his gaze, patted Jonathan on the shoulder, and said calmly:
"As long as he doesn't come in and cause trouble or hurt anyone in the family, let him watch if he wants. Maybe... he's just lost and contemplating life?"

"Now I'm waiting for the snow to stop, and I really want to figure out where to go next."

"is it?"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, turned, and walked over. "Then I'll go ask."

"You two, time to eat!"

Martha's voice came from inside the house.

It was crisp and powerful, carrying a vitality unlike anything before.

Jonathan froze, turning around to look at the ruddy-faced man.
His wife looked as if she were twenty years younger.

He rubbed his forehead with a complicated expression and muttered to Locke:
"Honestly, Locke... your sister-in-law is acting like this now, so energetic, like she could take down a bull with her bare hands. It's... it's really hard for me to get used to her. Is she still the gentle Martha she used to be?"

"Jonathan Kent!"

Martha, who happened to overhear this, feigned anger and gave a cold snort:
"Are you complaining that I've never been helpful enough in the past, or that I'm interfering too much with you now? If you don't want to eat, you can go back to fixing your dilapidated barn!"

After saying that, she turned and went into the house, leaving behind a neat and efficient back view.

"Honey, that's not what I meant."

Jonathan rubbed his forehead and quickly chased after them.

Locke watched this scene and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

That's right, and he became overly energetic because of the excessive treatment he received from Salafil.
He even seems to have reverted to his youthful, immature self, much like Jonathan.
Martha, feeling a little jealous, had secretly asked Salafir to make her look much younger.

However, there are still side effects.
That is, as her physical condition returned to its peak, Martha's youthful straightforwardness and a little bit of assertiveness seemed to be activated, while the kind and gentle nature that had matured over the years faded slightly.

This has led to Jonathan being scolded frequently for various "clumsy" or "conflicting opinions," which has scared Clark so much that he keeps making excuses to run to town every few days, afraid to face his mother, who has become much more demanding and strict.

Even Dior, when faced with Martha's suddenly raised aesthetic standards and concern for the details of life, chose to temporarily avoid confrontation.

It's almost fair to say that his life revolves around three points: school, Gotham, and going home to sleep.

Even now, in this home, she can still enjoy the same unconditional and gentle treatment she used to receive.
It's probably only Salafir himself who remains.

Looking ahead, Jonathan and Martha were still bickering, but their interactions were full of life.

Locke couldn't help but chuckle.

This scene bears a striking resemblance to the one he witnessed when he first arrived at the farm at the age of twelve, watching the young Kent couple bickering.

Time
It seemed to have come full circle at a peculiar juncture.

He smiled and shook his head, following the two men toward the warm and bright house.

However, just as he stepped onto the doorstep...

Locke paused slightly in his steps.

His gaze casually swept over an extremely inconspicuous shadow under the eaves, and he flicked his finger lightly at his side.

"Wow——!"

A blue arc of electricity flashed by.

"Snapped!"

There was a crisp sound.

With a wisp of barely visible smoke, the internal structure of the listening device was completely burned out, fell off the eaves, and disappeared into the snow below.

Locke's expression remained unchanged; he simply dusted off his clothes, naturally pushed open the door, and basked in the warmth of the room.

Outside
The wind and snow are still there.

Only that lone black dot on the hillside twitched slightly.
-
The wind and snow continued to swirl on the hillside.

The last few tenacious leaves on the withered tree branch were also swept away.

The young man, wrapped tightly in a black overcoat, still held the binoculars steadily.

This was his fourteenth day guarding the perimeter of the Kent farm.

The notebook was filled with detailed notes of every observation, like a jigsaw puzzle trying to piece together the enigmatic figure of Locke Kent.

He flipped through his notes from the previous few days:

"Day 1: The goal is to wake up at 5:32 AM, first check the barn livestock, then prepare breakfast for the two children. Notably, he chooses to chop wood with his bare hands instead of using superpowers."

"Day Three: Rescuing trapped lambs in a blizzard with lightning speed, but afterwards carefully wiping the mud off the lambs, just like any ordinary farmer."

Day 5: Building a snowman with my youngest son, I deliberately lost the snowball fight, got covered in snow but laughed happily.

He has witnessed far too many such delicate moments in the past few days.
That man clearly possessed godlike power, yet he deliberately maintained the pace of a mortal.

This can be seen from the questions he wrote in pencil next to each page of records:
—Why choose to conceal your power?

Is this ordinary life a facade or a reflection of one's true self?

The young man put down his binoculars and muttered to himself.

"Does power need an anchor?"

This realization gave him a strange sense of shock.

Having grown up at Wayne Manor, he had witnessed far too many people obsessed with power and strength.

But the man in front of me seems to be practicing a completely different philosophy with his entire life.

He quickly jotted down fragments of the conversation on his lap notebook.

"Is it important to maintain one's true human nature and wisdom?"

He wrote it down while repeating it in a low voice, trying to understand the concept.

However, just as his pen was moving rapidly, trying to record more of the observed details...
The pen tip paused.

"Om-!"

A familiar, piercing ringing sound came into my ears! Then, complete silence.

"...We've been discovered again."

The young man put down his pen, a hint of frustration flashing across his youthful face, but more so a sense of resignation, as if saying, "I knew it."

He closed his notebook and sighed.

People seem to have become so accustomed to the scrapping of listening devices that they don't even feel sorry for them.

After all, all he had to do was take out his satellite phone and dial a familiar number.

"beep--!"

The phone was answered after only half a ring.

Alfred Pennyworth's ever-relaxed voice came from the other end: "Young Master Bruce? Are you doing well?"

"Hopefully the weather in Smallwell isn't too harsh."

"I'm fine, Afu."

Bruce's voice sounded somewhat thin in the cold wind:

"But... another monitoring device has failed. Could you please order me two more boxes of the same model, no, three boxes? The latest, improved anti-interference version."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Alfred's voice remained steady, but the end of his voice rose slightly, carrying a hint of elegant teasing: "Young Master... please forgive my bluntness, but your recent rate of consumption of electronic listening equipment is almost catching up with the annual procurement volume of some departments of Wayne Corporation."

"What exactly is the scale of your 'ecological observation'?"

"Does the raven population in Kansas really need such a high density of surveillance coverage?"

The old housekeeper used a more tactful way of putting it.

Bruce's lips twitched slightly, his tone carrying a hint of youthful stubbornness:
"Ah Fu, believe me."

"."

Alfred on the other end of the phone was clearly stunned, and then fell into a longer silence.

Bruce could imagine the complex expression on the old butler's face at that moment.
After a long silence, Alfred sighed, his voice regaining its usual calm, but his concern was evident: "I understand, young master. I will arrange the equipment as soon as possible. So... how long do you plan to 'observe' there? The weather has been cold lately, are you getting used to the food and lodging? Do you need me to send someone..."

“No need!” Bruce interrupted immediately. “I’m fine here, very…quiet. It’s good for thinking. I’m also trying to find my own food, which is…training my wilderness survival skills.”

He glanced at the energy bars and compressed biscuits stuffed in the small insulated box next to him, without changing his expression.

"Really?" Alfred was clearly skeptical, but he didn't call him out on it. Instead, he changed the subject: "So, did you finish that little can of Darjeeling tea you brought?" He knew Bruce was extremely picky about tea, especially in such 'harsh' conditions, and that can of tea was probably his only comfort.

"Uh"

Upon hearing this, Bruce's eyes darted around unconsciously for a moment, and he touched his nose.
"Finished."

Of course, he wouldn't tell Afu that the expensive can of premium black tea, which he had disguised himself a few days ago and taken to the only decent-looking grocery store in Smallville, had been exchanged for three large cans of cheap hot cocoa powder and a thick blanket.

no way.
He prefers the straightforward and warm sweetness of hot cocoa to the slightly bitter aroma of black tea.

"Okay, I'll send you some more along with the new equipment."

Alfred was considerate and didn't press the matter.

After simply reminding him to keep warm and to keep in touch regularly, I gave him a few words of advice.

call ended.

The satellite phone screen went dark.

Sitting on the cold folding stool, Bruce gazed at the warm lights of the Kent farm in the distance and sighed softly.

He unscrewed the thermos cup next to him, which had a silly bat painted on it.

A sweet and rich aroma of hot cocoa eagerly wafted out, condensing into a warm white mist in the chilly air.

He tilted his head back and took a big gulp.

Let the sweet, hot liquid dispel the chill from your body.

Um.
To be honest, this simple and straightforward sweet drink suited his taste better than the black tea that Afu carefully brewed.

Damn it! I used to be pampered at home by Afu, who served me top-quality black tea with bone china cups and silver spoons. What kind of life is this?!
Bruce sighed, then picked up his binoculars, intending to continue observing.

Can.
"Hey!"

A crisp sound suddenly rang out from not far behind, breaking the silence of the snowfield.

Bruce tensed up and quickly closed the notebook on his lap and stuffed it into his backpack.

The entire sequence of movements was fluid and took less than half a second.

He slowly turned around and looked at the source of the sound.

Just a dozen meters away, two abrupt figures stood out against the backdrop of the snow.

The tall, robust young man was wrapped in a heavy work jacket, his face bearing a hint of the honesty of a farmer.
Well, Bruce thought it was a bit too naive and silly.

He recognized him.
This should be Clark Kent, Mr. Locke's nephew, as indicated in the records.
And the petite blonde girl next to her?
He didn't recognize him.

Although she was very beautiful, the curious glint in her bright blue eyes made Bruce feel instinctively uncomfortable.
He was all too familiar with that look; he'd seen it countless times at charity galas in Gotham.

Naïve and fearless.
This usually means trouble is about to begin.

Why have you been watching my farm all this time?

Clark frowned, his tone direct and tinged with displeasure.

After all, no one would be too happy to find their home being watched by strangers with binoculars.

"."

A half-second silence.

The icy expression on Bruce's face melted instantly, replaced by a gentle, harmless, and shy smile.

“Don’t misunderstand, sir.” He waved his professional telephoto lens camera and explained with a prepared statement, “I’m a photographer and freelance writer. The snow scenes and farm landscapes here are very unique, and I want to take a series of photos about the winter countryside.”

His tone was natural, with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

He seemed to be just an artist obsessed with beautiful scenery.

However, Clark's brow furrowed even more, clearly skeptical of this explanation.

However, Chloe's eyes lit up.

She hopped forward like a light bird, her golden hair swaying, her smile so radiant it could almost dispel the chill in the air, cleverly breaking the slightly tense atmosphere.

"Really? That's great! We're taking pictures of the farm too!"

She pointed to the ordinary digital camera hanging around Clark's neck:
“I want to pick out some good ones to send to my cousin Louise, who is a reporter for the Metropolitan University student newspaper and is currently struggling to find good photos for her rural section!”

"so."

She looked curiously at the expensive-looking professional camera in Bruce's hand, her tone filled with anticipation and a touch of slyness: "Mr. Photographer, could you show us some of your photos? Maybe we can learn something from a professional perspective, or... maybe my cousin's column could use them?"

She's a very smart girl.

The request was both flattering and reasonable, making it hard to refuse.

Bruce frowned inwardly, but maintained a gentle smile on his face.

but
He had already prepared a contingency plan.

The photos on the camera's memory card have all been carefully selected.

The entire collection consists of beautiful landscapes and distant views of farms, with not a single close-up of the Kent family or an angle that might reveal his true intentions.

A slight alarm bell rang in Bruce's heart, but a gentler smile bloomed on his face:

"my pleasure."

He was very generous, switching the camera to playback mode and handing it to Chloe, saying, "Please make yourself at home; these are just some preliminary shots."

Chloe cheered and took the camera, while Clark couldn't resist moving closer out of curiosity.

The two heads were buried together, looking through the photos on the camera screen.

At first, Clark looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze, but soon his expression changed.

Even someone with only a basic understanding of photography like him could see that these photos were unusual.
The composition is extremely precise, and the light and shadow are captured perfectly. Although it is a familiar farm scene, it presents a magnificent beauty under the lens of this camera and this 'photographer'.

Each one looks like a postcard.

"Wow! Your photos... are amazing!" Chloe exclaimed, pointing to a silhouette photo of a barn. "This one! The lighting is fantastic! And this one with the tire tracks in the snow, it tells such a story!"

Clark was also quite engrossed in watching, and subconsciously nodded, his previous doubts largely dissipating.

The person who can take such a photo is probably not a bad person.

Bruce felt somewhat reassured after observing their reactions.

Excellent, art is indeed the best passport.

The two handed the camera back to Bruce, their faces still showing lingering admiration.

“It’s very well shot.” ​​Clark nodded in praise, his tone sincere, but then he changed the subject, revealing a sly smile. “However, sir…”

"?"

Bruce's heart tightened, and his brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Did I accidentally reveal a flaw somewhere?

But then Clark continued, in a completely matter-of-fact tone:

"After all, you filmed my farm. Logically speaking, shouldn't you pay us some... uh... location fee or model fee?"

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this.

money.

The most mundane yet most effective solution.

He almost burst out laughing.

That's it?

I thought it was something serious.

He calmly reached into the inside pocket of his coat.

He had done this move a thousand times, from Wayne Manor to Gotham nightclubs, from auction houses to underground boxing rings; money or black cards would be like a master key to open up new possibilities.

—After all, this is exactly what Bruce Wayne has in abundance.

Um.
So his hand reached for nothing.

The smile froze on his face.

He checked his other pockets, but still found nothing.

As a fine layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead, Bruce suddenly remembered that, in order to fully immerse himself in the role and avoid carrying any items that might reveal his identity, he had long ago left his wallet, credit cards, and other belongings in the makeshift, secluded hut in the mountains.

They only brought the most basic survival supplies and observation equipment.

Oops…

This billionaire is now penniless.

The sound of the wind became deafening.

However, Bruce is Bruce after all; he's quick-witted and resourceful.

Panic lasted only a moment.

The next second, that young and pale face was once again covered with a perfect disguise.

A playful smile even appeared at the corner of his mouth as he calmly met Clark's blue eyes, which seemed to scream "pay up."

“Sir, what you say makes a lot of sense.”

He first agreed, then changed the subject, pointing to the snow-covered hillside at his feet, "But I want to remind you of something."

“I bought this hillside you are standing on a week ago, and I am now the owner of the property.”

“Strictly speaking, you are now standing on my land, shouldn’t you… pay me?”

Bruce thought he had used this tactic brilliantly, turning the tables on his opponent.

The effect is also immediate.

The young farmhand's expression changed immediately, seemingly bewildered by the sudden issue of property rights. He instinctively pulled Chloe back a few steps, then turned around and whispered to the girl, their voices filled with confusion and panic.

A smug smile appeared on Bruce's face; he was ready to enjoy the look of utter discomfiture on his opponent's face.

However, that smile quickly froze.

His keen hearing caught the conversation between the two people huddled together:

Clark: "...Chloe, I was just trying to make a joke, but it seems like the other person..."

Chloe subtly pointed to her temple and whispered, "Clark! Who told you to mess with 'artists' like that? Don't you know that most artists are probably a little... overly sensitive here? If you take them too seriously, you'll lose!"

Bruce: "..."

He could feel a throbbing vein on his forehead.

"You two..."

Taking a deep breath, Bruce interrupted their whispers impatiently, "Enough. What do you want? Just say it."

The plan goes through!
Chloe and Clark exchanged a quick glance, a knowing glint of cunning flashing in their eyes.

Chloe blinked and pointed to the memory card in Bruce's camera.

"Um... photographer, these photos are absolutely fantastic! You must have backups, right? Could you... give us this memory card? My cousin's column really needs high-quality photos!"

Her tone was full of anticipation, making it hard to refuse.

Bruce glanced at the big guy who looked simple and honest but was actually quite good at cooperating and assisting, then looked at the girl in front of him who was obviously not easy to deal with, and sighed helplessly.

"Fine, I'll give them to you. Stop bothering me."

He pretended to be impatient as he took out the memory card and handed it over.

"..."

"Yay!" Chloe cheered, excitedly taking the memory card.

Immediately, as if receiving a precious treasure, she carefully inserted it into her camera and began selecting items with great delight.

Seeing Chloe's happy expression, Clark scratched his head sheepishly and gave Bruce an apologetic smile: "Thank you, kind photographer."

"You're welcome," Bruce said instinctively, but looking at Clark's expression, he couldn't help but add, "A big guy who's a bit of a closet pervert."

"?"

Clark's smile froze instantly, replaced by a distinct question mark on his face.

"Hey," Bruce finally regained some ground after seeing his bewildered expression, and couldn't help but chuckle, with a hint of mockery, "You seem pretty honest, but you're quite good at making girls happy and acting."

"..."

Clark then realized what was going on, shook his head helplessly, and didn't bother to explain that it was mostly Chloe's idea.

"My name is Clark Kent."

He reached out his hand, and his smile became sincere and open again.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, then reached out his hand, allowing their hands to briefly clasp together in the cold wind.

“Me? My name is Bruce Wayne.”

He gave his real name.

“Yes, Mr. Bruce.”

Clark glanced at the bat-shaped thermos next to Bruce, which had stopped steaming, pointed in the direction of the farm, and extended a friendly invitation: "It's too cold outside, how about... coming to my house for a hot cocoa?"

Bruce shook his head, almost instinctively wanting to refuse.

But looking into Clark's sincere blue eyes, feeling the biting cold wind around him and the emptiness brought on by the energy bar in his stomach, and then thinking about the cup of black tea that he had secretly switched...

seem…

Take a close look at this family's daily life, and observe how this family, who have buried divine power deep in potatoes and haystacks, weaves a cage with everyday trivialities.

Is this a good opportunity?

Maybe there will be unexpected gains.

He blinked, swallowed back the refusal that was on the tip of his tongue, and gave a perfectly timed smile:

"Okay, sorry to bother you then."

"To be honest, I am a bit cold."
-
P.S.: Everyone go to sleep now, I'm having some writer's block.

I'll take a look. Chapter Two will be tomorrow morning.

55555555555
(End of this chapter)