American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 275 The King Jumps Out of the Chessboard, The Puppet with Broken Strings!
Fate is not about rolling dice, but about calculating with a desolate touch.

The sacrifice was not accidental.

It was already present in the drama.

—Shakespeare's King Lear (Imitation)
A secret clubhouse somewhere in Gotham, unknown to most.

The heavy curtains blocked out all light and sound from the outside world.

In the vast room, the only solace came from the fireplace.

But the embers there had burned out, leaving only a single ember casting a final, dim red glow in the spacious room.

Three figures, forming a silent triangle, sat facing each other at the edge of this patch of light and shadow.

Above the main seat.

He is someone who, even in the dim light, seems to be able to gather all darkness into a vortex.

He leaned back in the large, high-backed chair.

His face was covered by the same pitch-black mask that sent shivers down the spines of the entire Gotham underworld.

he.
That's the one who stirred up trouble in Gotham, and even managed to return unscathed from flames and explosions...

Black mask.

To his left sat a man whose face was covered by a pure white mask. The mask was so smooth that it had no lines, like a cold white sheet of paper waiting to be written on, or a clean shroud prepared for the dead, without any gaps that could reveal any emotion.

To his right was a person wearing a more elaborate 'sparrow' mask, who remained silent, as if merely a silent witness.

The long silence nearly suffocated the last embers in the fireplace.

at last
The black mask on the main seat moved slightly.

It's like waking up from a sleep.

He spoke, his voice hoarse through the mask:

"war……"

He uttered the word slowly, as if savoring a bitter olive.

"Things are moving in a good direction."

"Enough blood has been shed, territory has changed hands, and hatred remains as high as a mountain..."

He slightly raised his chin, and his eyes, hidden behind the mask, seemed to pierce through the darkness before him, seeing the ceaseless fighting and flames on the streets of Gotham day and night.

"but"

He abruptly changed the subject, "I sense... something's wrong."

There was no doubt in his voice, only an almost certain judgment.

"It's too 'standard,' like a play performed according to a fixed script."

“Falcone’s resistance, my attack, even those lurking in the shadows, like vultures waiting to gnaw on carrion… everything was just too much in line with one person’s ‘expectations’.”

He leaned forward slightly, his black mask seemingly blending into the shadows.

Only that deep voice, carrying the power to pierce through the fog, echoed in the room:

“There is a pair of eyes watching us from outside the chessboard.”

"There is a hand that is manipulating everyone's strings."

"And we..."

He paused, then said with a self-deprecating tone, "What a perfect marionette."

The last embers in the fireplace finally went out completely.

Utter darkness did not descend.

A faint, bluish light shone from the corner of the wall, making the shadows of the three people appear even more distorted and bizarre.

A long silence descended once again.

This time, it was the white mask that broke the silence.

His voice came through the pure white mask, carrying a deliberate calmness.

"The strings of a puppet are ultimately an external force."

“The thread can be taut, and it can also be cut,” the white-masked man said. “Or, let the manipulator think that the thread is still taut, and that the puppet… has already gained free will.”

The man in the black mask let out a very soft chuckle.

"Free will..."

"Franco, you still prefer to use these philosophical terms."

"In Gotham, whether you are free depends on whether you can get rid of the mud on your body and... whether you can find more solid ground to stand on."

“Silt is everywhere, sir.”

The white-masked man's voice remained steady, "It's viscous, filthy, trying to drag everything into the abyss."

"But it is precisely because it is ubiquitous that it can sometimes become the best disguise."

"A body buried deep in the mud is often harder to see and easier to forget than a body displayed in broad daylight."

"The corpse..."

The man in black chewed on the word, as if savoring its weight. "Yes."

"A perfectly placed 'corpse'."

"Not only can it get rid of the silk thread, but it may also make the thread manipulator confused or even afraid."

"Fear of why the puppet suddenly 'damaged,' fear that this damage was an accident, or... the beginning of another form of rebellion."

“Fear stems from the unknown, sir,” the white-masked man replied smoothly, his tone steady. “When one of the most important pieces on the chessboard suddenly disappears, the empty space it leaves behind attracts greed and breeds suspicion.”

"The player will examine every corner of the board and suspect every remaining piece, but often overlooks—what lies outside the board."

“Those pieces that have already been deemed ‘discarded’.”

"Perhaps in the shadows, he is coldly observing the chaos he caused, waiting for a way out."

"yes."

"But Franco. Chaos is a ladder, and also a swamp."

The man in the black mask lowered his voice, carrying a thoughtful weight of pros and cons: "A climber may reach the summit, or he may fall."

“We need to make sure we’re climbing, not… becoming nutrients for the swamp.”

"Whether nutrients nourish new life or deeper decay depends on the nature of the nutrients, and..." The white-masked man's words still carried that unhurried tone, "where the roots that draw nutrients extend."

"Roots..."

The black-masked man continued, his gaze seemingly piercing through the mask, meeting Franco's eyes hidden behind pure white. "Then let the old roots wither and rot completely under everyone's watchful eyes."

"And the new... will spread quietly in the darkness where no one knows."

“Yes, sir.” The white-masked man nodded slightly and said in a low voice, “The past is dead.”

"Yes, the past is dead."

The man in the black mask muttered to himself as he turned toward the corner.

A hidden door there was silently opening by itself.

A man with a coarse burlap sack over his head was silently escorted out by the masked men and staggered to his knees in the center of the room.

The man in black stepped forward and removed his hood.

He looked at that face and sighed:
“Mr. Richard Theonis…”

"I'm afraid I'll have to trouble you tonight for me..."

"To die again."

Gotham during wartime.

Like a giant beast with its throat ripped open, roaring in pain and madness.

The Upper East Side had long since become a hellscape, with scorching ballistic trajectories tearing through the night sky and explosions erupting one after another, casting ghostly light on the reliefs of classical buildings.

Thick smoke enveloped three-quarters of the city.

But on the verge of this utterly out-of-control chaos, in Gotham's Upper West Side...
Chinatown.

Or, in a geographical sense, the Gotham Basin.

This entire low-lying area was a settlement for Chinese people.

The people living here adhere to an ancient and simple belief:

People don't offend me, I don't offend people.

Surprisingly, both the Falcone family's gunmen and the thugs under Black Mask's command avoided this area.

It was as if some invisible barrier existed.

It makes the people living here feel as if they are on a secluded island.

after all
In a sense, this is a self-sufficient kingdom ruled by a single, iron-fisted underworld figurehead.

In Chinese context, they humbly refer to themselves as "Fu Shou Bang," meaning "good fortune in hand."

But in the eyes of other factions in Gotham, they are the mysterious and troublesome 'Lucky Hand Triad'.

——Lucky Hands Triad.

Their sphere of influence extends to the entire Gotham Basin.

It is impenetrable to needles and water.

And at this moment.
Beneath the entrance to the main street of Chinatown, a teahouse stands quietly.

Above the door are powerful and vigorous square characters.

The letter reads: "The Blessed Hands Gang."

May you enjoy happiness and good health.

As it turns out, it did indeed succeed.

The teahouse was a completely different world from the raging war outside.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of aged Pu'er tea, released after being agitated by hot water.

The warm orange light illuminated the mahogany table with its exquisite purple clay tea set and the ink wash landscape painting hanging on the wall.

An elderly man dressed in a traditional Chinese jacket is quietly playing chess with himself.

The crisp sound of chess pieces hitting the board is the noisiest sound here.

"Oh my, this so-called ambidextrous fighting is truly a science."

The old man stretched contentedly, his joints making a series of soft cracking sounds.

Then, he picked up an incongruous electric kettle that was next to him.

He poured boiling water over the teapot with unhurried and fluid movements.

until--

The heavy wooden door of the teahouse was gently pushed open.

A robust man in a well-tailored suit strode in. He bypassed the tea table, went straight to the old man, and bowed slightly.

"Ah Zu?" The old man was somewhat surprised to see the visitor.

His hand holding the kettle paused slightly, then resumed its smooth motion.

He slowly poured the brewed tea into cups, then gently pushed one cup towards the man in the suit, letting the bright orange-red liquid ripple in the cup. He said in a calm voice:
"what happened?"

The man nodded slightly, but did not immediately touch the steaming cup of tea.

He simply stood straight before the old man, like a pine tree firmly rooted there.

Just like the name Uncle Chen gave him when he carried him back from the dock.

Ye Jinzu.

I dare not forget the classics and abandon filial piety and righteousness.

My only purpose in this life is to bring glory to my ancestors.

He said in a low voice, "Uncle Chen, the situation outside... isn't quite right."

“Falcone and the Black Masks are bloodthirsty on the Upper East Side, but a few small gangs, seeing that we’re not doing anything, have started targeting the streets near us.”

Uncle Chen picked up his cup of tea, brought it to his nose, and gently inhaled the aroma, his eyes slightly lowered:
"Is it the 'fishermen' gang, or those good-for-nothing 'dock rats'?"

He knew the nicknames and backgrounds of these surrounding forces very well.

"All."

Ye Jinzu stated succinctly, "Moreover, we are adjacent to the largest power."

"It's too quiet at the Iceberg Club."

"That 'king' seems to enjoy this chaos, with Cobblestone's underground munitions flowing out like water. I fear that this fire will eventually reach our doorstep."

Uncle Chen took a small sip of tea, savoring the lingering sweetness on his lips and teeth, before finally saying:
"When fire comes, we simply meet it with soldiers and generals, and water with earth."

"Our Fortune Hands gang was able to establish itself in Gotham not because of luck, but because of the discipline we developed through years of hard work and skill."

"What should be protected, we will not yield an inch. What should not be touched, we will not even glance at."

“Ah Zu, you know this better than I do.”

Ye Jinzu remained silent for a moment, a complex expression flashing in his eyes.

He lowered his head slightly, his voice becoming even deeper:
"Yes, Uncle Chen."

"I just... feel that the wind is blowing in a more sinister direction than before."

"The Romans and that masked madman were like they were being driven by something to fight to the death. I'm afraid... if we try to stay out of trouble, we'll end up becoming easy prey for others."

"Snapped!"

The teacup was gently tapped on the tea tray, producing a crisp sound.

Uncle Chen raised his head, his gaze stern, and looked directly at the man: "Auntie!"

"Now, you are the leader of the Fortune Hands Gang!"

Ye Jinzu's body trembled slightly, as if he had been struck by the sound.

He immediately straightened his back, bowed his head, and said, "Yes, Uncle Chen."

Looking at the successor he had personally nurtured, who was now capable of standing on his own.

Uncle Chen's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained serious:
"The burden of leadership rests on your shoulders. How to proceed and where to go is up to you."

"My old bones can only help you watch the road from behind and warn you where there are potholes."

"But the final step you take is your own decision."

"Being timid and hesitant, and indecisive, is not how a leader should behave!"

Looking at him, Uncle Chen picked up the teapot again and poured him half a cup of slightly cool tea. His tone returned to its previous calmness, yet it carried a profound meaning:
"Tea doesn't taste good when it gets cold."

"The situation... is the same."

"Once you've identified the right target, it's time to act."

"Also, the electric kettle is quite useful; the ones from Yiwu are genuine."

"Send me another case next time. I can occasionally give it to my old friends. Giving this is more respectable than giving tea."

Hearing this sudden request, Ye Jinzu was both amused and exasperated.

Looking at the old man in front of him, holding a teacup and talking about the kettle, he was filled with emotion.

Who could have imagined that?
The kind-faced, even somewhat tech-savvy old man in front of me
It was the same person who led the Fu Shou Gang back then, fighting a bloody and brutal battle to completely drive out the vicious Xin Long Gang, those bastards who had been entrenched in Chinatown and committed all sorts of evil deeds.
They carved out a haven of peace in this fertile, sinister land, transforming Chinatown into a paradise amidst the chaos of Gotham. The power of time is truly incredible.

Ye Jinzu downed the warm tea in one gulp, intending to do what he did as a child: flatter the old man and ease the slightly heavy atmosphere.
"Gang leader."

A deep voice came from behind him.

A gang member dressed in black, moving silently, quickly approached.

Leaning close to his ear, he quickly reported in a very low voice:
"There's been some activity at the Iceberg Club."

"That 'king' seems to be no longer content with sitting on the sidelines and watching the tigers fight."

Ye Jinzu's eyes narrowed, and his muscles, which had just relaxed, tensed up again.

"His first target now... seems to be us."

The subordinate continued to whisper, "He just sent a messenger."

"Dinah Drake".

Upon hearing this name, Ye Jinzu's eyebrows twitched slightly.

Dinah Drake…

She has a pretty good reputation in Gotham's lower class.

She and her teacher run a martial arts school that teaches real fighting skills and emphasizes martial ethics. She has helped Gotham residents who have been bullied on more than one occasion and is highly respected.

Her master also seemed to have some kinship and friendship with some of the early martial arts veterans in the Fu Shou Gang.

When her master died, she even went to offer two sticks of incense.

Send her here...

"Let her."

Ye Jinzu was about to make him wait a while and deflate his arrogance.

But his gaze unconsciously drifted to Uncle Chen across from him, who seemed to be studying the electric kettle's heat preservation function again.

"Bring her here."

Ye Jinzu changed his mind and gave the order in a deep voice.

The subordinate accepted the order and silently left the tea room.

As soon as the door closed, Uncle Chen, who had seemed lost in thought, shook his head, sighed softly, and sounded a little disappointed:
“Ah Zu, war is not child’s play, much less a time to talk about brotherhood.”

“Even though her master had some kinship with us, times have changed.”

"The other party represents the 'iceberg,' the king who stirs up trouble."

"You granted me this meeting so easily, skipping even the basic procedures of consultation and waiting around. Your attitude..."

"It's set too low."

Upon hearing this, Ye Jinzu did not show any dissatisfaction at being reprimanded. Instead, he smiled, picked up the teapot to refill Uncle Chen's water, and said nothing more, but his eyes revealed an unfathomable composure.

A short while later, footsteps sounded again.

The door to the tea room was opened, and a tall, lithe figure appeared in the doorway.

And so Dinah Drake walked in.

She wore a sharp black combat uniform with a windproof leather jacket over it, and her long golden hair was tied into a neat ponytail.

His gaze immediately met that of Ye Jinzu, who was in the main seat.

The two silently sized each other up.

Diana was somewhat surprised.

Compared to that fleeting glimpse at the teacher's funeral years ago, this man…

The sense of oppression has intensified.

Even through the well-fitting suit, you could feel the outline of his bulging muscles, as if he were hiding explosive power.

Sitting there quietly, he was like a tiger that had folded its claws and was resting, calm yet even more unsettling.

Although they are still a bit inferior to their own king, they should not be underestimated.

A thought suddenly struck her: she remembered the man who had rushed to the funeral covered in blood years ago.

According to a bystander's whisper, he had just been at the dock, fighting tooth and nail to get back the seized goods. He had gone in and out seven times, and then rushed over immediately after resolving the trouble, without even having time to change his clothes.

"Ms. Drake"

Ye Jinzu spoke first, breaking the silence. His voice was steady and carried the warmth of an old friend reuniting.

"It's been a long time. I wonder how the martial arts school is doing? Are the students all well?"

Upon hearing this, Diana's expression turned somewhat strange.

"The martial arts school... was burned down six months ago. Nothing was left."

But she added in her heart:
However, it will be rebuilt soon.

His Majesty the King sent her this time, and the advance payment included a full $100,000 for reconstruction costs.

"."

But Ye Jinzu's smile froze, and his hand, which was about to pour tea, stopped in mid-air.

He clearly hadn't expected to hear that answer.

"This……"

He was speechless for a moment; the pleasantries and probing he had prepared were all cut short by this sudden fact.

"When did this happen?!"

Before he could even speak, Uncle Chen, who had seemed detached from the situation, suddenly looked up, his voice filled with barely suppressed astonishment.

His hand holding the teacup trembled slightly.

My old friends from the past have left one by one; I never imagined things would turn out like this…

Even that last vestige of hope, that arena filled with sweat and cheers, couldn't be preserved...

The old man's face showed sadness.

Hearing the old man's exclamation, Diana looked at the distinguished old man who had been sitting quietly beside the main seat from the beginning, and asked with some confusion, "Who is this...?"

Uncle Chen's face returned to that harmless, gentle smile.

As if the exclamation from just moments ago had never happened, he waved his hand and said casually, "Just an ordinary old man, retired, here for a cup of tea. Young lady, you don't need to pay me any attention."

Then, he picked up the electric kettle that he had praised so highly, filled the empty cup in front of Diana with hot water, pushed it over, and nodded, saying, "Have a cup of hot water to warm yourself up."

"Now, let's get down to business."

Watching the old man's fluid movements and the instantaneous change in his emotions, Diana, though still puzzled, nodded politely and said in somewhat broken Chinese, "Thank you."

Seeing this, Ye Jinzu nodded slightly in his heart, secretly praising the wisdom of experience.

Uncle Chen's seemingly irrelevant interruptions and expressions of concern easily pulled the rhythm and slightly heavy atmosphere that had been swayed by the martial arts school incident back on track, and he subtly regained control of the conversation.

He was about to take over the conversation when he noticed Uncle Chen's dark face and his eyes silently warning him.

Ye Jinzu immediately gave an awkward smile and composed himself.

His expression turned serious, his gaze refocused on Diana, and his tone became solemn:

“Ms. Drake, I’m sorry, I misspoke.”

"So, may I ask what brings you here on behalf of 'Iceberg'?"

Seeing that the other party had gotten to the point, Diana also suppressed the slight sadness that had arisen because of the martial arts school.

She sat up straight and, without any unnecessary pleasantries, stated her purpose directly:
"The Iceberg Club has no intention of interfering in any internal affairs of Chinatown and respects its traditions."

"During the current war, as long as the fighting doesn't actively spread into Chinatown, 'Iceberg' can guarantee that there will be no external forces involved."

"Whether it's Falcone, Black Mask, or any other opportunists."

"They bypassed them to disturb the peace here."

"And in return."

She calmly met Ye Jinzu's probing gaze and stated her conditions:

"We hope that our lucky friends can help keep an eye on the passages between Chinatown and the outside world. If you find any 'rats' trying to escape from the main battlefield in the East District, or trying to hide by using these passages, please let us know."

"Regardless of which side they belonged to, they can be 'cleaned up' in a timely manner."

"Or at least, inform us of their movements."

Ye Jinzu listened, his brows furrowing slightly.

He was a shrewd leader who understood Dior's intentions almost the instant Diana finished speaking.

This is a tacit understanding based on practical interests.

Centered around the Iceberg Club and built upon the unparalleled power of that mysterious superhuman, they embark on forging a new order of their own amidst the chaos of Gotham.

This proposal clearly defines spheres of influence and extends an olive branch to the neighbors.

This will allow both sides to achieve a precious order.

However, Ye Jinzu did not nod immediately.

He leaned forward slightly and said in a calm tone:
“Ms. Drake, we have felt the goodwill and strength of ‘Iceberg.’ Maintaining peace in Chinatown is simply our duty.”

"But you should understand."

He then changed the subject: "In Gotham today, so-called 'neutrality' often means pleasing neither side, and may even attract hostility from both sides at the same time."

"By fulfilling this 'tacit understanding,' we are effectively helping 'Iceberg' restrict the activities of certain people. The risks involved... cannot be completely offset by simply saying 'don't disturb.'" He pointed out the key issue: "With war raging, the flow of goods is blocked, and prices are soaring."

"We need to appease the neighbors and maintain basic order, which requires much more manpower and resources than usual."

"A mere promise of 'no harassment' is probably... not enough."

However, Diana seemed to have been prepared, and remained unfazed by Ye Jinzu's seemingly sarcastic question.

“Mr. Ye is a sensible man,” she said frankly. “‘Iceberg’ would certainly not let his friends take risks for nothing.”

"In addition to ensuring the security of your borders, we can provide a reasonably priced supply of essential goods, including food, medicine, and some building materials, to help you stabilize your internal situation."

"At the same time, in terms of intelligence, we can share some non-core information about large-scale troop movements so that you can prepare in advance."

This is a more substantial proposal that touches on the core needs of the Fu Shou Gang to survive in the current chaotic world.

Ye Jinzu's eyes flickered slightly, clearly indicating that he was carefully weighing the options.

Seeing this, Dinah pressed her advantage, her tone becoming more sincere: "Mr. Ye, Gotham is sliding into a deeper abyss, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to remain unscathed."

“Choosing a relatively stable partner who is capable of maintaining a certain level of order can at least give Chinatown a chance to breathe.”

"We are not asking you to charge into battle, but we hope that in this chaos, we can have one more rational neighbor to jointly resist utter madness."

Ye Jinzu remained silent, his fingers caressing the warm teacup.

Diana's words did indeed persuade him.

Establishing such a mutually beneficial tacit understanding with a powerful force often means being out of control; if the other party harbors malicious intentions, then...
"Buzz...buzz..."

The phone he had placed next to his teacup emitted a dull vibration.

Ye Jinzu made an apologetic gesture to Diana, then picked up his phone and walked to the window of the tea room to answer the call.

"explain."

"."

"sure?"

"."

"Source?"

"."

"I see."

The call was brief.

But Ye Jinzu, with his back to Diana and Uncle Chen, was already tense.

But when he turned around and walked back to the tea table, his expression had returned to its usual composure.

It was even calmer than before.

It was unusually calm.

He sat down again, his gaze returning to Diana.

This time, however, there was something indescribable in the depths of his gaze.

"Ms. Diana."

He spoke, his voice steady, but he dropped a bombshell.

“We have just received a message… that is not fully verified, but the source is highly reliable.”

"Black Mask... is dead."

"what?!"

Diana's composure shattered, replaced by pure astonishment.

She almost stood up from her seat.

Black Mask's death signifies a dramatic shift in Gotham's power structure!

What will happen to the Masquerade Society? How will Falcone react?
The entire course of the war will spiral out of control!

After Dinah had processed the news, Ye Jinzu spoke up, “Ms. Drake,” “We accept ‘Iceberg’s’ proposal. The alliance is now formed.”

After all, Gotham is likely to become hell in the future.
Iceberg has already become an alliance partner who adds icing on the cake, and has now risen to the level of providing necessary "help in times of need".

Ye Jinzu is no fool.
Gotham will probably be next
"."

Hearing this unexpected yet reasonable answer...

Diana felt no sense of relief at having earned 100,000 dollars.

She stood up, ready to leave quickly.

My steps were much heavier than when I came.

Gotham…

What will happen next?
She didn't know, she only felt that the road ahead was shrouded in an even thicker fog.

Can my martial arts school still be opened?! I don't want it to burn down again as soon as I open it!
How could Black Mask die at this time?!

"boom--!"

Once Diana's figure disappeared outside the tea room, the heavy wooden door closed again.

Silence returned to the tea room, broken only by the faint hum of the electric kettle keeping the water warm.

The composure on Ye Jinzu's face slowly faded. He rubbed his temples and looked at Uncle Chen, who hadn't uttered a single word from beginning to end.

Uncle Chen didn't look at him, but instead gazed at the seemingly peaceful street scene of Chinatown outside the window, and sighed:

"A storm is brewing, and ultimately... it's unavoidable."

“Tell the children below to guard our gates. As for what happens outside…”

"It's a storm."

"A real...storm that tears everything apart."

"Don't look, don't listen, don't move."
-
PS: One more chapter to come.

(End of this chapter)