American comic book: After mastering resurrection, I became incredibly popular.

"If one day I really become the kind of thing I'm fighting against, I hope you can kill me without hesitation, just like you killed the Joker."

Wang Baixi was stunned; he couldn't find a suitable answer for a moment.

The bat cave was silent for a moment.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.” Wang Baixi broke the silence first, chuckled twice, and deliberately steered the conversation in a lighter tone. “Let’s make this clear first, what I did to the clown was purely accidental. I’m not a combative person by nature, and I hate violence the most.”

“Kelvin has already given me a full report of what you did at Blackgate Prison today,” Bruce said expressionlessly.

"That traitor Kelvin," Wang Boxi muttered under his breath, then quickly added, "Indeed, I was a bit too rough around the edges, but your son wasn't much better."

“I originally intended for you to be in charge of training him.”

“This isn’t a good idea,” Wang Baixi scratched his head. “Back to the Blackgate prison issue…we need to pin the blame on the Joker. Otherwise, all of Gotham will know that I’m a murderer among Wayne Enterprises’ shareholders.”

“And then there’s this madman, me,” Bruce added.

“Yes, that’s right, you’re crazy.” Wang Baixi smiled wryly. “You said it yourself, I didn’t force you.”

"You're good at disclaiming responsibility."

"Alright, let's get down to business." Wang Baixi picked up his coffee, only to find it had gone cold, and put it back. "Didn't you crack the composition of the clown virus? Can you handle Barbara's problem? We can't just keep that girl sleeping in the freezer forever."

“We have a direction.” Bruce pulled up an analysis report. “Based on my analysis, there is every reason to believe that this virus can be neutralized by a rare regenerative factor.”

"What factor?" Wang Baixi asked.

“The Dionysian factor,” Bruce said. “The substance from the pool of Lazarus.”

Sigh, do I have to go to the Middle East again?

Wang Baixi laughed: "That's perfect. According to the Joker Gang's intelligence, there are several Lazarus Pools underground in Gotham City."

……

At the same time, in Hong Kong.

The sea breeze of Victoria Harbour, carrying a salty, briny scent, blew in from the breakwater.

Paul Valli, carrying an unassuming old canvas bag, leaned against a newsstand that had already closed. He wore the most ordinary gray jacket and jeans, his blond hair was ruffled by the sea breeze, and only his eyes warily scanned the scattered crowds on the harbor.

He has almost finished his background check on Cassandra.

Based on existing clues, many people have indeed seen Cassandra in Hong Kong, and Cassandra Cain is indeed a born killing machine. She is a child who was raised as a weapon by David Cain and Ms. Shiva from birth.

But those things also told him something else: the girl was also forced into it.

But these files... he wasn't sure how Bruce, or anyone else, would view the girl if they knew about them.

In any case, he was ready to leave Hong Kong.

The ferry he had booked wasn't leaving for another hour, and he could have sat quietly on a bench by the dock. But this morning, his phone received an encrypted message. The sender said he had information about Cassandra Cain and wanted to meet him at the port.

He hesitated, but ultimately came.

Time passed by, second by second.

Just then, a tall white man crossed the square and walked straight toward him. The man's face had features as hard and cold as if it had been carved with a knife.

"Let Paul Vale?" The man stopped in front of him, his voice low.

“It’s me.” Paul didn’t move. He noticed that the other person had no luggage, which meant that the person either lived in Hong Kong or had no intention of leaving at all.

“I heard you’ve been inquiring about Cassandra Cain.” The man took a photograph out of the inside pocket of his trench coat and handed it to him, holding it between two fingers.

The photo shows the face of a young girl, Cassandra, who looks to be only four or five years old.

Paul didn't take the photo, but just glanced at it: "What can you offer me?"

"That depends on what equivalent information you can provide," the man said slowly, taking back the photo.

"What information?" Paul asked.

Do you know Wang Baixi?

"who?

“Wang Baixi from Gotham City, I heard you’re from Gotham,” the man looked up and looked directly into Paul’s eyes. “To be honest, I recently took on an assassination mission, and the target is him. But I’m not familiar with Gotham. I need a guide.”

Paul's heart sank, and he instinctively glanced around. The square was bustling with people; a few tourists were taking pictures, and two children were chasing and playing—everything seemed perfectly normal.

But the more normal it seemed, the more horrified he felt.

An assassin dared to openly discuss assassination with him in broad daylight.

"Are you threatening me?" Paul asked in a low voice.

“No, I’m talking to you about a collaboration.” The man took a step forward, extended his large hand, and gently placed it on Paul’s shoulder, locking him in place like an iron clamp.

“Listen to me, let me through.” The man leaned down. “You want Cassandra’s information, right? Of course I can give it to you. But in exchange, you have to take me to Gotham. My friend told me you know that city well. I’ve been there once before, but you know, that guy who’s a favorite of Gotham’s kicked me out, and I’m on Gotham’s blacklist.”

Paul felt the pressure on his shoulders. He didn't know if the other party was testing him or had really guessed his other identity.

Paul was told to wait for the other person to say the name: Angel of Death.

But the man remained silent.

"Why should I believe you really have information about Cassandra Cain?" Paul asked, forcing himself to be brave.

“First, I’m also looking for her. It’s not surprising that I have information about her.” The man straightened up and withdrew his hand. “Second, if you knew my name, you wouldn’t be surprised.”

Let Paul watch him and wait for him to continue.

The man straightened the collar of his trench coat and slowly began to speak.

"Sir, my name is David Cain."