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

Wang Baixi shrugged.

"I just can't do anything with you."

"..."

"Think about it. There's plenty of time." He suddenly changed the subject. "Speaking of which, have you seen Rashomon? Do you know about the ancient Eastern practice of spirit possession?"

Bruce frowned; his intuition told him that this bastard was up to something again.

What do you want to do?

Wang Baixi offered no explanation.

He closed his eyes and froze. An unseen force slowly enveloped his body, then quickly withdrew.

"Let's try out my new skill..."

Yes, after the upgrade, he also gained a new skill called [Spirit Medium]. This skill allows the spirits of the dead within a ten-meter radius, whose bodies are intact and whose time of death was less than one hundred years ago, to briefly possess him.

This is what is meant by opening the gates to hell.

[Spiritual medium, activate!]

[Mana cost: 15]

Current Mana: 40/55

Current experience points: 100/9600

Then, he opened his eyes.

Those eyes no longer held their usual nonchalant attitude, nor any hint of mockery or frivolity.

He looked ahead in confusion, his gaze sweeping over the withered trees in the distance that had not yet sprouted new leaves, and past the low tombstones.

“My body,” Wang Baixi said, no, the person currently occupying Wang Baixi’s body took a few breaths, and looked down at his palm as if to confirm something, “is not mine.”

Where is he? In a cemetery?

When he turned around, he saw a black-haired man standing in front of him. The young man was very tall, with broad shoulders, a sharp jaw, and eyebrows and eyes that resembled a woman's.

The woman he loved most in his life, Martha Wayne.

The man in front of him was first stunned, then surprised.

What's going on here? Why is Wang Baixi acting so seriously? Could it be...?

His voice became excited, "You are...Thomas?"

“Thomas? Yes, I am Dr. Thomas. May I ask if you are... Bruce?” Wang Baixi raised his head, and these words came out of his mouth automatically. When he realized what he had said, he realized that something was wrong.

The most strange thing was the man in front of him. He was both a stranger and familiar, but for some reason, he recognized him at a glance.

“You’ve grown up, Bruce.” He exclaimed in surprise, “Where am I?”

Bruce's lips pressed into a straight line; he didn't know how to answer.

Thomas Wayne took two steps using Wang Baixi's body and saw the tombstone. Two names were engraved side by side on the white marble. He saw his own name engraved on it, and his wife's name was engraved next to it.

He stared at that line of text for a long time.

“Oh, I’m dead,” he said calmly. “So I was dreaming? I don’t think so.”

“Yes, Dad. You and Mom…you died in that alley. Almost thirty years have passed. You’re only temporarily possessing my friend’s body right now; I asked him to do it.” Bruce suppressed the turmoil in his heart.

“I understand, Bruce, I understand now. So psychic abilities really exist in this world? I thought I was just reminiscing about my life, or was this just a dream?” Thomas said with a wry smile.

"This is not a dream, I assure you."

Bruce returned the smile, but his eyes gradually welled up with tears.

Thomas looked at Bruce, scrutinizing his bruised face. The boyish face he remembered had grown up slowly in the years they hadn't experienced, and in the blink of an eye, Bruce had become a mature adult.

If he were still alive, if they could still walk side by side down the street, if a friend were to pass by and someone said, "Hey, you two look so alike, like two peas in a pod," if he could still laugh out loud, he would put his arm around Bruce's shoulder and say, "Yes, absolutely."

Without a doubt, that was his and Martha's child.

He couldn't help but feel sad and couldn't help but shed tears, but in fact, he wasn't sad for himself, he was sad for his beloved little Bruce.

For him, falling asleep in Crime Alley and waking up was just a blink of an eye, but what about Bruce? They left him alone in the world, leaving him to spend decades in pain and resentment.

How did he get through those days? When he fell, did anyone help him up? When he was sad, did anyone listen to him? When he achieved something, did anyone share in his glory?

Has he let go of his hatred, forgotten death, and bravely lived his life?

He knew nothing of this. No echo came from the world of the living; Charon, ferrying people across the River Styx, was unwilling to act as anyone's messenger.

As a doctor, Thomas had witnessed too much birth, aging, sickness and death. Whether they were high-ranking officials or ordinary people, no one could escape this fate. Therefore, he was not afraid of death approaching and could accept its arrival with equanimity.

But can a child accept this?

Thinking of this, he snapped out of his reverie, his lips trembling involuntarily. Bruce, seeing his father suddenly gasping for breath, was thrown into disarray.

"How could you..."

Before he could finish speaking, Thomas touched Bruce's face.

"What's wrong, Bruce? What happened to your face? Did someone bully you?"

“Dad, I just… I just hurt myself while skiing,” Bruce replied immediately.

"How come I didn't know you liked skiing?"

“Now you know.” Bruce smiled and narrowed his eyes.

The hand still on his face moved slightly and pinched his ear. "Don't try to deceive your father. Son, you're not good at lying."

Bruce felt a pang of anxiety and gave a bitter laugh. "No one has ever doubted my talent."

“Now some people are starting to have doubts.” Thomas laughed heartily twice, but his voice turned serious. “After we left, who took care of you?”

“It is Alfred,” Bruce replied, “Mr. Jarvis’s son.”

"Oh, I know him. He's a nice gentleman."

Thomas withdrew his hand and his smile. He took half a step forward, leaning on Wang Baixi's body to look up at Bruce, who was half a head taller than him.

"I'm sorry, Bruce."

“No, why do you say that, Dad?” Bruce’s eyes trembled slightly as he looked into the eyes that belonged to Wang Baixi, where a familiar light shone.

"Your mother and I failed to protect you."

“No, you protected me, you…you’ve been protecting me all along. It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have gone to the movies that day…” Bruce’s eyes gradually reddened. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He was really sorry.

“It’s not your fault, my dear son. If I had to say you’re at fault, it’s that you’ve blamed everything on yourself, causing those who love you to suffer along with you.” Thomas shook his head with a smile, his tone becoming extremely soft. “I should be the one apologizing: I’m not a good father. I haven’t been there for my dear son as he grew up.”

"..."

"You know what? I never imagined you would turn out like this, so tall and handsome. I expected you to be more delicate."

"It sounds like I've disappointed you."

“Indeed! I’m disappointed, Bruce.” Thomas nudged Bruce with dissatisfaction. “You keep getting your old father to ask you all sorts of questions, why don’t you talk to me about yourself?”

"Ok?"

How are you doing now?

"Of course I'm doing very well. I sleep until I naturally wake up every day, never stay up late, occasionally have a few drinks, and live a peaceful and happy life, except for the occasional bumps and bruises I encounter while enjoying life."

“A typical rich kid,” Thomas said with a smirk. “Are you a doctor or a scientist now?”

"What's worse than that, Dad, is that I've taken over the family business."

"Oh?"

"Don't worry, the company is still operating normally." Bruce didn't plan to reveal Joshua's situation for the time being.

Are you married?

He asked the most crucial question.

"Marriage? No, I'm too busy, I'm not thinking about it right now."

"Busy fighting?"

"Hey, I didn't fight."

"Alright, alright, I'll believe you for now. But you must remember, if you get married or have children, don't forget to bring them over and wake me up like you did today. I want to see them! This is the only wish we old folks have."

Bruce was both amused and exasperated. "You weren't that much older than me when you died."

“Old age isn’t an identity, it’s a state of being.” Thomas glanced at the tombstone again, lingering on the “Martha” inscription for a long time. “Speaking of which, I can’t be present at the same time as Martha, can I?”

"..."

Bruce Wayne, who had just been very happy, shut his mouth.

“It’s alright, kid. I’m already content to see you again. Please thank your friend for me.” He patted Bruce’s forearm. “It’s almost time, isn’t it? I can feel it.”

"I don't know, my friend didn't tell me exactly how much time it would take."

“Then you stay here and don’t move,” Thomas said. “Let me keep an eye on you.”

Bruce Wayne stood before his parents' gravestones, letting his father look at him through the eyes of another young man for a full minute.

"See you next time, Bruce. Give my regards to your mother."

“Dad,” Bruce called out to him again.

"Hmm?" Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"Although I am not married, I have my own children, and they are my family as well."

"A child?" A glint flashed in Thomas's eyes. "My God, Bruce, it's an illegitimate child!?"

Isn't this a bit too lewd?

“Uh, no…” Bruce hurriedly tried to get back on track, “They are my adopted sons, one is named Richard Grayson, and the other is named… the other is named Jason Todd.”

“Richard? Jason?” Thomas finally realized, and he chuckled to himself, looking proudly at Bruce. “Nice name, Bruce. I think they must be good, upright kids. Next time, bring them to see me. Okay?”

"Ok."

Thomas put his hand on Bruce Wayne's shoulder.