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

“By the way, Sheriff Gordon,” a Metropolitan Police officer pulled a photograph from a file folder and handed it to Gordon, “there’s something else we think you need to know. This is what we found after reviewing the surrounding surveillance footage three days ago, near the Botanical Garden.”

Gordon took the photo and examined it carefully under the incandescent light from the police station entrance. The focus of the image was on the rooftop of a building in the distance, where a blurry figure stood on the edge of the roof, facing the direction of the botanical garden. The figure was slender, and its head was wrapped in dense bandages.

"Who is this person?" Gordon frowned.

“I don’t know. We initially thought he was just an ordinary citizen looking at the view from the rooftop,” the officer said, arms crossed. “But after zooming in, we found that his face was completely covered in bandages, which is not how a normal person would dress.”

Have you investigated this person?

"No. But he..."

Is he suspected of involvement in the case?

"It's hard to say. He could be a curious witness, an abnormal criminal, or even just a performance artist. There are quite a few people like that in the United States. But I think if you have some free time, you might want to keep an eye out for him."

Gordon folded the photo and put it in the inside pocket of his trench coat. He looked up at the darkening sky, then at Superman.

"I'll keep an eye on it."

With that, Gordon turned and walked toward the prison van carrying Poison Ivy. He stopped in front of the van and, through the bulletproof window, saw Poison Ivy leaning against the interior wall with her eyes closed. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and there were still red marks at the corners of her mouth from where the vines had bound her.

"Let's drive."

……

Thirty kilometers to the west, Wang Baixi was nestled in a Wayne Group Gulfstream G650 private jet. Alfred sat in the cockpit, his posture no different from when he was serving tea and water at Wayne Manor.

The fog has mostly cleared, making it suitable for flying.

Cassandra fell asleep against the porthole. She hadn't spoken much since returning from the Metropolis. Wang Baixi was truly envious of her; she looked so comfortable sleeping, unlike him, who hadn't dreamed in a long time and even found it difficult to fall asleep.

Zatana sat opposite Wang Baixi, a hardcover botanical atlas spread open on her lap—her spoils of war.

“That guy is definitely hiding a lot of things from us,” Wang Baixi suddenly said.

Zatana closed the botanical atlas and placed it on her lap. "Are you referring to the Riddler or Poison Ivy?"

“Both.” Wang Baixi rubbed his temples. “Especially the Riddler, what exactly is he trying to do?”

"You should ask the riddle maker himself about this."

“The problem is he escaped.” Wang Baixi leaned back. “Poison Ivy and Killer Croc were just pawns on his chessboard. He pushed those two to the forefront while he hid behind the scenes waiting to escape. He must have known in advance that something would happen in the courtroom, otherwise he couldn’t have timed it so precisely.”

"So you think there's someone behind the riddle teller?"

"I'm not sure, maybe there are partners."

Alfred's voice came from the cockpit, "Mr. Wang, this flight is expected to arrive in Gotham in twenty minutes. Would you like some food? There are sandwiches and chilled lemonade in the refrigerator."

Wang Baixi then realized that he had barely eaten anything since noon. He stood up and walked to the cockpit door, one hand on the door frame, and joked with a smile, "Alfred, you also work as a flight attendant while flying the plane, does Bruce pay you overtime?"

“The Wayne family never delays paying their employees’ salaries, Mr. Wang.” Alfred lightly pressed the joystick with two fingers. “However, I’m curious, how did your meeting with Mr. Perry White go? Was the trip tiring?”

“I’m not tired. Mr. Perry is a good man, and the commute between Metropolis and Gotham is less than the time I spend stuck in traffic in downtown Gotham. I can’t be tired even if I want to. But the scenery in these two brother cities is completely different. When I’m in Metropolis, I feel like I’m in another country.”

So close and so beautiful, a weekend trip to the metropolis.

"The allure of foreign lands is always fleeting," Alfred said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "So, Mr. Wang, are you free for a social engagement tonight?"

"Oh? Who's looking for me this time?"

"It's Mr. Lincoln March. He'd like to invite you to dinner at the rooftop restaurant of City Hall. Are you free? Should I decline for you?"

“You’re such a busy man, Mr. Wang,” Zatana said with a smile.

Lincoln March? Forget about it.

“Let Joshua go,” Wang Baixi said.

“But Mr. March specifically requested to see you in person.” Alfred paused, then continued, “He also said that he has some things to tell you about the Bowers murder case in person.”

Wang Baixi stood at the cockpit door, his expression freezing at that moment.

He's been investigating the truth behind their deaths and, incidentally, uncovering the secrets behind the court. But the question is, why is Lincoln March so interested, simply because he has a working relationship with the Bowles?

“He should tell the clue to Sheriff Gordon,” Wang Baixi said in a deep voice.

"That being said, Sheriff Gordon is currently in the Metropolis."

In short, his target is Wang Baixi?

Wang Baixi thought for a moment and finally said, "Please thank him for me, Alfred. I can't refuse such a warm invitation. But before that, I need to go back to Wayne Manor to get something."

The plane continued its descent toward Gotham, where the city's lights emerged from beneath the clouds.

Chapter 102 Going to the Meeting Alone

At 7 p.m., a rooftop restaurant near the city hall.

Lincoln March arrived ten minutes earlier than Wang Boxi, and he chose a table near the railing.

When Wang Boxi arrived at the meeting alone, he saw Lincoln, who was wearing only a light gray shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms. He didn't look like someone in the finance industry or a mayoral candidate at all. Perhaps it was to fit the atmosphere of the meal.

That said, this place is sparsely populated, making it a good spot for chatting.

“Mr. Wang, please have a seat.” Lincoln noticed Wang Baixi from afar and stood up to pull out a chair for him. “The steaks at this restaurant are so-so, but the view is impeccable. You know what? From this angle, Gotham is actually quite beautiful.”

"That's because you haven't seen Gotham's sewers yet." Wang Baixi laughed twice, then politely sat down.

"Speaking of sewers," Lincoln said, getting to the point, "I've read the Wayne Corporation's underground pipe network renovation plan and subsequent compensation measures several times. Frankly, it's the most radical urban infrastructure proposal I've ever seen."

"None other than?"

"Without exception."

"This plan either came from a madman or a genius."

Wang Baixi responded with a smile, "Perhaps it's a combination of both."

“You plan to dig that old riverbed in the East District to a depth of 40 meters. The support work alone will cost 200 million US dollars.”

"So Mr. March invited me here tonight to help me save money?"

“No, I just wanted to make sure you were serious.” Lincoln put down his glass. “There’s an unwritten rule in Gotham’s political tradition: for any project involving the city government, the actual expenditure must be 30 percent higher than the budget. That’s because the extra money has to feed everyone involved in the process. And your proposal doesn’t leave any room for ambiguity. That surprises me.”

"The gray area is a breeding ground for corruption."

He hates "gray".

"The gray areas are also the lubricant that keeps this city running. If you drain the lubricant, the gears will jam," Lincoln said casually.

As the two were talking, the appetizer was served: smoked salmon with capers. Wang Baixi used his fork to remove a black peppercorn from the edge of the fish slice, then looked up and stared directly into Lincoln's eyes.

"Mr. March, are you worried about me?"

“I’m worried about this city.” Lincoln cut off a small piece of fish and put it in his mouth, maintaining good table manners as he chewed. “Gotham doesn’t lack ambitious people, it lacks people who can carry out their ambitions to the end.”

"Am I an ambitious person?"

"of course."

"Do you count?" Wang Baixi frowned. "Or... do the Bowers count? I know that's why you called me here."

Lincoln's fork stopped in mid-air. He raised his eyelids, and a few unreadable emotions flashed across his eyes.

“Yes, they count too.” He placed his fork on the edge of his plate, picked up a napkin, and wiped his mouth. “Mr. Wang, I invited you here tonight to talk to you about this.”

"please say."

"The last public event the Bowers made before their deaths was to discuss some matters with the Wayne Group, and the person the Wayne Group sent was you, right?"

“That’s right,” Wang Baixi said without hesitation, “So, you’re now doubting me?”

“I do have some suspicions, but that’s not what I suspect. You know what I suspect is… someone is trying to frame you,” Lincoln sneered.

"Oh? Why?"

"Because you took someone else's cake, didn't I already tell you?"

"To be honest, I investigated the Bowles privately. I found some very disturbing records in their private accounts. For the past twenty years, they have been regularly paying large sums of money to a foundation under the guise of 'special advisory fees.' This foundation has no registered address, no public financial statements, and only a name that can be described as a mere note."

"What's your name?"

"court."

The wind on the rooftop suddenly picked up, causing the candles on the table to tilt westward, but Wang Baixi's expression remained unchanged. "The court? Are you implying that there's collusion between officials and businessmen behind this?"

“Please, you can’t possibly not know what I’m talking about. I’m saying,” Lincoln lowered his voice, “the Court of Owls.”

"The Court of Owls? You believe it actually exists?"

“At first, I also thought it was an urban legend, until I started investigating the truth behind the Bowers’ deaths. Now I’m sure this organization not only exists, but its members are spread throughout every level of Gotham. Over the centuries, they haven’t directly controlled power, but they’ve controlled everyone who has. That’s why I dare not tell anyone about this, except you, my great idealist.”

Wang Baixi was overjoyed by Lincoln March's photos, but still didn't show any extra expression.

“Most importantly, you have no connection to this city, and if the Bowles died after meeting with you, who is the prime suspect? You, of course, so no normal person would suspect you.”

Over the next ten minutes, Lincoln March recounted the entire story of the Owl Court. He had clearly prepared very thoroughly for this meeting, and Wang Baixi continued to play along.

"You mean the Bowles have connections to the court?"

“It’s not that we’re related.” Lincoln raised his glass, the rim lingering on his lips for a moment. “I have a bold theory, Mr. Wang: they are part of the court. I believe the Bowles didn’t die at all. Those two bodies were just decoys, a smokescreen. They used their ‘death’ to cover their tracks and hide deeper within the court. They did this to frame you, because you also threatened the court’s interests.”

"Wow, my goodness!" Wang Baixi leaned back in his chair. "This is really..."

How could this court be so corrupt?

But what are you trying to achieve by telling me all this today? Are you testing me on purpose? Or...?

Just then, the floor-to-ceiling glass curtain wall on the east side of the rooftop restaurant suddenly shattered, and tens of thousands of glass shards swept across the entire dining area like a torrential rain.

A dark shadow pierced through the shattered glass and swooped down at superhuman speed toward where Wang Baixi and Lincoln March were.

[Sign of a deceased person detected]

[Experience points +60!]

That was a sharp claw.

The moment he landed, he cleaved the heavy solid wood dining table in two. Plates, wine glasses, and silver cutlery flew into the air, mingling with shards of glass and overturned candlesticks, clattering and crashing in all directions.

Amidst screams and the chaotic fleeing crowd, Wang Baixi frowned, feeling a sense of unease.