Chen Mo pointed at the burly man on the ground. "Do you know what he does?"
The girl remained silent.
"He's a drug dealer. All the product in this area passes through his hands. Before your dad broke his leg, he might have even bought smokes from him."
The girl gripped the banknotes even tighter. Her knuckles turned so white it looked as if the bone was about to pierce through her skin.
"I know."
Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, so quiet it seemed she was afraid of it being heard by anything outside this alley.
But when she said those words, there was no hesitation in her eyes, no struggle.
It was resignation.
It was the look of a twelve-year-old who had already calculated all her options, realized every single one led to the abyss, and so closed her eyes and chose the shallowest one.
Oh god, was she really twelve?
She hadn't even grown all her teeth yet; she was so thin and small.
"But he's the only one willing to give money."
Chen Mo stood up.
He turned toward the tied-up drug dealer, pinched the man's jaw, and forced the mud-streaked face upward.
"Look at me. Remember, this face belongs to me. Do not trouble this child. Do you hear me?"
The drug dealer said nothing, a stubborn look in his eyes like a dead pig that didn't fear scalding water.
Chen Mo lowered his voice even further.
"This isn't the first time you've seen me. You know I often wander around these streets. If you dare to retaliate against her, I will find you. And then, I will rip your bones apart, piece by piece."
The drug dealer suddenly stopped trembling.
He grinned, revealing a row of large, yellow teeth with several missing, mud dripping down the gaps.
He spoke in an extremely sincere, almost aggrieved tone.
"You don't understand."
He coughed once, mud choking his trachea, making his voice sound wet and muffled.
"You don't understand how things work in this area. You think I'm the bad guy? Do you know what the others do? They'd just throw a sack over a girl this age and take her away, send her to the South District's Pleasure House, or to the underground brothels at the docks.
"There, she'd face dozens of men every day. If she services enough, she gets food; if she doesn't, she gets whipped.
"Three months... oh, that's for adults, for her it might just be a few days before she's broken. Then she'd be thrown into a back alley like trash, waiting for the collectors to pick her up. Her corpse wouldn't even fetch a decent price."
He paused for a moment, as if to ensure Chen Mo heard every single word clearly.
"What about me?"
His voice suddenly pitched higher, carrying the indignation of someone wrongly accused.
"I only make her stay with me alone.
"And I give her money!
"I give her money!
"She needs my powder, but I don't just give her powder, I give her money too! More than anyone else would.
"With this money, her dad can live a few days longer. Live a few days longer, do you understand? In a place like this, living one more day is a bonus. You think this is a bad thing? In this neighborhood, what I'm doing is considered an act of charity. I'm a good man. Don't you think so?"
When he asked that last question, there was even a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.
He wasn't faking it.
He truly believed he was waiting for an affirmative answer.
Chen Mo didn't say a word.
He stared at the drug dealer's face.
The mud, the bloodshot veins, the large yellow teeth, and those eyes that practically screamed, "I'm clearly already so good, why are you still not satisfied?"
Sincere. Aggrieved. Heartfelt.
This man wasn't lying. He truly believed he was a good man. He truly felt that by sparing a few people, beating her a few fewer times, and giving her a few dirty bills, he was doing charity in Gotham.
He truly, from the bottom of his heart, believed he was a good man.
Chen Mo laughed.
It wasn't a Wayne-style smile. It wasn't a holy mother-style smile.
It wasn't any kind of smile he had practiced seventeen times in front of the mirror.
It was the kind of laugh that happens when you are struck by something so utterly absurd that you have no other way to react except to laugh.
He was laughed into anger.
The kind where the sound actually escapes your chest.
Damn it, before this, he hadn't admitted to being a giant socialist baby, but fuck you, Gotham, you always find a way to shatter a normal human's worldview.
Chen Mo hoisted the drug dealer off the ground, pinning that sincere face against the wall with one hand clamping his jaw.
"You think you're a good man."
The drug dealer's jawbone emitted a faint scraping sound between his fingers.
"You think having only one person abuse her is an act of mercy. You think giving her a few dirty bills is accumulating good karma? If you ran into a stray cat on the street and didn't slaughter it, would you claim credit before God, marveling at how your kindness allowed the world to keep a cute cat?"
Chen Mo pressed his face an inch harder into the wall. The rough granules of the brick embedded themselves into the skin.
"You're not a good man. You just have a tiny bit more calculation than other beasts. You wanted a higher-end form of consumption to soothe your conscience, but since you couldn't afford it, you started depreciating the merchandise. You're not a good man. You're just a shrewd beast!"
Chen Mo released his grip and stepped back half a pace. He looked down at his own foot, then at the drug dealer's leg.
"You better memorize what I just said like it's the Bible. If you trouble her, I will come back for you. I know how gangs handle traitors. I also run in this area, bro. Don't think that because I'm a good person, I won't be able to bring myself to do it."
The tip of his foot hovered right above the drug dealer's thigh bone.
"I heard the human femur can withstand about eight tons of pressure. I think if I stomp down right now, the force shouldn't be too far off from that. Your bone will probably turn to dust. Want to try?"
The drug dealer, who hadn't shown much reaction until now, finally began to wail in terror at those words.
Tears and snot flowed down together, mixing with the mud and smearing all over his face. "No! You can't do this! If I'm crippled, I won't be able to work tomorrow!"
"Didn't you think you were a good man?"
Chen Mo's voice suddenly became very soft. So soft, it was like he was reasoning with a child.
"A good man should make a little more sacrifice."
The drug dealer's lips trembled; he couldn't say anything anymore.
Chen Mo pulled the tattered leather wallet out of the man's pocket and drew out all the cash inside.
Without counting, without even looking, he stuffed it directly into the girl's hands.
The girl cradled the pile of money.
Crumpled, stained with mud, stained with blood, stained with all the unspeakable things of Gotham's lowest depths.
She looked up at the boy wearing the crude mask.
"Will you come back tomorrow?"
Chen Mo nodded. "I will."
The girl didn't say thank you.
In Gotham, the words "thank you" were too expensive. More expensive than painkillers, more expensive than anti-inflammatories, more expensive than life. The poor couldn't afford it.
Chen Mo escorted her to the mouth of the alley, watching that thin, small silhouette disappear amidst the layers of overlapping corrugated iron shacks.
Those shacks resembled coffins stacked on top of each other, each containing a person who wasn't entirely dead yet.
He stood there.
Dazed for a long time.
Then, Chen Mo spat on the ground.
"Fucking justice."
The wind blew from the direction of the shantytown, carrying the scent of rust, mold, and a certain sickly sweet odor, like something quietly rotting away.
In the distance, the half-broken streetlight was still buzzing, its light flickering on and off, on and off, as if this city itself had never truly been bright, but had never completely gone dark either.