Chapter 22: Thoughts on a Thief Robbing a Thief

"That is truly surprising, Mr. Luthor. Although your reputation is not exactly stellar, you have certainly changed my impression of you today."

Peter took another look at this entrepreneur with the poor reputation. Of course, he did not believe for a second that this guy was some kind of charity-loving philanthropist.

"The people of Smallville may have some misunderstandings about me," Lionel Luthor said with a shrug and a smile.

After exchanging a few more words, Peter saw Clark and A-Zu waving at him. He turned to Lionel and said, "Excuse me, I must be going."

Lionel smiled and stepped aside, watching Peter walk over to the two children.

"Sir." A subordinate approached him and asked, "Should we temporarily halt our chemical plant project? This is a significant loss for us."

"Yes, stop it for now." His gaze deepened. "Because—I have discovered something much more valuable."

He had already investigated and confirmed that the man who had wielded a katana to slay the zombies that night was Peter Patrick.

"Destroy all video footage related to the scene, and then have the PR department get to work. Standardize the narrative: the attackers at the scene were merely deranged terrorists. I do not want to see any mention of zombies." He issued the order to his subordinate.

Meanwhile.

Peter walked over to Clark and A-Zu and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Clark needs to go to the bathroom."

"Are you feeling nervous?" Peter asked as he held Clark’s hand on the way to the restroom.

Clark let out a breath and said, somewhat distractedly, "I don't know. Just now, I saw Mother shaking hands and hugging those strangers. Their tears made her collar and sleeves wet, and the room was filled with the scent of flowers. I had a hard time breathing, Godfather."

"I counted in my heart; they said 'He didn't suffer, he passed away quickly' about thirty-two times, and 'God works in mysterious ways' twenty-five times, Godfather." Clark looked up and asked Peter, "Why do people always repeat the same things?"

Peter looked at Clark with some surprise. He hadn't expected the boy to be so sensitive and melancholic. He certainly had the makings of a saint!

After thinking for a moment, he said to Clark, "Because every repetition of those same words helps those who have lost a loved one feel a little stronger."

"Oh." Clark nodded.

...

After the funeral, Peter drove Clark and A-Zu home.

Perhaps influenced by the somber atmosphere of the funeral, Clark was in a low mood. A-Zu, however, didn't seem shadowed by the death at the funeral. He asked Peter, "Dad, why did Uncle Lewis turn into a zombie?"

He was clearly more interested in the zombies.

"Because Lewis and Vanessa did something wrong. Overcome with grief, they tried to bring their son back to life, so they made a wish to a demon, and as a result, they were punished." Peter tried to explain it in a way they could understand.

"I know," Clark, sitting in the back seat, suddenly said. "Just like Old Mr. White in 'The Monkey's Paw.' They made a mistake because of their grief."

"Grief is no excuse for stupidity, Clark. While there is a difference between the two, it is a matter of life and death." As Peter spoke, he thought of that dried-up swamp.

The land contaminated by kryptonite still held its magical power. How should he handle it? Perhaps he could find the mayor and buy the rights to that land, forbidding anyone from entering. He might find a use for the swamp later.

With that thought, he decided to purchase the land.

After driving home, Peter checked his savings. The average price of land in the United States was $4,100 per acre, meaning that to own 1,000 acres, one would need about $4.7 million. Land in Kansas was relatively cheaper, costing around $3,500 per acre. The swamp covered about 100 acres; if he wanted to buy it, he would need to prepare $350,000.

He looked at the bank card in his hand and frowned. Although he had raided quite a few gangs in Metropolis, his expenses were high due to the two troublesome children. The current balance on his card was now less than $200,000.

"Looks like I need to go to Metropolis to 'restock'."

Taking a deep breath, Peter put the card away. He could ask Nell to look after Clark and A-Zu for a while; if things went smoothly, he could handle it in one night. But he needed to make some preparations first.

"Dad." Just as he was planning to go to Metropolis for some "black-on-black" business, A-Zu came up to him.

"What is it?"

"I want to hear a story." A-Zu also wanted a bedtime story.

"Alright, what story do you want to hear? The Seven Dwarfs, or The Little Mermaid?"

"Dad." A-Zu curled his lip. "I'm not Clark. I have no interest in such childish stories."

"Oh?" Peter looked at him with surprise. "Then what do you want to hear about?"

"Zombies."

"You're still a child; you shouldn't be exposed to those things." Peter immediately rejected the request. The boy’s tastes were even heavier than his own.

A-Zu became a bit dejected after being refused.

"Your birthday is in a few days, A-Zu. Maybe you can look forward to that." Seeing the boy's low spirits, Peter changed the subject to his upcoming birthday.

Upon hearing about his birthday, A-Zu’s mood immediately lifted.

"Can I make a request, Dad? About my birthday gift."

"Better not. Birthdays are meant to be full of surprises." Peter told him, "A birthday almost implies infinite possibilities. A piñata filled with candy, a toy box turned upside down on the floor—these could all be surprises."

A-Zu’s eyes lit up, but he quickly remembered something and asked Peter, "Dad, when is your birthday?"

"My birthday?" Peter was stunned when asked about his own birthday. When was his birthday? He couldn't remember. After transmigrating into this world, was his birthday the one from his past life, the birthday of the original body, or the day he arrived in this world?

"Dad has already passed the stage of celebrating birthdays."

"Why?" A-Zu asked curiously.

Patting A-Zu on the head, he said slowly:

"Because only when you gradually grow up will you realize that every birthday is like a turnstile, carrying you further and deeper. Then, one day, the birthday is no longer about possibilities, but becomes an inevitability."

Coughing, feeling he had said a bit too much, Peter patted A-Zu’s head again. "It's too late. You should go upstairs to bed."