Clark was taken aback, and quickly used his super strength to catch the bass, which had floundered to the ground.
Bruce gasped and touched his cheek side. His face did not hurt, but the wound on his neck started to bleed again.
Clark had no choice but to run to the service station of the market again, asking for a first aid kit and bandages to help Bruce bandage the wound again.
"Sorry, our dical facilities are limited here. You should have that magical spray that works instantly in your suitcase, right?" Said Clark, wrapping the bandages.
"Doesn't the town have a hospital?" Bruce asked.
"Yes, but there are too many people." Clark shook his head and said, "If we go now, we can probably get a turn before next September."
Bruce was about to speak when Clark guessed what he was going to say and said, "Private dical insurance is useless. The entire town only has one general practitioner, one intern and one head nurse. Even if the boss of the insurance company ca, they would have to queue."
Bruce said nothing but just shook his head slightly. He was not arrogant enough to criticize the lack of dical resources here from the perspective of a Gotham or a tycoon.
Kansas is originally an agricultural state. Most of the cities here are not developed enough. Not to ntion comparing it with Gotham—one of the top cities on the East Coast—there is still a gap compared to other cities in the Midwest.
Now, Bruce understands that everything has its advantages and disadvantages. Gotham is developed, but developnt also brings an extrely fast-paced life. Where even the gang needs to grapple intensely, where else can you leisurely visit the market on a tractor?
After bandaging the neck, Clark hurriedly wanted to go back and let Bruce use the magical Bat Spray he brought to heal the wound on his neck. However, Bruce seed in no hurry, suggesting that he wanted to visit the antique market.
Clark was a bit surprised. Bruce shook his head gently and said, "Last night, my first night here, Gordon called to say that the Falcone Family and Roy had voluntarily reconciled their conflicts, and both sides had asked Gordon to convey their greetings, asking to take a good rest and not leave any sequelae."
Bruce took a sigh and said, "Sotis, it's not your existence but your disappearance that proves your existence."
"When you exist, everyone is unaware of your existence, or because of your existence, everyone is fearless. But when you are about to disappear or nearly disappear, they wake up and realize how important your existence is."
Clark laughed and said, "Thank you. I'm more relieved about requesting a leave from the newspaper now."
The two of them headed for the junk market. Clark continued, "My report has indeed set off a trend. Many citizens of tropolis are very curious about the mysterious city next door."
"I originally wanted to seize this opportunity to add fuel to the fire and write more reports, but on the phone, Jonathan and Martha didn't agree with . Jonathan wanted to take a long vacation and spend ti with the family."
Bruce turned to look at him, a trace of doubt in his eyes. Clark sighed deeply and gazed head, saying, "There have been many monts in my life when I wanted to forge bravely ahead, pushing forward continuously, but Jonathan and Martha persuaded to co back."
"Afterwards, I found they were right. In this world, going with the flow is not the hard part, the hard part is knowing when to stop."
"In this complicated river of dia, how to get more, fresher, more explosive news is actually not difficult. What is difficult is to always be worthy of your own conscience, not to exaggerate for the sake of eyes and not to falsely report for the sake of further progress."
"When a report is published and catches the public's attention, attracting everyone's eyes, naturally there will be others who dig deeper. Everyone tends to dig deeper than others. Once the facts have been fully discovered, all that's left is fabrication."
"Would you fabricate?" Bruce asked. However, he did not believe Clark would. In his opinion, Clark was not soone who would lie.
"I don't know," Clark shook his head and said. "But Jonathan and Martha have been trying to avoid this situation, they don't see as a flawless, perfect god. They are afraid that I will go the wrong way and hope they could be the reins that stop when I'm about to fall off the cliff."
Bruce felt a jump in his heart, as if it reminded him of soone. He fell into deep thought.
Clark gave a smile, lowered his eyes and said, "I'm lucky that they were there at every key mont of decision-making. Although it may seem to you that I am living too diocrely, never making a decisive choice when a miracle might happen, at least I avoided making things worse and causing harm to others."
"...We're here," Bruce looked up at the sunflower-patterned sign of the antique market.
The two went in. Bruce noticed that this shop differed greatly from the one in Gotham that sells stolen goods—a lot of the second-hand goods here were farming tools and various parts of agricultural machinery, and even so livestock.
Clark, seeming a bit excited, pointed to a straw hat hanging on an old coat rack in one of the stalls: "See, we don't have to take turns wearing my hat on the way back. How much is this hat?"
"You buy sothing else and I'll give it to you for free," the chubby, ruddy-skinned farr with a cigarette in his mouth replied. "Ain't you little Kent? Aren't you afraid of being scolded by your dad for not wearing a hat when you go out?"
Several farrs nearby started laughing out loud. Clark waved his hand and said sowhat bashfully, "Stop it, I'm not a kid anymore, I already work."
"Yeah, we all know that you have beco a reporter for a big newspaper in the big city. That's a remarkable job. When are you going to report about our small town?"
"Maybe next ti a teor falls."
Clark took out a roll of money from his sowhat faded wide-leg jeans, counted out a few bills and handed them to the stall owner. He took two pipes and the hanging straw hat from the stall, then waved his hand goodbye.
Bruce, however, was curious about everything, he pointed at a machine in one of the stalls and asked, "What's this for?"
"This one is for ploughing."
"And this?"
"For sowing."
"How about this?"
"For harvesting."
Bruce kept turning his head, sowhat fascinated by the gigantic tractor parts.
The complex steel structures, sharp blades, and huge revolving tal axles on it glowed brightly under the sun, like the chilling glint of knives passing by when humans killed their gods that ensured good weather.
Even after he got back on the tractor, Bruce still seed a bit dazed. Clark gave him a couple of nudges before Bruce turned his head and stared at him blankly, saying, "So, if I plant a seed in the ground, it will grow and turn into food, right?"
"In theory, that's how it works," Clark responded.
"Why just in theory?"
Clark pursed his lips a little, and Bruce saw a rare expression of sorrow on his face. The young man from the small town began to speak:
"I also used to think so, that the land is the most reliable thing in the world, where seeding guarantees harvest."
"But later, I found out that not every piece of land is so lucky to have a decent yield by simply sowing in expectation, waiting patiently for growth, harvesting food, and filling the stomach. This process is actually a luxury."
"The vast plains of my hotown is one of the few places in the world where planting crops can yield a high harvest. Most of the land in most countries doesn't have this luxury. Even if they have good natural conditions, they don't get any good crops."
Bruce fell silent too, for it was evident that both were thinking of the sa thing. After musing for a while, he asked, "How's Oliver doing?"
Clark, not having many friends nad Oliver, knew Bruce was referring to the Green Arrow. He nodded and said, "He's doing okay. Guadalajara is pushing for autonomy rigorously. In fact, they have already taken control of a large piece of land and are now confronting the local governnt."
"Of course, dostic dia labels them as the largest terrorist organization in xico to date. For the U.S. and xican governnts, they indeed are terrorists as they have killed many people. But for the people of Guadalajara, they are defenders of their land."
Bruce fell into deep thought, making the way back to the city with a sun still shining brightly but a sowhat subdued atmosphere between them.
The silence was broken when Clark recounted to Jonathan and Martha, in their living room, the story of how Bruce was slapped by a bass.
Jonathan burst into laughter, patting the back of the sofa as he comnted, "I told you, it's a mistake every young lad makes. Your mother didn't believe it! When we went fishing in the Mississippi river, my cousin and I were slapped into the water by a huge black bass. Your mother teased about it for over six months."
As the sowhat frail Martha expertly decapitated the fish with a single blow of the knife, producing a "thunk" sound that instinctively made the three n in the living room flinch.
Yet, the beautiful lady still looked up and said in her gentle and slow voice, "Before we set off, I warned you not to aim for the big fish. It's dangerous. Everyone agreed, but once on the boat, everyone wanted to be the king of fish."
"Competitiveness is a lesson every young lad has to learn," Jonathan retorted.
About half an hour passed when Martha's voice ca from the kitchen, "Okay, bring the al to the table. You all must be hungry."
Clark was the first one to go. He carried the heaviest pot of pea soup and a large plate of fish pie and brought it to the table. Jonathan ca up with a serving platter of pan-fried fish steak, baked chicken, and Caesar salad.
Standing at the kitchen door, Bruce seed a little helpless. He didn't know if he should go in, fearing that his gift of strength might not be enough to bring the Roquefort cheese and cinnamon rolls safely to the table.
Finally, Clark ca to his rescue. He squeezed his tall figure into the kitchen, brought the last few dishes to the table, and then pulled Bruce down to sit.
The atmosphere at Kent family dinners was vastly different from that at Wayne Manor. Everyone at the Kent's liked to chat at the table and would often burst into laughter.
Bruce was indeed not used to talking while eating, but what troubled him more was the sowhat daunting rate at which Martha served him food.
Like every other mother in the world, this lady had one concern—would her child get enough to eat?
But Martha was sowhat extra caring. She was very attentive towards Clark's first friend to be brought back ho, fearing that he might not get enough to eat.
Bruce tried his best to stuff food into his mouth, but it was to no avail.
Looking at the mountain-high pile of food on his plate, Bruce finally understood why Bat Cat had grown fat as a ball only after coming here for a few months.
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