After the Patriarch of Baizhu ascended, he woke to find himself the personal physician of Gotham's richest man.
By day, Mr. Bruce Wayne is a pretty fool. At night, he always returns covered in bullet wounds.
He pulls out a handful of silver needles. "Your wound is festering. You need acupuncture to draw out the poison."
The next day, a neat row of tiny puncture marks has inexplicably appeared on the shoulder of Batman's suit.
When Scarecrow's toxin blankets the city, Baizhu chuckles in Batman's ear:
"Such a trivial trick, and you call it poison?"
Gotham's rain always carries the stench of rust and decay, beating against the cold glass windows of a private hospital room. Inside, the lights shine brightly over expensive walnut flooring and immaculate medical equipment.
Baizhu, or rather, the man who now exists here under the name "Doctor Bai," lowers his eyes and washes his hands. Water glides over his long fingers in a rhythm both ancient and utterly out of place in this room reeking of disinfectant. A spatial-temporal disturbance caught him as he ascended, before his immortal essence had stabilized, and sent him into this world. He woke to find himself the "personal physician" of Gotham's richest man, Bruce Wayne.
The man in bed wakes with a muffled groan. Bruce Wayne, the playboy who graces newspaper headlines by day, arm in arm with Victoria's Secret supermodels and grinning like a handsome idiot at charity galas, now lies bare-chested, his muscular upper body exposed. A fresh gunshot wound gapes on his left shoulder, its edges already turning an ominous blackish purple and swelling slightly.
"Mr. Wayne," Baizhu says as he turns around, his voice calm and betraying no emotion, as if merely stating a fact
🤭🤭🤭 Originally I wanted to write about the founder of Bai Shu, but I didn't know what his name was, so I just used the name Bai Shu.