[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter 29 Master's Dinner

Batman unloaded the three-meter-long killer from the Batmobile and tied him up like a flexible acrobat.He routinely threw the choking enthusiasts at the gate of Scotland Yard, and stuck a note on his body. The note stated in detail and orderly how to tie this "bar" guy is the most reasonable, and which one is the elongated snake-faced Voldemort? To what extent the organ has been damaged, and which treatment plan is the most cost-effective and efficient.

To be honest, even though he is a big guy, he is timid and superstitious by nature (the level of selection of members of the killer organization is really worrying), it is too easy to scare him out of his mind and make him limp like a ball of mud.

No wonder Sherlock prefers crimes with high IQ. He fights against things that are negatively related to brain tissue and muscle tissue all day long. He can't guarantee that his IQ will not be lowered.

Batman returned to 221C in a dark suit. Although he had long since replaced the new bat suit with added invisibility effect, Batman's strong and dark aura still wrapped around him like a high-end tie.

It wasn't until Clark lifted his puppy blue eyes over Merlin's grandmother's glasses to show him friendliness and concern that he was fully Bruce Wayne.

"Let's shave dinner? How about Angelo's on Northumberland Street?" The little reporter tried to find a topic, but it was undoubtedly unsuccessful.

"We don't eat British food, my Kansas boy." The playboy bent down frivolously and gentlemanly, and waved his right hand gracefully to his chest, which was an inviting gesture, "What else is there to say than the British do^ Love is worse, that's what they cook."

Blush welled up on the little reporter's cheeks, as if two red clouds were holding up his shaky glasses, and finally he decided to use his boss's housekeeper as his defense: "But Afu's dishes are delicious..."

"Alfred isn't British, he's a British agent, my dear." Baby Bruce can talk about the weather in all his glory, and he can say words like "darling" like "today nice weather".

Then, he put down the Darjeeling black tea he had taken two sips at will, and put a beautiful and strong hand that has nothing to do with indulgence and pleasure, casually resting on the shoulder of the country boy—the touch is firm and well-proportioned, not at all like neglecting exercise The journalists—like he was at Gotham's most high-end banquets, galas, and drinking parties, with models or stars named "Anna" or "Annie" or whatever.

The little reporter let out a muffled whine that resembled a puppy whimper, which brought great amusement to Bruce, so he intensified his torture on poor Clark.

"Let's shave dinner." Master Bruce said more calmly, elegantly and with certainty.He fixed his eyes on the other's glasses, as if he wanted to take off those Harry Potter-level glasses with bad taste.

Clark grabbed his hair nervously and said, "Er...good idea..."

"What's the price, my American boy? How about I take you to French food, foie gras?"

"That's Dr. Lecter's taste!" said the little reporter, taking a breath. "Why do you always pretend to be a fool and a libertine who knows nothing but pleasure, Bruce? You're not as bad as you try to be. The puppy-like blue eyes blinked in dissatisfaction, the back of the boy in the small town seemed to never be able to straighten up stretched, and the neck that was shrunk in the shoulders stretched out—the omnipotent and omnipotent Bruce suddenly It turned out that Clark was taller than him.

For a moment, Bruce felt the pressure, and it succeeded in motivating his fighting instincts.

"And you, my country boy, are by no means what this ill-fitting suit and glasses can summarize and present." The host waved his hand lazily, "It's not like you are trying to make people believe that you are stupid and useless."

"...Thank you, Chairman, anyway, I am also a reporter and I have no intention of discrediting my profession. As for you, Bruce Wayne, the proud son of heaven, you are extremely intelligent, and have received professional training in intelligence and physical strength...why You're so obsessed with playing a dude with an empty head and nothing but luck and good looks? In Gotham, everyone preaches that, loudly or silently."

"Just right, Clark, it's easier to be dismissed as an imbecile who licked Lady Luck's toe than to be an industrialist who can't be taken lightly."

"It seems that the goddess of luck really prefers handsome guys, otherwise you won her favor so easily..." Clark murmured with flickering glasses, "but this is not Gotham anymore, Bruce, get out of this apartment No one even knows you, so why wear a 'Brucey Baby' mask?"

"Old habits die hard, dear Clark." The mask floated down slowly as the words popped out, each word making Bruce less "Brucey Baby."All expressions are erased from that charming, straight, typical East Coaster face, like ocean waves erasing sand marks, "just as asking you to take off your glasses, change your clothes, and hold your head high is more important than asking you to be naked." ^It's still hard to dance the hula at Buckingham Palace topless."

Clark flinched slightly—as if pricked by some kind of frozen needle—for the first time in this strange world he felt ironic and alone.

There is also a little bit, slowly flowing from the gap in the bottom of my heart, bit by bit empathy.

At this moment when the spiritual world was out of balance, Bruce's hand on his shoulder made Clark inexplicably relieved.

"Thank you, Bruce, it's a good thing you're here too." The little reporter blew a light breath, and a few strands of soft black hair fluttered on his forehead, "Let's go to eat Chinese food, it's recommended by John and Sherlock, it's said to be good and affordable Lian, it can make diners swallow their tongues."

"It just so happens that I prefer Asian food, Clark, and Chinese food is my favorite." Bruce said kindly, a smile similar to "Finally said something that suits my heart" was fleeting, "Chinese people are not subject to the illusory aspects of religion." Constraints, so the use of various wonderful ingredients, combined with fingertip dancing knife skills, and the proficiency in frying, frying, braising and boiling, can always splicing and refining the most colorful taste changes.”

"Oh God, except chopsticks!" Clark complained half-truthfully, "I'd rather use a toothpick!"

Bruce made a phone call and was about to choose one of his seven sky-high luxury cars when he heard the little reporter yelling plaintively: "You're not Sherlock Holmes, you can't refuse to take such a short distance, that Chinese restaurant Just at the end of Baker Street!"

"Oh——" Billionaire Baby dragged his voice for a long time, turning the ending sound into a gorgeous and trembling meaning. He raised his arms politely and courteously, and raised his chin at the small town boy who was staring blankly. "Will you walk with me, fairest Clark?"

The boy who was praised as "beautiful" adjusted his glasses in a very unbeautiful manner, like a bird attracted by a poisonous snake, completely followed Bruce's instructions, took the arm of the host, obeyed the whim of the young master, and put "Why?" Let me play the female role" back and forth, chewing between two naturally curved lips and beaded teeth.

After they sat down in the famous Chinese restaurant jointly recommended by the neighbors of 221B, Bruce easily tilted his upper body from the chair, like a beautiful, harmless, lazy, noble-blooded black cat.He said in what might have been a genuinely friendly tone: "I hope you've gotten used to the weather and life in London, Clark."

"Pretty good, hardly any complaints, much better than the ones I've rented in Metropolis and Gotham - no bugs or rodents whatsoever."

Bruce laughed aloud—not empty smiles that were not as good as his frown, but real, from the deepest part of his chest—he said a few words in Chinese to the waitress in a cheongsam, and Clark was Chinese. The half-baked guy (thanks to his stay in Tibet) heard "e" and "g". Given that this is a restaurant, similar pronunciations are most likely "goose" and "chicken".

Serving is not fast.The low-level white-collar worker in the company sat face to face with his highest-ranking boss, and he didn't stare at each other. It has to be said that this is a gift from the Abnormal Human Research Center.

A china plate was brought up, along with two shiny bowls of rice.Clark stared affectionately at the wet and reddish mass, and said uncertainly, "Ribs...ribs?"

"Steam ribs, to be exact. Make a seasoning with cornstarch, plum sauce, salt, onion and ginger, wrap the ribs and steam them in a pan." Bruce scooped up a spoonful of thick and shiny soup and poured it on Clark's face On rice, "soup must never be wasted."

"What's plum sauce, Bruce? Hmm...it's slightly sweet and sour, and has a strong aroma of flesh and blood..." Clark ate his mouth and said inarticulately.

"Mashed pickled plums." The billionaire was not in a hurry to enjoy the portion in front of him. He folded his hands and pressed his lips, watching Clark lick the rice grains from the corner of his mouth quietly and almost with a smile. , looks so un-Bruce Wayne.

"What's this more glossy red flake?" Clark, who had not enough tongue and eyes, managed to say.

"Roast goose. Bury charcoal in a tank not much shorter than you, and hang the goose in the tank to burn. This requires strict control of the fire to achieve the best taste of fat but not greasy, crispy skin and tender meat. Don't , don’t eat it directly, Clark Snack Kent, it’s sweet and sour when dipped in plum sauce.”

"what fish is this?"

"Steamed sea bass, steamed twice. The first time steamed, poured out all the soup, the second time with salted shallots and seasoning sauce, and fried in oil."

"Why did the soup come last...I can't eat anymore..."

"It takes an hour to cook the soup, are you sure you want to let yourself miss it?"

"I... I can drink another bowl!"

The author has something to say: so sweet~

Except the face is too long, the curly face is actually really good~

Thanks to [Blue Fish] for throwing mines~ I am so happy to find that I am the only author who has thrown mines in Guliang!