In front of the massive tractor, the silhouettes of the two young men seemed incredibly small.
Clark and Bruce both gazed up at the enormous mechanical vehicle. Bruce touched the wound on his neck, dropped his head, and turned to Clark, asking, "Are we really going to drive this thing into town?"
"Yes, we have no other choice," Clark replied nonchalantly. Walking over to the side of the vehicle, he began checking the fuel tank and, finding it low, he carried over a can of fuel to refill it.
"Don't you have a more normal family car?" Bruce asked diplomatically, surveying the scene in the garage. It was cluttered with numerous haystacks, creating a rather chaotic atmosphere.
However, having experienced life in the slums, Bruce already had a general understanding of the lifestyle of the average person.
Clark's family belonged to the middle-class, even more stable and affluent than many others in their socioeconomic bracket.
The Kent Family's farm was extensive, boasting farmland, pastures, woodland, a conservation area, a stream, and a jerky production line. Passed down through four generations, it has a rich history, a steady yield, strong asset liquidity, and could be considered the leader in the town of Smallville and a top performer in the entire Kansas State.
His father, Jonathan Kent, was a well-known farmer in Kansas and a respected figure amongst southern Kansas farmers. He regularly attended Kansas State meetings to advocate for farmers' rights, and his words held more weight than many council members themselves.
Clark's mother, Martha, was the vice president of the Kansas Women's Union, mainly responsible for information exchange on farm produce prices, seasonal weather conditions, and the timing of secondary output from crops. She was widely trusted by the community.
To describe the Kent family in slightly old-fashioned terms, they are the gentry of Kansas State—settled, affluent, having a voice in public affairs, and not at all an underprivileged segment of society.
Before stepping on this farm, Bruce had pictured life on a farm himself. He believed such a household would be rather affluent, and if not comparable to the Wayne Family, at least comfortably well-off.
But after arriving here, after stepping onto the farm, Bruce discovered that while the land was indeed expansive, and there was an abundance of fodder and feed for livestock, the living conditions were just barely adequate, a far cry from the wealth he had imagined.
The Kent Farm was shaped like a square with one corner missing. Given its early construction, the family lived in a three-story stone mansion which had been renovated decades ago. The interior decor style was typical rustic American.
A steel garage was built a few years ago and is on the right side of the mansion, while the barn, mill, and miscellaneous storage are on the left. Across from them was the entrance to the pasture, flanked by the cowshed, chicken coop, pigsty, and sheepfold.
Bruce had no issues with Clark's family lacking a car. His misimpression was born from the row of garages, making him assume that there should be a car in each bay. It's how things were at his Batcave, where each parking slot was filled with a Batmobile.
It was not until Clark helped Bruce into the tractor's passenger seat that he said while starting the tractor, "Cars on the farm are merely production tools; they must be useful to bring value."
"I understand many wealthy youngsters in the city like buying numerous luxury cars and put them on display in their garages, but much of the farming work heavily depends on cash flow. Once something has been bought, it must be immediately put to use. Even a minor delay could mean being unable to buy seeds or pay the salaries of workers shearing the sheep," Clark added.
Bruce nodded in acknowledgment, feeling the vibration from the tractor beneath him. At that moment, he was still oblivious to the gravity of the issue.
However, as soon as the tractor left the cement ground near the garage and bumped over the first muddy road hump, Bruce nearly smacked his head against the metal frame at his side.
"Hold on tight! This machine values practicality over comfort," Clark warned as he steered the tractor.
"You're a real good reporter," Bruce told Clark, firmly gripping the handle next to him.
The Kent Farm was some distance away from the town, with half the journey along well-constructed roads and the other half along mud paths.
When the tractor drove over the muddy road, it felt like riding in a washing machine at its highest setting, a bizarre and disorienting combination of constant acceleration and weightlessness.
Bruce felt a little nauseated. As he tried to maintain balance, he asked Clark, "Why is only half of the road paved? Even for a small town, it can't possibly lack funds to this extent, can it?"
"The groundwater is shallow here. The roads built earlier would crack open during the rainy season due to soaking. The town tried many solutions, and our family even contributed funds, but to no avail. So, we'll just have to bear with it," Clark replied.
Seeing that Bruce looked uncomfortable, Clark slowed the tractor. As a result, their agonizing journey extended even longer.
Meanwhile, another problem started bothering Bruce: the scorching sun.
Although Kansas's sunlight could hardly be considered extraordinary, it was certainly more intense than Gotham's. Being a born-and-bred Gothamite, not unlike a vampire in this regard, Bruce realized he had become unaccustomed to regular sunlight.
He squinted, using a hand to shield his eyes, his brows furrowed together as he said to Clark, "Doesn't the sun bother you?"
Clark laughed heartily and said, "That's why they call us 'rednecks.' Farms are pretty sunny places. Trust me, you'd say the same if you'd seen Jonathan during planting season."
Automatically, Bruce reached to grab the hat resting on Clark's lap only for a cat to spring out from underneath the hat and bite down on Bruce's wrist.
"Get lost, this is my hat!" the Bat Cat snarled.
"No, Little Bruce, don't be like that, he's a patient, we need to take care of him." With that, Clark removed his hat from his head and placed it on Bruce's.
Bruce adjusted the hat a bit, and as Clark looked up at him, he asked, "Were you about to say, 'I'll pay the usage fee for the hat'?"
"I didn't." Bruce immediately denied, turning his head to the side.
"Of course you did. Even though I'm not Batman, I know how you guys think. Ever since Little Bruce brought back a huge live fish from the stream for the first time, I knew you always value things materially."
"Wait!" Bruce began, "Your creek has fish, then why do we go and buy fish?"
"Because none of us can catch fish, except for Little Bruce. If you don't mind cat drool, we can continue eating fish tomorrow."
"Never mind." Bruce shook his head and declined.
The tractor finally moved onto the flat road. In the bright, splendid sunlight, there were freshly sown springs of wheat on both sides of the road and the windbreak groves planted by the fields.
The tractor engine's rumble turned into a spring hymn, growing louder with the curve of the sunlight.
Bruce suddenly turned his head, he lowered his hat brim and asked Clark, "Don't you get sunburned?"
"The sunlight is my energy." Clark operated the tractor while looking ahead, "Let me tell you a secret, but don't tell anyone, my power comes from the sun."
Just as Clark turned to look at Bruce, he felt something on his head. He looked up and saw that Bruce had returned the straw hat to his head.
Bruce withdrew his arm, squinting his eyes again. The hot sunlight on the side of his neck and shoulder wounds made the slight pain more intense, but the blood flowing through there seemed revitalized.
"I'll wear the hat half the way, you wear it half the way, just right." Bruce said.
The blazing sun heated the air into waves. Everything shone brightly, blurring the edges. When the tractor arrived at the entrance of the town, everyone greeted Clark.
Like a big star, Clark waved his hand to the left, nodded his head to the right, completely unconcerned about the contrast between the tractor he was driving and the cars nearby.
But Bruce seemed a bit uncomfortable, even nervous. He turned his body to the car window and said, "I think you should move a bit to the right, you're going to hit their rear view mirror. No, no, slow down, turn to the right..."
"Don't be so nervous, this is not Gotham, there's not so much traffic congestion and tailgating accidents." Clark wasn't concerned at all.
Just as Bruce turned his head back to look ahead, he saw another tractor coming towards them, and what surprised him even more was that it was a Lamborghini.
As the tractor passed by, Bruce couldn't take his eyes off it. He had to admit that the monster that had just passed by was more impactful than cars of the same brand.
"Cool, right?" Clark asked with a smile, "He's a wealthy man who farms here too. I know what you want to say; no one laughs at him. Who doesn't want a Lamborghini tractor? Don't you?"
Bruce opened his mouth to say he didn't, but then the vision of the authoritative appearance, the formidable shape, and the smooth and elegant lines of the tractor crossed his mind, and he couldn't say a word.
He had thought that the tractor Clark was driving was big enough. The Kent family's tractor was of a very good brand. It looked like it was bought in the last couple of years, and the parts were all pretty good, giving it a strong sense of industrial beauty.
But compared to a Lamborghini tractor, it wasn't good enough.
Bruce turned to look at Clark from above the rims of his eyes. He recalled Clark saying that the tractor was nothing more than a tool of production, there was no need for it to be so good, as long as it was enough. But he still saw a hint of envy in Clark's eyes.
No man wouldn't want a Lamborghini tractor. If you throw in a bulldozer and an excavator, it would be mind-blowing, and nothing could be traded for it.
The rumble of the tractor reached the entrance of the market. Clark introduced, "This is Smallville's biggest market, with produce from several dozen farms around the town, as well as freshwater fish from the nearby river. Plus, there's also a second-hand market over there."
Following the direction Clark's hand pointed to, Bruce shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand and looked over. The traditional market was bustling, and most of the people were farmers from the farms around like Clark.
Clark parked the tractor at the designated spot, and Bruce looked around to realize that driving a tractor here wasn't peculiar at all. Various agricultural vehicles were parked in the parking lot, and there was even a horse and two llamas.
Once they got off the tractor, Clark swiftly took Bruce to the fresh market and bought two extremely fresh live perch just before the last batch of fishmongers packed up.
Because Clark still had to drive the tractor, he very conveniently handed the live fish to Bruce, and Bruce very conveniently caught it by its tail.
Then, he was slapped by the leaping perch.