Gotham 1987 (Part 2)

In the afternoon, just as the weather forecast in the newspaper had predicted, a light rain began to fall in Gotham.

Schiller sat in his study in the manor, the sound of rain outside the window like the best sleeping pill.

On the somewhat cluttered desk, a stack of books cast undulating Shade under the light of the wall lamp. The reflections from the ink bottle and Schiller's lens shone brightly in the dimly lit room. He was holding a fountain pen, writing an invitation in complex and ornate cursive English.

Customs are almost the same all over the world. When you move, you always invite your friends and family to come over for a visit. Schiller plans to invite a few of his few friends from Gotham over for dinner this weekend.

The rain outside the window was getting heavier and heavier. Some humid air entered the room through the cracks in the window. In the light of the lamp, you could see tiny water vapor slowly falling onto the table. Soon, many tiny water droplets condensed on the part of the desk near the window, reflecting the firelight of the fireplace behind it, like rubies.

As darkness fell, the fog, colder than during the day, caused a layer of frost to condense on the glass. Schiller put down his pen, rubbed his wrist, and looked up.

Looking at Gotham from this angle, there's not much difference, except that Gotham in the rain is not only more gloomy, but also more tranquil, even giving people a rare sense of leisure.

In any case, cities in the 1980s were much slower-paced than the information society that followed. Schiller wrote letters all afternoon until his valet came to remind him that it was time for dinner, at which point he left his study.

After finishing dinner, Schiller got dressed, grabbed his umbrella, and left home. By then, the rain that had been falling all afternoon in Gotham had stopped, leaving only the cool, damp air that filled the city.

The puddles on the ground, like mercury mirrors in the darkness, reflected the streetlights into golden fragments, like fallen leaves left over from last autumn. When Schiller's heels stepped on them, this radiance vanished in the slight ripples and splashes of water.

Just like customs all over the world, when you move, you always have to visit your neighbors.

The security here is not bad, because anyone who can afford to live in and maintain such a manor is either rich or noble. Although it is no longer as prosperous as the Affluent Area in the south, the old town has a slow-paced, old-fashioned charm.

A street away from Schiller's estate, there was an opera house, but few theater companies performed there, so it became a club for the local residents.

Schiller walked to the theater entrance, where the waiters were clearly not very professional. They only came forward to open the door after Schiller had reached the steps. Schiller took off his hat and went inside.

Although it was a cold, rainy night outside, the theater was warm. Schiller's glasses were fogged up, so he took them off, walked to the front desk, and gently tapped the table.

The supervisor, who was dozing off, suddenly opened his eyes, saw someone, sat up straight, and asked, "Do you have an appointment?"

"I am the new resident of the Viscount Manor. All drinks consumed here today will be on my tab. God bless everyone."

The head waiter immediately became enthusiastic and said, "So it's you! I just received the news yesterday that the largest Viscount Manor has a new owner. Your vision is truly exceptional. It is a luxurious manor like this that is worthy of a generous gentleman like you."

"Don't worry, when everyone comes out later, they will all know that you are an easy-going gentleman."

Listening to the supervisor's constant stream of praise, Schiller calmly placed a roll of dollars under the bell. The supervisor immediately said, "You don't need to mind the exterior of this building. After all, this is Gotham's oldest theater, so it's normal for it to be a bit worn. But our service will always be the best..."

As Schiller descended the theater steps, he glanced back at what was probably Gotham's oldest theater, its walls bearing the marks of time. Many years ago, it had hosted one renowned theater company after another, and countless actors had performed here, one after another.

But now, it is completely deserted. Its old facade is like a stone tablet recording the history of Gotham, bearing the marks of wind, frost, rain and snow. It may have been more exciting than those fictional dramas, but not many people are willing to watch it anymore.

Schiller returned to the estate late at night, but he still had some things left to write the night before.

Thanks to this relatively slow-paced era, Schiller didn't have to worry about being bombarded with text messages or phone calls. He had ample time to slowly read books, find the knowledge he needed from printed materials, and then write them down on paper with a pen.

Suddenly there was a soft rustling behind him. Without turning around, Schiller said, "Gordon came to visit, at least he brought a gift. And you? An uninvited bat?"

Batman's Shade was cast in multiple layers by the wall lamp. He said, "Deliver it during the day."

"Gordon is getting married soon. Aren't you planning to give him a gift as this 'tight-suited weirdo'? After all, he's your business partner."

"I have no gift to give you." Batman's tone was always low and calm, making one feel drowsy in the late-night room.

"So what brings you here?"

"To congratulate you on moving to your new home."

"I think you explored every room in this manor before I did, and if nothing unexpected happens, you should have also obtained the architectural plans through some means."

Batman didn't answer, which seemed to be his tacit agreement. He never shied away from showing Schiller his overly cautious and skeptical nature.

"Did you read today's newspaper? Did you see the news about the Iron Curtain?"

"That's none of my business."

"This is a major event for the whole world."

"Gotham will not get better or worse because of this."

Then both of them fell silent, with only the scratching of Schiller's pen on the paper echoing in the quiet room late at night. After a while, Batman said, "Those guys from Metropolis are probably here to kill you."

"Then let them come, or do you think the people of Gotham are afraid of the people of Metropolis?"

Batman remained silent again.

"I guess you had a fight with your housekeeper, didn't you?"

Batman didn't answer, but Schiller continued, "There was once a guy like that who would stay up late and go racing cars because he had a fight with his dear 'butler'."

Why were they arguing?

"Because that person hasn't decided whether or not to marry their housekeeper."

Batman remained silent once again.

"I guess your butler must be heartbroken about your injury, but he doesn't want to stop you from continuing the career you love, so he has to deal with these feelings on his own."

"But you noticed that he seemed sad, and you didn't want to stop your career, but you also didn't want to hurt him."

"Your exceptional wisdom and meticulous logic are useless at this time, so you can only go out and race cars in the middle of the night."

"Let me guess, your new Batmobile should be parked in front of my house, and its overheated engine probably hasn't cooled down yet."

Does mind reading really exist?

"Stop asking such stupid questions."

"If so, can you tell me what Alfred is thinking?"

"You're much more straightforward than that person, but that makes sense. Besides family ties, he's also troubled by romantic relationships."

"Love... the most unpredictable thing. I offered to tell him the answer, but he refused."

Batman's gaze fell on the ring on Schiller's ring finger. He asked, "You're married? Didn't your wife come to Gotham with you?"

"It seems you don't really want that answer either."

Schiller said, "Then go. You might as well go find Gordon to take you in. If you stay here with me, you'll only get answers you don't want to hear."

Batman said, "This manor is indeed very nice. There are 36 rooms in total. You are sleeping in the master bedroom on the east side upstairs, and there are 35 other rooms there."

"I'm not giving you the key."

"I don't need a key."

Schiller pressed his finger to his brow and said, "But what if your butler comes looking for me when you don't come home at night?"

Why do you seem more afraid of him than me?

"It's hard to explain to you, but I'm really worried that your housekeeper will come knocking on the door."

Seeing that Batman still wouldn't give up, Schiller could only say helplessly, "Fine, if you want to stay here, I need your parents' permission. Go call them now. I need their approval before I can let you stay here."

Batman: "..."

"The phone is downstairs. Either go dial it or get lost."

In the end, Batman compromised. When it came to issues concerning his butler, he always acted like a child, just like Stark did with Pepper.

Schiller didn't mind Batman staying overnight, nor did he mind Batman thoroughly investigating his new home. It was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. If Batman didn't investigate when he was 18, he would eventually investigate when he was 28 or 38. Nothing in Gotham could escape Batman's eyes. Schiller wasn't the Joker; he didn't have time to play hide-and-seek with Batman every day.

After a while, Schiller finished his paper. It was already late at night, and it was pitch black outside the window, with only distant lights reflected in the puddles formed by the rain.

Soon, the valet alerted him that the phone was ringing. Schiller picked up the receiver, and Batman stood in the darkest corner of the living room, listening to him talk on the phone.

"Yes, that's right... It's no trouble at all. Yes, I know, they always do this. I've seen it quite a few times before..."

"Really? That's quite serious... I have a professional First Aid Kit here... Oh, really? You're such a responsible housekeeper..."

"I don't think it matters..." Schiller looked up at Batman. For some reason, Batman felt his heart suddenly pounding, like a student nervously trying to deduce the level of anger from a teacher's few words after receiving a phone call to their parents.

"Okay, please don't worry... No problem, that's settled then... Tomorrow morning, right?... I think so, okay... Goodbye."

Schiller saw Batman open his mouth as if to ask something, but in the end he didn't ask anything.

Schiller said, "Your butler said you were injured, but he should have already treated you."

After saying that, he glanced at the grandfather clock beside him and said, "It's too late now. Your housekeeper said you should be in bed before nine o'clock. It's already more than three hours late. Now take the keys and go upstairs quickly."

"I don't need a key."

After leaving behind his last words, Batman disappeared. Schiller shook his head and went upstairs as well.

Schiller already knew Batman's true identity, so Batman didn't do anything like sleeping in the Batman suit. When Schiller knocked on his door, Bruce was wearing his pajamas.

Normally, when Batman is serious, you can only see his chin, but now, Bruce's demeanor is completely different from his usual self; this is Batman with his full face on display.

But it was no use. When Schiller told him that Alfred hoped he could get back for breakfast the next morning, he still showed a rather conflicted and complicated expression.

"I advise you to go back. If he comes to your door, I will absolutely not help you. You should know that teachers will always stand on the same side as parents."

Seeing that Bruce still seemed unwilling, Schiller had to threaten him further, saying, "If I really see Alfred tomorrow, I will have to talk to him about your studies. You barely passed the final exams this time, but your ranking is in the lower middle range. More importantly, you missed submitting your assignments six times this semester, and you didn't write enough words for most of them."

"I've kept all the assignments you've submitted. If you don't want your butler to see your nonsensical articles and academic garbage that's useless except for polluting other people's brains, you'd better go to sleep now and get up early tomorrow morning to go back to your Wayne Manor."

Before Bruce could say anything, Schiller slammed his bedroom door shut.

At night, Bruce lay in bed, reflecting on the recent events.

Thanks to Schiller's ingeniously creative supply chain, there have been many gang fights lately, making Batman's job increasingly difficult.

During the day, he was busy conducting various investigations at the hospital to unravel the intricate relationships between gangs. At night, he had to keep an eye on the scenes of various shootouts to prevent them from getting too carried away and causing too much damage.

The police have become much stronger with heavy weapons, but that doesn't mean the gangs are completely without means of countermeasures. When the police suppress the gangs with heavy firepower, the gangs will naturally think of using even more ferocious firepower to retaliate. As a result, the scale of the war is constantly escalating, which means that Batman has not had time to upgrade his various equipment before he is drawn into some more ferocious firepower conflicts.

This meant that the Bat-armor, originally designed for pistol bullets and melee weapons, was unable to protect against damage from machine gun grenades during a firefight.

A few nights ago, Batman was hit by a machine gun bullet. This kind of damage is incomparable to that of a pistol bullet. Each machine gun bullet is as long as a palm. Fortunately, Batman was only grazed on the shoulder. If this bullet had really hit him solidly, half of his lung would probably have been completely destroyed.

But this also caused him very serious damage, arguably the most serious injury he suffered during his time as Batman.

When he rushed back to the Wayne Manor, he was already delirious. The fact that he was still conscious enough to return to the Wayne Manor was a testament to his extraordinary willpower that saved his life.

Bruce already knew that he was not very sensitive to some painkillers and anesthetics and would often wake up during anesthesia. This time was no different. In the middle of the operation, he saw Alfred sitting alone on the side of the operating table in a half-dreaming state.

He found it hard to describe the expression on Alfred's face that he saw at the time, which made his heart, which had hardly been beating fiercely for many years, clench painfully.

He suddenly realized that Alfred was different from the one he remembered. He had aged a lot and seemed much more depressed than when his parents were still alive.

He then realized that the deaths of the Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had not only affected him alone.

And perhaps, when Alfred realized he was almost going to suffer the same pain again, he had grown much older.

Bruce lay in bed, tossing and turning, his mind filled with the image of Alfred that he had vaguely seen.

What saddened him even more was that when he woke up from the surgery, Alfred said nothing. He didn't stop Bruce from doing anything; he simply prepared breakfast as usual, just like countless mornings when Bruce would wake up from nightmares.

Sitting at the table, Bruce could barely eat. He was Batman, but he was still a human being. Few people could maintain a calm mindset while eating when faced with such intense emotional turmoil.

So he only ate a couple of bites and left Wayne Manor as if he were fleeing.

Actually, he went to Gordon's place first, but he just happened to arrive just as Gordon was driving to Schiller's house.

He followed Gordon the whole way, and Batman even saw their entire conversation in the restaurant from outside the window.

He also saw Schiller sitting alone in a chair, smoking an entire cigar.

That professor felt unfamiliar to him; he had never seen Schiller like this before. He seemed relaxed, yet extremely cold and sharp. Although Schiller often appeared serious at school, this was completely different.

It was like another person, a stranger.

He thought that perhaps the professor he knew before was just a disguise, just like him.

Two madmen play their respective roles in this crazy city, appearing in the most ordinary social positions as a teacher and a student troubled by the trivialities of daily life.

This might not be a copy of "Pride and Prejudice," but rather a copy of "An Actor Prepares."

In the dilapidated and decaying theater of Gotham, on the stage of Gotham University, the first act of this absurd drama appears both strange and comical.

The first teacher Batman encounters on his first day of school, a seemingly strict and rigid teacher who appears to have no desire to cause trouble, gives him the answer he most wants during a seemingly unmotivated psychological consultation.

After one play after another came to an end, the two actors finally met offstage.

Putting aside their social identities, the storylines of these absurd dramas are by no means coincidental. Madmen always attract madmen, and eccentrics often meet eccentrics. This is just another way of showing that birds of a feather flock together.

Bruce lay in bed, a drowsy feeling washing over him. In his half-awake state, he heard the dull thud of the clock pendulum downstairs in the manor, permeating his dreams.

Apart from that, on that cold night in Gotham 1987, the only sounds that could be heard were the barely audible wind and the constant burning of the fireplace.

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