After winter gradually set in, Gotham's rain did not lessen. The drizzling rain slid down the eaves, and when it fell into the garden, it knocked down the delicate leaves of the bedding plants. Soft branches bent low against the ground, letting out helpless wails.
Merkel put on his raincoat, took an umbrella, and went outside. Schiller, who was reading by the fireplace, looked up and asked, "What is it? Where are you going?"
"Sir, the rain is too fierce tonight. The newly transplanted plants in the garden probably cannot endure it. I'm going to put up the canopy so they can survive the winter."
Schiller shook his head and said helplessly, "Even without the rain, they will not survive this winter. They probably will not even survive tonight..."
"Merkel, I told you long ago that Gotham is not a city where you can put your gardening skills to use. Those delicate European seedlings only belong in the gardens of European nobles. Gotham? This place will only be their graveyard."
Merkel sighed softly. "Last month, when there was some sunshine, they were growing quite well. I did not expect the clouds to refuse to leave the city for the past week."
"Even if we cannot save all of them, we should at least preserve the last few. After all, how can a manor garden be without flowers?"
Schiller shook his head helplessly but said nothing. Merkel took his umbrella and went outside.
Through the floor-to-ceiling window behind the sitting room, Schiller saw that the moment Merkel stepped outside, the gale snapped the umbrella ribs. The force of the wind against the canopy slammed Merkel into the tree behind him, and roots rising from the ground tripped him.
When he got back up, Merkel threw the broken umbrella aside in a