Chapter 183: A Rational Madman Is Still a Madman

Outside a private hospital room in Gotham City, doctors and nurses bustled back and forth; the night was long, the hospital full of patients, each with their own tasks to attend to.

Inside the private room, a boy of eight or nine lay on the hospital bed, and beside the bed sat a man.

The boy's name was Charlie, and the man was Chuck; Big Chuck was Little Charlie's father.

Chuck held his son's hand, seeing him lying on the bed, so weak and frail, and felt his heart pierced by knives.

"Dad, I did something bad."

"No, no, Charlie, you're a good boy; you'll be fine."

Chuck desperately tried to comfort his son, yet it was as if he were comforting himself, but the boy's mind was foggy, and he kept talking on his own.

"I said that word, the one you told me not to say; I said it again."

Hearing his son's voice, Chuck bowed his head in anguish; tears streamed down his face, unstoppable. With a hoarse voice, he said to his son, "Don't worry about those things, Charlie; you'll get better; everything will be all right."

But he knew everything would not be all right; Charlie's vital signs were growing weaker and weaker—how could an ordinary little boy resist the poison carefully chosen by the Riddler?

He was going to die.

"Dad," he said, "does this mean I'm going to die? Am I going to that terrible place?"

"No, no."

Chuck threw himself onto his son's body, weeping in sorrow.

"No, my son, please, don't—"

Long ago, before Chuck had divorced, he had once taken his son to fly a kite.

Both he and Little Charlie remembered that day vividly, because it was Little Charlie's first time flying a kite, and he looked so happy, which made Big Chuck happy too.

Watching the kite soaring high in the sky, he asked his son, "Charlie, do you like this?"

"Damn, of course I do."

Chuck looked at the kite, shook his head, and said, "Saying 'of course' is enough, friend; you shouldn't say that word; it's not a good word; it's unlucky."

Little Charlie tugged the kite string, feeling the wind, and guided the kite accordingly: "Then why is it an unlucky word?"

"My mother, that is, your grandmother, once said that if you say that word, you might go to that place—misfortune comes from the mouth."

"Oh."

Chuck lowered his head, looking at his son's somewhat displeased face, feeling a bit guilty in his heart, and said, "Uh, Charlie, I'm sorry, but I probably won't be able to attend your party on Saturday—I'm really sorry; I've talked with your mother; we'll take you out next weekend."

"You know, if I could come, I would, but I have a meeting to attend."

Little Charlie kept tugging that kite string, and only after a long while did he blurt out an answer.

"Oh."

Chuck recalled the scenes from the past, then looked at Little Charlie's face; his voice had become extremely faint, almost like a dream's rambling.

"Dad, I think I'm a little in pain."

So Chuck's tears flowed even more, unstoppable; weeping, he took two candies from his pocket: one was milk candy, the other strawberry candy; these were what he had planned to bring to Little Charlie the next time they met.

"Charlie, eat some candy," he coaxed his son while weeping: "Candy is sweet; eat it, and the pain will go away."

With trembling hands, he unwrapped the candy wrapper, placed the strawberry candy into the boy's mouth; it was sweeter than the milk candy.

"Beep—"

At that very moment, on the monitor, Little Charlie's heart rate finally dropped to zero, flattening into a long straight line.

Batman stood silently in the shadows behind the curtain, clenching both fists, and quietly closed his eyes; this was another life he had failed to save; at this very moment, he felt profound powerlessness and self-reproach.

"Beep, beep, beep—"

Hmm? What sound is that?

Chuck suddenly turned his head, looking at the monitor beside him; the previously flattened electrocardiogram began to fluctuate again; the instant the strawberry candy entered his mouth, Little Charlie's heartbeat recovered.

"Hmm?"

Batman looked at the hospital bed, seeing Little Charlie's pale face gradually regain a rosy complexion; his tightly shut eyes opened once more; his hands and feet seemed to regain strength; he suddenly sat upright.

Chuck, his face streaked with tears and snot, stared at his son in utter astonishment; he had been completely despairing just moments before; this sudden, overwhelming shift from grief to joy left him at a loss, even causing his brain to freeze for several seconds.

"Dad, I—I think I'm getting better?"

His son's voice finally roused Charlie; he reached out, tightly embraced his son, and burst into loud weeping.

"Dad, what's wrong with you? You're hugging me so tight I can hardly breathe."

Chuck hurriedly released his son, then took the remaining milk candy from his pocket, unwrapped it, and stuffed it into Charlie's mouth.

Although he didn't know whether that candy had saved Charlie's life, he figured he'd feed it to him first anyway—that was Chuck's thought at that moment.

And as Batman watched the candy in Chuck's hand, memories instantly surged in his mind—in that instant, he recalled the conversation in the botanical garden.

"I have a kind of milk candy that can cure poison," Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged: "That's all there is to it."

At this moment, Batman finally understood that Ma Ma Zhaodi had spoken the truth—but the first candy was clearly strawberry-flavored; does this mean Ma Ma Zhaodi actually possesses candies with multiple different effects?

Batman silently resolved that the next time they met, he would ask Ma Ma Zhaodi more questions.

"Chuck," he said to the overjoyed Chuck, "Charlie is fine; I'm glad; I—I almost failed to fulfill my promise to you; I'm sorry."

"But now, this boy has been targeted by both the Joker and the Riddler, so he cannot 'live' for the time being—do you understand?"

The next day, Chuck sat alone at home, modifying his blueprints while listening to the host's argument on television.

"The situation has gotten even worse! Hundreds of people have been hospitalized! And dozens more have been stripped naked and hung along the streets by some unknown vigilante freak!"

"Frank, don't get so agitated; so far, no one has died—"

"I want to ask: where is your Batman!"

"He's helping; you can clearly see him on the streets dealing with those criminals!"

"He's helping, but things are still getting worse—I'm seeing a war now, a war that must end immediately! We must choose a side; Gotham must choose a side."

"What!? Frank, what can we do? Send arms to the Riddler?!"

"We need a leader; we need to make a choice. If we want safety, one side must win; we must choose a winner—if we want the Joker destroyed, we must help the Riddler; if we want the Riddler destroyed, we must help the Joker!"

"This is utterly absurd."

(End of chapter)