Chapter 201: The Debate of Two Madmen

The fourth course was served; this was the main dish of the evening.

Snow-white fish fillets for the white meat, tender and juicy steaks for the red meat, garnished with a touch of green parsley; white wine accompanied the white meat, while red wine paired with the red.

Alfred skillfully cut the steak; Ma Ma Zhaodi stood behind the Riddler, his gaze clearing the bandages on his shoulder to fixate on the steak, which oozed juice with every cut.

"Slurp."

The Riddler's hand unconsciously touched the gun at his waist—it was clear Alfred had treated the wound very effectively; his right hand could still move.

"Now, based on what I learned from my conversation with Commissioner Gordon, the core of your conflict lies with this Batman. Clearly, Commissioner Gordon is unwilling to discuss any further intelligence regarding him, which is truly regrettable—he has a very good relationship with this dangerous fellow."

Speaking here, Bruce paused, then addressed the two at the table: "But I am not Gordon. I am an ordinary citizen concerned about Gotham, and happen to be quite wealthy."

"All your conversations here will carry no hidden dangers; on the contrary, we can find the truth through sincere dialogue. And with the truth, plus some personal funding from me, we can ultimately find peace."

"So, gentlemen, if you are willing, please answer one question—why Batman?"

A smile appeared at the corner of the Riddler's mouth, while the Joker wore a serious expression.

"Oh, yes, Batman, Batman is a sort of"

"Trouble."

"Precisely, my pale friend; yes, he is trouble."

Picking up a piece of fish and taking a sip of white wine, the Riddler continued: "If you ask me, I would capture him, his friends, his family, everything he loves in this world, line them up before a long pit, and tie Batman at the bottom. He would look up, watching helplessly as I shoot everyone through the head one by one, their bodies falling onto him as they struggle."

"Then, I would look down into the pit, point the gun at him, and when he is covered in blood, he would understand me—I have solved his riddle, I have uncovered everything about him, I know everything about him, I have completely defeated him, I have completely dominated him."

"Just like opening a riddle box, dismantling everything about him bit by bit, while he is the most brilliant, the most core answer."

Speaking here, the Riddler's emotions had risen to near fanaticism.

"Then, I would say, I have prepared the greatest riddle, Batman, guess it."

"And before he hears this riddle, bang! —then he is dead."

Bruce's face showed no particular expression; he looked at the Joker again.

"Sounds interesting... but not to my taste; I would strangle him."

The Joker picked up a piece of red meat and put it in his mouth: "I would feel, with my palm, with my fingers, carefully feeling every tendon of his, every pulse, and the air that can never enter his lungs."

"Then I would laugh, laugh until I choke just like him—then he would stop struggling, but not stop thinking; he would look at me, but feel no fear, no terror; he would be very calm."

"In the final moment, he would no longer think of any riddle, any answer, no longer care about order; these would lose all meaning to him. He would understand my actions; he would realize that he only needs to smile at these things to throw them all away. In the end, the only true things are me, and him, and the hand strangling his neck."

"Then, he would laugh just like me."

Speaking here, the corner of the Joker's mouth finally flattened; he almost revealed a smile—but ultimately failed.

Ma Ma Zhaodi listened, sweating profusely; the Human Condition of these two was truly too perverted, even pathological. Calling it pathological hatred was still inaccurate; it was better described as pathological craving.

Perhaps, madmen indeed crave validation even more.

The fifth course: sorbet.

Small cups held refreshing shaved ice—sorbet is made by freezing fresh fruit, then grinding it into a slush, with no milk or sugar; Ma Ma Zhaodi had heard of it but never eaten it.

He was hungrier.

"Well, I think we have made some progress," Bruce summarized: "We are closer to each other; I know you both want to kill Batman. In that case, why not just do it?"

"Convince me individually, right here at tonight's dinner; give me a reason, tell me why you deserve it and the other does not—I will choose the better reason and offer one billion US dollars."

"You can use it to buy out all the other's soldiers, let the entire city turn against Batman, and drive the other out; you won't need to keep deploying troops to fight each other, because this wealth will directly bring them all under one side's command."

"I have only one requirement," Bruce Wayne said: "I want this city to suffer less; you must go straight for the target and cannot kill others indiscriminately."

Seeing both sides at the long table thinking, he knew his strategy had succeeded.

Whoever tried to buy out the other's henchmen would invite attacks from all the other's super-villains; therefore, this matter could not be done by any innocent person; only the Riddler or the Joker could do it.

And indeed, the Riddler and the Joker were tempted.

At this moment, the sixth course, salad, was served.

A mix of red and green colors, both fruit and vegetables, uncooked, yet naturally delicious.

"My answer is simple: he cannot kill Batman—he is just a fake."

"You see, I solve riddles, and there is no riddle greater than the Joker in this world, so I have solved him too—everyone projects their greatest tragedy onto you, guessing what made you, guessing you have a cruel father, a poor wife, lost children, guessing what turned you white, green, and mad."

Speaking here, he laughed.

"But you and I both know, that is just boasting; there is no pain or suffering in you, or at least not yet."

"You are just an actor; everything about you is just a farce. You are not white, green, and mad; you are just white and green. Whether you laugh, kill, or perform some comedy, it doesn't matter; beneath that smiling face is just an ordinary, predictable normal person."

"You know nothing of true madness and genius; you don't know the feeling of the whole world revolving around you, the feeling that the truth of all things responds to you, the feeling of being able to easily see through everything—I know this feeling inside out."

The seventh course: cheese.

The yellow cheese that Jerry often stole to eat in Tom and Jerry.

"A reason? Why am I the only one worthy of killing Batman? Emm."

"Isn't it obvious? I am the Joker, he is the Riddler."

He raised his wine glass: "At the 'final' moment, who will care about a riddle?"

(End of this chapter)