Chapter 1262: Shadows in Pairs (19)

"We absolutely don't want to know why Schiller knows what clothes are in your closet..." Hal said.

"And we have no interest in what you do first when you get up..." Constantine immediately followed.

"You two have even reached the point where you can stab each other—I mean literally stab each other—and still get along peacefully..." Clark also immediately followed.

"... We wouldn't be surprised by anything you do." Lucifer delivered the final verdict.

The seamless dialogue, like a play, blocked the words Bruce wanted to explain back into his mouth, like a punch hitting cotton, making him feel a sense of powerlessness instead.

This matter actually wasn't difficult to explain. The scene of Bruce and Schiller torturing each other the most over these four years was editing papers.

Even if Bruce Wei En was a famous billionaire, a renowned psychologist like Schiller couldn't possibly bow for five pecks of rice and rush to Wei En Manor to edit his papers.

Bruce couldn't let Schiller do that either, because Wei En Manor also had Selina, Dick, Aisha, and Alfred.

Not to mention his girlfriend and children, if Alfred found out what his papers were written like, Aisha probably wouldn't be able to salvage Bruce's image, which had finally improved a little in Alfred's eyes.

In other words, the location for editing papers was either at school or at Rodriguez Manor. But even at school, Schiller eventually had to go home. If it wasn't finished, Bruce could only go home with him. Want to run? Nonexistent.

Of course, as everyone knew, the scene of Batman walking through the garden and being hung on a tree basically appeared when Schiller called Batman, who had just finished patrolling, to the manor to edit papers.

Batman didn't walk through the garden because it was easy to walk; it was mainly because he didn't want to be seen by Merkel. Otherwise, at the speed at which butlers exchanged information, Alfred would have stormed over in less than an hour.

Looking back, Bruce almost wanted to slap his freshman-year self. At the time, he asked Schiller to leave him a room at Rodriguez Manor, never expecting it to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Over the past few years, whenever Batman slept, he basically stayed at Schiller's house.

Although Batman wasn't a typical autistic person and basically had no stereotypical behaviors, he wasn't a sloppy person either. Like other mental patients, he liked every item to be in a familiar position. So no matter where he went, as long as there was a closet, the way his clothes were arranged was unchanging.

Bruce also knew that this arrangement actually came from Alfred, because from the time he was young, his clothes were organized by Alfred. The old butler was an Englishman, and his storage of formal wear was meticulous. Even if there was the slightest difference between shirts, they absolutely couldn't be mixed. Every piece of clothing had its place.

When Bruce stayed at Schiller's house, he basically didn't bring a change of clothes. But the problem was, for Batman, sleep wasn't the end of the day. He was also accustomed to thinking about problems he didn't have time to think about during the day in his dreams.

As mentioned before, human dreams were connected by the dream world. The distance between dreams didn't entirely depend on the distance in reality. It didn't necessarily mean that if they were close in reality, their dreams were close, but there were exceptions.

In general, the proximity of dreams depended on the frequency of conscious activity. A slightly more sci-fi explanation would be "brain waves." Brain waves at the same frequency were easier to connect.

And clearly, after Schiller and Bruce tortured each other over Bruce's papers, both went to sleep full of worries. Returning to their own mind palaces, they were even more furious—mainly Schiller was furious.

Then, Schiller discovered that even without the crazy wine, as long as Bruce fell asleep in this state, their dreams were still very close. So Schiller could climb over the wall, grab Bruce, and continue editing papers in the dream.

Although there were many rooms in the Mind Tower, including many empty offices, the arrogant one really didn't want other Schillers to know what Bruce's papers were written like.

Thus, every time, he brought Bruce over from that hole and then brought him to his room, where the two continued to have some unfriendly consultations about the content of the papers—sparring first, discussing later.

Over time, other Schillers got used to it. In the end, they didn't even need the arrogant one to lead the way; Bruce could climb over the wall from his own dream, walk through the hole at the bottom, and come to the arrogant one's room.

In the room in reality, although there were no clothes or closets, in the Mind Tower, everything relied on imagination. When Bruce stayed in the arrogant one's room, he would project the bedroom from his memory here. This place would briefly become the bedroom he had at Wei En Manor, and naturally, there would be the closet organized by Alfred.

And Schiller's Mind Tower was special in that when the arrogant one went up to work, the Mind Tower was also open. The arrogant one's thinking and the operation of the Mind Tower didn't affect each other.

So it was very easy for a situation to occur: in reality, the arrogant Schiller was giving a lecture at Gotham University, and Bruce was sleeping underneath. But Bruce wasn't actually sleeping; he was making up homework in the room in the Mind Tower.

This was the most important reason why the arrogant Schiller allowed Bruce to sleep in his class, bar none. Of course, his own explanation had a slight difference, but it could be ignored.

In this situation, it was difficult for Schiller not to know the details of Bruce's life. The flow of thought was different from the real world. Schiller would often press Bruce to edit papers for dozens of hours, almost counting how many hairs he had.

These people in the theater in this world weren't surprised by this. Just as they said before, these two stabbed each other, even stabbed each other more than once, tortured each other for four years, tortured each other to the point of almost playing each other to death, and in the end, could still sit together calmly. Then what were they persuading? What else was there to persuade?

Even Clark began to doubt whether it was correct for him to force them apart at the beginning. He had thought both of them must be very painful, just unable to help themselves due to illness. Now he found that with the effort of managing these two lunatics, it would be better to go to Mexico and plow a few more acres of land.

Clark even wanted to say that these two should unite to produce a tutorial, teaching all mental patients in the world to pair up in this way—one-on-one precise internal friction, internal contradictions, internal resolution, don't come out and harm ordinary people. If it could really succeed, it would be a great merit.

But the problem was, the Jason of this universe didn't know these things. In his view, Schiller was a freak who suddenly appeared, and very likely a criminal. So, when Schiller accurately stated Batman's very private living habits, he almost dropped his jaw.

Even through the mask, one could see that Jason's mouth couldn't close for a long time. And besides shock, there was another emotion—the anxiety brought by the desire for knowledge.

Just as Jason opened his mouth to ask, suddenly, a pair of chopsticks was handed to Jason. Schiller looked at Jason and said, "Don't be anxious, your foster father has scheduled a 5-hour therapy session for you."

Jason opened his mouth again. He just wanted to express his objection to this time, but he remembered Schiller's wording just now. He muttered the word in his mouth and then said, "... Foster father?"

"Isn't he your foster father?" Schiller said with feigned confusion. "Did I misjudge the relationship between you two? It's fine, the medical records can be changed..."

After finishing, Schiller put down the tableware in his hand, wiped his hands gently, and turned to get the medical record book. But at this time, Jason suddenly started stuttering. He held one chopstick in each hand and stammered, "No, that, wait a minute..."

Schiller sat back down, as if he had just thought of it, and said with some confusion, "If he isn't your foster father, why would he be willing to pay such a high price to let you find me for psychological counseling?"

"Price? What price?"

Jason keenly picked out the vocabulary in Schiller's words. Although he had a bad temper, his imagination was exceptionally rich.

He felt that Batman must have promised Schiller some unreasonable request. So, he immediately said a bit angrily, "Did you lie to Batman? Intentionally describing my problem as very serious? Hmph, I've seen plenty of con artists like you. Tell me, what did you swindle from him?!"

"I am not a con artist, and I didn't swindle anything from him. My psychological counseling is clearly priced. He paid the money, so I will treat you."

Hearing Schiller say it was money, Jason immediately breathed a sigh of relief. He waved his hand and said, "Pfft, I thought it was what. That billionaire has plenty of money..."

"Oh, really? Then I'm relieved. Then please take this bill to him after the treatment ends today."

Jason didn't care what he said at all. He put one leg over the other in a rogue manner, lifted the lower part of his mask to take the water cup, took a sip of water, and took the bill with his other hand. He glanced at it and said, "Who do you think you are? You want to order me to run errands? You let me take it and I'll... Pfft!"

!

"

Jason stood up with a "whoosh," stared with wide eyes, and stared fixedly at the long string of numbers at the end of the bill that had no decimal point and looked exceptionally long. His voice was almost screaming: "Thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand... how much???????"

Jason took the bill down, looked at Schiller with the same shocked gaze, then took the bill up, looked at the number again, and finally looked at Schiller again.

"Wait a minute!"

Jason shouted. Schiller had just opened his mouth to speak, but Jason stopped him with one hand, looked down at his own clothes, ran back to the center of the living room, and turned around to look at the whole room again.

Clearly, the most eye-catching thing in the living room was the dazzling array of exhibits on the bookshelf. In Jason's eyes, these strange sculptures began to flicker with the luster of money. Soon, he found familiar collectibles among them.

"... Isn't this the wine glass that was scarily expensive in the warehouse before?... Oh, I get it!" Jason suddenly realized. He walked quickly to sit opposite Schiller again.

The young man seemed to have discovered a big secret. He leaned forward, stared at Schiller with bright eyes, lowered his voice, and said, "You aren't helping Batman launder money, are you?????!"

"

In the theater, the greedy one slapped his forehead and shouted at Jason on the screen, "Look clearly! Kid! Who is laundering money?! That old antique who can't even use an abacus? His taste is terrible!"

"I think I'm going to be in big trouble." Jason evaluated with a stiff expression, "He actually dared to talk about money in front of Professor Schiller. I think he might be thrown into the river. I hope Batman can fish him out in time."

Although others didn't make a sound, they clearly agreed with Jason's evaluation of himself.

Everyone knew that Professor Schiller was very disgusted with calculating accounts, held great malice toward economics, and called Wall Street the "Autonomous Region of Human Enemies." Anyone who repeatedly talked about money with him wouldn't have a good ending.

But somewhat unexpectedly, Schiller didn't get angry, just smiled, and looked into Jason's eyes and said:

"Isn't Batman your foster father? He is willing to spend so much money for you. I thought you were very important to him."

"I..."