Chapter 162: The Party and the Umbrella (Conclusion)

Cobblepot looked around, first at Gordon's holstered gun, then at Batman's lingering aura of coldness, then at his own fractured right arm still bound to the hospital bed rail—he sighed and said:

"Yes, I killed the old umbrella maker Vigen, but I'm no thief or robber—this umbrella was always meant to be mine."

With Cobblepot's voice, the mystery began to unravel.

"My father, Old Cobblepot, was once the head of the Cobblepot family, one of the Four Great Families of the East End. Back then, the East End was thriving; the four families controlled dozens of streets, and the most central was Green Street, right beside the Living Hell—our family mansion was once spacious and luxurious."

"I've heard Brock mention this history," Gordon leaned against the table and said. "But what does this have to do with you killing an innocent umbrella maker?"

"Innocent? He wasn't innocent!"

Cobblepot sneered. "You must know that years ago, Vigen was Gotham's only handcrafted umbrella maker."

"He still is," Gordon said, glancing at Shi Le. "This trade doesn't need many people—few would pay a fortune for a handcrafted umbrella."

ahzww.

"But back then, the crime lords of the East End all ordered custom handcrafted umbrellas from Vigen's shop."

"You might think this was just a trend, a display of status…"

"Isn't that right? Handmade goods take longer to make, are slower to produce, and have low output, so their prices get inflated—but in reality, their quality isn't better than machine-made products." Batman's gaze also settled on Shi Le.

Cobblepot shook his head. "You don't understand."

"My father ordered an umbrella from Vigen's shop, but the umbrella maker breached the contract—he took my father's money but never delivered the umbrella on time. So my father got caught in the rain and died of pneumonia…"

"That's absurd!" Gordon stared at Cobblepot like he was insane. "You're not seriously saying you killed the umbrella maker to avenge your father?"

He raised his hand. "Fine, I'll admit—the old umbrella maker took money and didn't deliver. But did your father just sit there waiting for that one umbrella?? Didn't he have any other umbrella?? Couldn't he just use any other one??"

Cobblepot stared coldly at Gordon. "That's why I said you understand nothing."

"Who said my father went out without an umbrella? He had one—but none of them worked."

Gordon looked at Cobblepot as if he were mad, but Cobblepot didn't care. He closed his eyes, as if recalling something, and said: "My father knew things others didn't. He investigated them—things I can't even describe…"

Then he opened his eyes and fixed Gordon with a firm gaze. "The rain in Gotham is broken."

"He told me this: when you prepare an umbrella for Gotham's rainy days, you'd better buy one from Vigen's shop—or it won't work."

Gordon frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? Are you saying… only umbrellas sold by Vigen's shop can block Gotham's rain?? What theory is this? What's wrong with factory-made umbrellas? Aren't they all just meant to shield your body?"

Shi Le and Batman caught a different implication—they exchanged a glance. Batman asked: "You mean Gotham's rain is flawed, and only umbrellas sold by Vigen's shop can truly block it?"

Cobblepot nodded. "I don't know if you've heard that umbrellas from Vigen's shop aren't available to everyone—some can buy them, others cannot."

"That means someone wants certain people to stay dry, and others to get soaked."

"But what's the point?" Gordon still didn't understand. The issues they discussed clashed completely with his worldview—they sounded more like cryptic codes.

Shi Le tapped his chin with a finger. "Then what about your father? Why did he buy an umbrella but still get soaked?"

"I don't know," Cobblepot answered bluntly. "All I know is, on the day he was supposed to receive the umbrella, he never got it—but something forced him to go out. He knew it might be dangerous, but he had no choice."

"What was it?"

"The eldest son of the Old Patriarch died. My father had to attend the funeral."

"You think your father died because he didn't have an umbrella to properly shield himself from the rain?"

"Exactly. That's why I say this umbrella was always meant to be mine. My father paid for it—but never received it. And he paid with his life."

Shi Le frowned and exchanged another glance with Batman—they both realized the same thing.

"So you killed the umbrella maker to avenge your father?" Gordon asked Cobblepot.

Before Cobblepot could answer, Batman said: "No, he didn't. He didn't kill for revenge."

Gordon turned to Batman, but before he could speak, Shi Le tapped Gordon with his umbrella. "Don't ask. Just know this: he's an absolute expert when it comes to revenge."

Then he turned to Cobblepot. "You're not a person defined by revenge. To you, only things that bring tangible personal gain matter."

Cobblepot exhaled through his nose. "Correct. I didn't do this for my father—I did it for my mother."

"That's why I kept asking you, Doctor—can this illness really be cured?"

"What do you mean?"

Cobblepot spoke grimly. "I suspect my mother's illness might be… a curse."

"A curse? Explain."

"Before my mother first fell ill, she begged me for help. I don't remember what she said—but at the time, she was lucid, and kept crying out."

"Just before she lost her mind, she told me: 'Umbrella. Get the umbrella. Always carry an umbrella…'"

"I'd long known about my father's investigations, but only then did I realize his death wasn't just an accident—he became the one abandoned. He didn't get the umbrella. He didn't stay dry. And so he couldn't survive."

"My mother went mad. Whenever I mentioned anything about my father, she'd convulse, recoil in terror, and say nothing useful."

"You suspect your father and mother knew something—and that's why one was killed and the other cursed, correct?"

"Did your father tell you Gotham's rain was flawed?" Batman asked Cobblepot.

"He mentioned it. But more importantly, I confirmed it." Cobblepot struggled to sit up on the bed. "You upper-class elites and rich folks won't notice the changes in the Living Hell."

"Haven't you noticed how much order has improved there?"

"Of course we have," Gordon said. "Murder rates dropped significantly because people's living conditions improved…"

"Don't spout nonsense. Are there fewer wealthy criminals in Gotham?" Cobblepot cut him off. "Before, residents of the Living Hell drank from wells—you know, open-air wells."

"Now, after the renovation, their drinking water passes through underground purifiers…"

"That's the key," Cobblepot said, looking at Shi Le. "I don't understand psychological theories, but I know human vices are hard to change. If every resident of the Living Hell was born evil, improved living conditions couldn't have transformed them so completely."

"I've seen firsthand how chaotic and insane those people were. But since the renovation, they've become almost different people—still following gang rules, but clearly much more normal."

"Do you think their drinking water previously contained Gotham's rain?" Batman asked.

"Exactly. I tried, with Fish's men, to investigate the purifiers several times—but failed. The system's too complex. Just from outward descriptions, I couldn't figure out how it works."

Shi Le looked at Batman—he saw Batman thinking. As a transmigrator, he knew this might be the truth—at least, some comics mentioned Gotham's chaos stemmed from special substances in the water cycle that drove people mad.

But he couldn't say it outright—he had to reason it out. So he tapped the table, drawing everyone's attention. "Let's analyze this chain of logic."

"Oswald says Gotham's rain is flawed—it alters personality. The umbrella maker Vigen sells the only umbrellas that can effectively block it."

"Assume this is true. Then Vigen has the ability to make umbrellas that resist this rain—but he sells them to some and refuses others. What's his purpose?"

"Maybe he just can't make them fast enough?" Gordon guessed. "Handmade umbrellas must take a long time to produce, right?"

"But not many people buy them," Cobblepot said. "They're so expensive—ten years ago, ten thousand dollars? Only the top few crime lords in the East End could afford them. Even if he made one a month, he'd have enough for all the East End's crime lords in a year."

"So he's filtering," Batman's voice came. "The logic forms a closed loop."

"Someone uses some method to make Gotham's rain flawed, then controls an umbrella maker to sell functional umbrellas to some and deny them to others… what does this cause?"

He muttered to himself: "Some people maintain order, while others descend into chaos and madness…"

"Or rather…" Shi Le sighed. "One group generates wealth for them, while another keeps the city in perpetual turmoil, forever shrouded in darkness."

"Now only one question remains: who are they?" Cobblepot's tone was icy. Even if he wasn't driven by revenge like Batman, to Penguin, the organization that destroyed his family must pay.

At that moment, Shi Le walked to the bedside, umbrella in hand, looked at Cobblepot, and smiled—a chilling, unsettling smile.

"No wonder they knew I was behind all these changes. They've been watching me all along."

Cobblepot stared silently. Shi Le turned the umbrella around, gripped the shaft, and extended the handle toward Cobblepot. "Mr. Cobblepot…"

"It's called the Court of Owls. Take the umbrella. Kill them."

——————Extra Notes——————

Ten thousand characters today!

Ah ha! Didn't see that coming!