Chapter 186: Arkham Daily Life (Part 1)

"Name?"

"Philip Best."

"Alright, Jack."

The Joker lay on the hospital bed, Shi Ler stood beside him holding the medical chart, saying: "You'd better call out that psychologist persona of yours and describe your symptoms yourself, or I'll just make it all up."

"Untie my right hand, I want a cigarette," Jack shook his head, and Shi Ler walked over, unbinding his right wrist from the bed rail; Jack made a gun gesture with his hand, then aimed it at Shi Ler.

Shi Ler brought over a chair and sat beside the bed, then pulled a tape recorder and a blank cassette from the cabinet, inserted the tape, and pressed the record button.

"Alright, tell me about your life."

Jack sneered, glanced at the recorder, then at Shi Ler, and said: "My name is Philip Best, a truck driver for the Anta Gang..."

Jack rattled off a long string of details—his mortgage and car loan, his weekend grocery runs, his neighbor's house catching fire, and so on.

Shi Ler pressed the recorder's stop button and said: "Alright, next one."

Jack stared at him, he stared back at Jack; they locked eyes for a long while, then Shi Ler said: "Why are you staring at me? Make up another one—I need it."

Jack tilted his head back, rolled his eyes, mimicked Shi Ler's tone for a few muttered phrases, then invented himself a new origin story.

Thus, Shi Ler had the Joker fabricate over a dozen origin stories, then happily removed the tape from the recorder.

As always, trash is merely a resource misplaced—the origin stories Jack crafted were not only plausible and detailed, but vividly alive; change the historical backdrop slightly, and they could serve as fully fleshed-out false identities.

Shi Ler hadn't forgotten: he still had several agents embedded in Marvel's Arkham Sanatorium, and this false identity was perfect for them.

Jack rolled onto his side, leaned forward to stare at Shi Ler, eyes wide, and said: "You know what? I hate two kinds of people: those who are too ordinary, and those who are just like me."

"And you—you're just like me, yet you pretend to be ordinary. But the world's greatest psychologist, Jack, tells you: you can't do it. Hahaha!"

He hadn't even finished laughing when Shi Ler struck his injured hand with the spine of his notebook; Jack cried out in pain, then erupted into even wilder laughter: "You're caught! You're exposed! You'll never be ordinary! Hahaha!"

Shi Ler took a deep breath and said: "After today's session, you're moving to the general ward. Do you know how precious these beds are? Don't waste my time—and my money."

"Money? Hahaha!" Jack laughed harder, the bed shaking beneath him; after a moment, he choked, began coughing violently, then reached out to Shi Ler: "Water, please."

Shi Ler didn't hand it to him; Jack didn't care—he stopped laughing, collapsed onto the bed, gasping: "That joke was funny, right? If there were a cinema where you could buy tickets with popcorn, I'd buy a whole week's worth and watch every movie I've missed."

Suddenly, he grew solemn, sighed, and said: "They chase money—it's ridiculous, isn't it? Even more ridiculous: the money they chase is no different from popcorn..."

"And the funniest part? Hahaha..." He began laughing again, his whole body trembling. "The funniest part is, a madman knows money is just popcorn—and still chases it. Hahaha!"

"Why? Because he's insane! He thinks... he actually thinks that if he chases fame and fortune like an ordinary person, he'll become one. Hahaha!"

He noticed Shi Ler watching him in silence; Jack smirked and said: "Why so serious? Back at the theater, you were laughing your head off."

"Because a hell joke is funny only because it's someone else's hell," Shi Ler stood up. "Watching Batman's misfortunes is entertaining, isn't it? You agree, right?"

Jack wiped away imaginary tears with his free hand; he no longer seemed as manic as in the theater—instead, he seemed disturbingly normal.

"Honestly, I never expected you all to be so supportive—I love this place!"

"You should thank the Owl Court. Their endless rain has affected every resident here—even those who didn't get wet still inhaled moisture from the air, so everyone's a little mad."

"I know, I know... That's why I announced my plans on TV. I knew someone would come—certainly a crowd of annoying people..." One moment he snarled, the next he whispered meekly: "Oh no, I mean—esteemed audience, noble patrons—surely someone will grace this poor Joker's comedy with their presence..."

"Except Batman—he didn't want to come. I had to drag him there myself."

"That's exactly why I hate the Owl Court—they created a rain that drives people mad, yet it does nothing to Batman. You idiots," Jack growled.

"You're lying again. If that rain actually worked on Batman, the Owl Court would be a thousandfold, ten-thousandfold worse off than they are now."

Jack whistled twice through pursed lips, as if masking his lie; he shifted his body, leaned back against the pillow, and said, as if finding a kindred soul: "You see? You agree too. Batman's always been insane—he just won't admit it. If some external force made him crazy, that'd be too boring."

"Tell me—did he really want to laugh at yesterday's show?" Jack blinked, his cloudy eyes filled with longing, his tone brightening. "I've hidden in alleys and watched him many times—watched him break the limbs of robbers."

"But he's so serious," Jack complained. "Can't he just be happy? Listen to the robbers screaming, hear the criminals he hates most begging for mercy—how could he not be joyful? If he's joyful, why not laugh?"

Whenever Batman came up, Jack rambled endlessly; Shi Ler had no interest in his madness. He tapped the side of his notebook and said: "I also hate two kinds of people: those who cause me trouble, and those who cause trouble and then act righteous about it."

Before Jack could respond, Shi Ler continued: "Looks like we're each other's most hated type. Since we can't stand each other, let's keep our distance. Tomorrow, you're moving to the next room—share it with Cobblepot."

Jack snorted through his nose: "You're such a copycat."

The next noon, Shi Ler returned from the cafeteria to find Jack crouched outside the ward door, crying. He leaned against the doorframe, hands over his face, sobbing bitterly.

Shi Ler walked past without glancing at him; Jack grabbed his white coat and said: "My God! How can there be such a boring person? How could you put me in the same room as him?"

One hand clung desperately to Shi Ler's coat, the other wiped non-existent tears: "He just told me a joke—and even that joke was excruciatingly dull."

"He said he wants to open a restaurant. You know? And he wants to put an iceberg inside it. My God..."

I thought dressing as a bat was weird enough—but someone actually wants to dress as a penguin? A penguin? Hahaha!

"Doctor, they're all insane—you have to save me!" Jack trembled violently. "I don't want to be stuck with these lunatics!"

Shi Ler bent down, seized his wrist, and pried his hand off his coat; leaning over, he said: "First, this is a psychiatric hospital. If either you or he weren't insane, you wouldn't be here."

"Second, it's not visiting hours. If you dare leave this ward again, I'll expel Batman from Gotham University and send him to Metropolis to study—you'll never see him again."

Jack scrambled up instantly, sprinted to his bed, and yanked the blanket over himself; humming, he said: "Little Jack will go to sleep now, hum hum hum... Let's sing a lullaby..."

He closed one eye, pretending to sleep, while the other peeked out, watching Shi Ler's reaction.

Beside him, Cobblepot sighed deeply, looked at Shi Ler by the door, and said: "Doctor, I suggest you move him to the next room."

He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder: "Yin Wensi would get along with him perfectly."

"More importantly, if this lunatic stays much longer, I'm going to beat him."

"Alright. Tomorrow, he moves to Yin Wensi's room."

The next day, Shi Ler returned from lunch to find Jack perched atop the high observation window, clumsily shifting his body as if trying to climb out.

Before Shi Ler could ask what was happening, Yin Wensi's roar came from inside: "You actually like musical comedies?! And you insult classical music?! I misjudged you completely—those new operas are blasphemy!"

"You're the one who's insane!" Jack shouted from the window, waving his fists. "Baroque operas are ancient garbage! Monteverdi is trash! They have zero sense of humor!"

He mimicked a few operatic phrases, his dry voice and bizarre delivery full of emotion but utterly lacking technique.

From his perch, he spat venom at every master of Baroque and classical opera, driving Yin Wensi to hurl a pillow at him.

Never mind his other flaws—Yin Wensi had strength. Standing below, he hurled the pillow hard into Jack's face; Jack's injured arm couldn't grip the wall, and he tumbled out of the window, landing right in front of Shi Ler.

He tried to scramble up and storm back in to argue with Yin Wensi, but Shi Ler grabbed his shirt: "You want to go back and get beaten? You really think you can beat him?"

Jack fumed: "He doesn't understand music! That idiot! Classical opera is just whining without cause! Can you believe people still like that crap? Only comic opera and musicals are worth anything!"

Yin Wensi leaned out from the doorway, shouting: "You're the one with no taste! You damned lunatic!"

"You're the lunatic!"

Shi Ler stood by, speechless—partly because he didn't understand opera, partly because he didn't understand lunatics.