[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-248":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2322816,4544,"Chapter 248: Hollywood Black-and-White Films (Part 1)","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-248",248,"\u003Cp>In the morning, in Arkham Sanatorium’s office, Schiller, holding a bag, saw Peter standing at the door, knocked, and looked up: “Come in.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Doctor, I’m back,” Peter said with high spirits, walked in, took off his backpack, unzipped it, and began rummaging inside; after searching for a long time, he exclaimed: “Oh, here it is!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pulled out a box from the backpack—a square transparent case containing an old-style videotape, the kind used in hand-cranked projectors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter handed the tape to Schiller, scratched his head, and said sheepishly: “I think you’ll like this.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller smiled as he took the tape and said: “More than a gift, I’m curious—how was your Hollywood trip?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter made a strange expression: one eyebrow high, the other low, forming a step; one eye large, the other small—utterly comical, reminding Schiller of Spider-Man’s most common mischievous face from the comics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter sighed: “That’s a long story.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller, meanwhile, was unwrapping the old videotape and said: “No rush—we can watch the old movie while you tell it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter stared at the exposed videotape and said: “This thing’s an antique—modern projectors probably can’t even play this kind of tape anymore?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You should know who still has a projector that can play this…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Morning light grew brighter, passing through morning, noon, into a drowsy afternoon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Click,” Steve bent over, adjusted the old projector’s stand, then pointed to the window.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark grumbled as he walked to the window, pulled the curtains shut; Schiller sat on one side of the sofa, clinked his glass against Connor’s on the adjacent armchair; Natasha bent over, fiddling with a small golden figurine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come on, besides this antique, who else would enjoy using this broken-down machine to play such old films?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After saying this, everyone in the room stared at Stark; he blinked and said: “You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to watch, are you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Please, with this time, why wouldn’t I go create something new for human civilization?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark muttered to himself as he sat down on the sofa; Steve, standing behind it, pressed the projector button; as black-and-white images projected onto the wall, Steve walked over and sat down too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Accompanied by the upbeat jazz of 20th-century films, objects in Schiller’s vision began to fade: the fabric sofa’s surface smoothed out, the leather sofa’s sheen spread from one corner until it covered the entire seat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The lamp’s stand rose higher; the glass shade’s vintage patterns curled upward like grapevines; the alloy window frames spread ancient wood grain; sunlight streaming through the window dimmed from blinding to soft; the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, a soft “thump-thump” came at the door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Standing outside was Bruce; Schiller put down his pen, stood up, and said: “Your Hollywood trip’s over?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce pressed his lips together; his expression was odd. Schiller said: “What’s wrong? Did Selina feel uncomfortable?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“She adapted fine,” Bruce said, voice low but layered with complexity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then it’s you who didn’t adapt?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce said nothing, pulled a beautifully wrapped wooden box from his bag, and handed it to Schiller: “...A souvenir, Professor.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller took the box, saw the old videotape inside, and said: “How did you know I have an old projector at my estate? ...Oh, never mind—stupid question.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Click,” Harvey straightened the projector stand, aimed the head at the wall; Victor set down his glass, leaned back against the plush leather sofa; Gordon lit Schiller’s cigar, then lit one for himself, exhaling a plume of smoke.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce sat half-asleep on the single armchair, eyes half-closed, like a bat dozing in a cave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the projector button was pressed, the film image projected onto the wall; the orchestral melody turned somber, percussion and drums joined in, the roar of a car engine drowned out the howling wind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Whoa!!” Selina wriggled out of her seatbelt, leaned her upper body out the convertible’s open door; Bruce pulled her back in, then sighed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the thirtieth time he’d sighed on this stretch of road; Selina rested her arm on the door, tilted her head, chewing gum; she blew a bubble, turned to Bruce: “Honestly, when you took off your mask, I nearly jumped out of my skin—you’re Wayne?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I thought you’d figured it out already.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I knew you were rich, but I didn’t know you were this rich,” Selina pressed her finger to her temple, chewing gum: “But you said you’d take me to Hollywood to make a movie—isn’t that ridiculous?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Selina pretended to be casual: “I’ve gone to the cinema before—I thought I looked just like those actresses on screen—but…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her tone grew hesitant: “Alright, I admit—I’m just a girl from the slums, never seen anything grand in my life. If a hundred cameras were pointed at me, I’d probably shake with fear.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I just wanted to give you something real to do,” Bruce turned the steering wheel around a bend: “As long as you don’t steal, no one will question your status on set—I’m funding the whole film…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Selina glanced at the receding scenery, then blinked her big eyes at Bruce: “You’re really nice to me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce’s grip on the steering wheel stiffened for an instant; Selina noticed, deliberately leaned closer to him: “You get nervous? That’s rare.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Even if I’ve never lived your rich life, I know you must have had many girlfriends—did you act like this with them too?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce turned his head away from Selina’s proximity, slowed the car: “Hollywood’s here… look over there.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Following Bruce’s gaze, Selina saw, on a distant green hillside, giant white letters spelling out: “HOLLYWOOD.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind the letters, the sun slowly sank below the horizon; clouds shifted rapidly, night fell, then dawn arrived; when morning light pierced through the letters, Peter beside the car, beside Gwen, draped a blanket over her shoulders, pointing at the letters: “Look—we’re here.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gwen’s smile glowed brilliantly in the morning light; Peter stared, almost stunned; seeing his dazed expression, Gwen burst out laughing: “Do you know how red your face is?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter awkwardly turned his head straight, rubbed his face, then lifted his bangs with both hands, gazing directly into the morning light, at the white letters on the hillside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I heard this was originally an advertising billboard built by a real estate developer to sell houses.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But now, the rights probably belong to the Los Angeles city government,” Gwen brushed a strand of hair from her temple: “I wanted to visit Hollywood because as a kid I saw this billboard in movies—I even fantasized about replacing it with my own name.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter widened his eyes at Gwen as if he didn’t know her: “You wanted your name that big, on a hillside?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gwen laughed breathlessly, slapped Peter’s shoulder: “I was like that as a kid—my dad totally supported me—he made cardboard white letters and put them on my windowsill. I was thrilled. Seriously, don’t you want that?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gwen placed one hand on Peter’s shoulder, the other outstretched, fingers spread, pointing at the billboard: “People driving down this road see your name. Many will even stop just to take photos…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wait!” Peter turned back: “Speaking of stopping… isn’t parking forbidden here???”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No sooner had he spoken than he saw several uniformed police officers approaching, shooing away parked tourists; Gwen grabbed Peter’s arm: “Get in the car! I don’t want a ticket!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They scrambled into the car; Peter started the engine, pressed the accelerator; behind them, someone slow to move screamed as he got fined; they exchanged glances and burst into bright laughter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The car looked tiny on the long road; at the horizon, light dimmed as clouds covered it; “Snap!” a parking ticket slapped onto the convertible’s side.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce rested one hand outside the door, clutching a stack of dollars; the other held a cigarette; Selina took her own cigarette from her lips, leaned over to light his.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The officer squeezed the extra-thick stack of dollars, smiled at Bruce: “You can watch as long as you like, sir. Have a pleasant journey.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Age of Genes”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce didn’t even look at him—just held the cigarette, staring as smoke merged with the sunset on the horizon: “Now you can watch as long as you like.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Selina opened the door, stepped onto the roadside, stretched, yawned, squinted into the twilight: “I never thought I’d spend a day like this—standing where movie stars once stood…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A coat was tossed from the car, landing on Selina; she turned to Bruce, still seated behind the wheel: “You’re great everywhere—especially rich…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Selina turned, propped her arm on the door, leaned back into the car: “But I always thought the Bruce Wayne in the papers was different—they said you had a crowd of shady friends, loved to party, and were a womanizer—all women fell for you…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But why do I feel you’re always tense, never relaxed, and…” Selina opened the door, slid back in, pressed against Bruce, blew a warm breath into his ear with a smile: “…and a little shy?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Watching Bruce’s neck stiffen instantly, Selina blinked: “You’re a mystery. More like a ball of yarn than a bat, my dear.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Isn’t that perfect?” Bruce looked back at her; his blue eyes, when fixed on Selina, were clearer than the West Coast sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re just a cat, my lady.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1536,"2026-06-20T16:39:20.726Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","3d0f440a9979bc0621a3fefaea64c8d89a424e7e79a7db0f641276062168ee79","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-249","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-247",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]