Chapter 258: I, the Joker (Part 2)

"What do you think?" asked Schiller, standing beside the table.

"What do you mean?" Schiller took a sip of wine, set the glass down with a crisp clink, and looked up at the other self beside the table. "That guy trying to escape again—only to get tricked?"

"That's pretty funny…" Schiller stepped back a few paces, leaned against the wall with arms crossed, and said, "But I'm more curious—why does he keep climbing so hard just to go out and play?"

The Schiller sitting in the chair didn't move—instead, he stood up.

The light focused on the glass. A single bubble, just rising from the bottom of the transparent glass, floated upward—only to freeze mid-air, becoming a solid pearl.

As he took one step forward, the Joker remained frozen in place, the chair retreating backward, the table sliding left, the cabinet gliding right—the entire room reversed like a film played in reverse, everything being pulled away until only a blank white space remained.

Immediately, Schiller looked up as a lamp lit. Black flooring spread from beneath his feet. In a blink, he gazed down into the depths of a well's railing—where the Schiller who had stood beside him now stood several floors below.

"Do you know where I'm going?" Schiller asked.

"Aren't you planning to borrow the elevator on the 300th floor first?"

"You figured that out? You really know me well."

"Thank you. We're the same person, after all."

Schiller quickened his pace, walking down beside his other self. Both gripped the railing as they descended the spiral staircase slowly. The other Schiller spoke as they walked: "Seriously, when are we switching places? I'd like to stay in DC for two days."

"You think this is tourism? Never mind the rest—do you even think your mental stability can handle these patients?"

"You think this is like facing Peter Parker in Marvel? I've never met anyone who complains about having too easy a job."

Schiller shrugged. "Don't say that. There's plenty of headache over there too. Don't forget—the Asgard family matters are far from over."

After descending for a long time, Schiller turned right. Before him lay only a corridor, and at its end, only one room. He walked over and knocked. His own voice came from inside: "Come in."

The two Schillers entered one after the other and saw their other self buried under a mountain of documents. That Schiller, noticing their arrival, set the stack aside and said to both: "Why are you two here together? Don't tell me there's more work."

"No, nothing. We just need to borrow the elevator."

Schiller pressed his forehead in exasperation. "What's going on lately? Why does everyone keep wanting to use the elevator?"

He grumbled further: "Everyone knows I'm busy. Everyone comes to bother me. When I saw you two walk in, I nearly suffocated."

"Who else is the 'Self'? And the chief steward and gatekeeper of the Hall of Thought…"

"And elevator manager," Schiller snapped. He waved his hand, and the two found themselves in a cramped room where a little boy was kneading a gray slime.

One Schiller stepped forward, crouched down, and rubbed the boy's head. "Do you know where the one with green hair went?"

The boy shook his head silently. But the gray slime in his arms made a "guk-guk" sound. Schiller picked up the soft mass, touched what seemed like its head, and asked: "Gray Mist, did you see anything?"

The gray slime squeaked twice. Schiller held it at arm's length, puzzled. "What's wrong? Did spending too much time with the 'Id' make you forget how to talk?"

The gray slime paused, then said: "Oh, I can talk… He went down a few levels. Took another green-haired one with him."

Schiller placed Gray Mist back in the boy's arms, patted his head, and stood to face the other self. "Looks like he's dead set on escaping—unfortunately, he failed."

"Elevator or stairs?"

"Stairs, of course. The busybody's already driving us crazy."

As they stepped out onto the spiral staircase, a figure in a long trench coat, holding an umbrella, walked up toward them. He looked up, saw the two Schillers descending, and said: "Why are you here? Together again?"

"That's your question. How did you let that guy in? Almost got him into the room?"

The green-haired Schiller sighed. "If he moved in, I could go out and play. But it didn't work—he created a Bruce Joker, used my memories to fight me, then ran off…"

One Schiller looked at the other. "He's always trying to escape?"

"Exactly. Didn't you know? Oh, right—you were born after me, so you wouldn't."

"When I first came to this world, the 'Superego' created me. But on my first night out, I became this guy…"

The Great Luo of All Worlds

"So he had to make another one—me. But this guy won't stay in his own house. He keeps trying to escape every few days…"

"Several times, he deliberately provoked Bruce's attention—until I returned to my place, and things calmed down a bit."

"I don't get DC people," the other Schiller shook his head.

"Have you finished? If so, get out of my way—I still have to go up."

"What are you doing? The person you wanted to trick is already gone. You're not thinking of chasing after him?"

The green-haired Schiller frowned impatiently. "Do you really think you alone can handle that madman outside? The Superego told me to go up and communicate with him…"

The two Schillers on the upper steps exchanged glances. One asked the other: "You can't lie here, right?"

"Theoretically, yes—but this guy's insane. I have no idea what's going on with him."

At that moment, a voice echoed from the spiral staircase: "I told him to go. Stop chatting. The wine's almost gone."

"The wine's almost gone." Schiller shook the bottle, pouring the last drops into his glass. Jack across from him grimaced. "That wine was mine. The last bit should be mine."

"Don't play innocent. You just messed up my floor with that disgusting thing—a Bruce Wayne with a Joker face… It's revolting," Schiller sneered.

Jack frowned. "Didn't you create that concept first—to provoke my fear?"

"Trying to trick me into your Mind Palace so you could sit in my place, huh?" Jack sneered.

"And…" Jack pouted, sneering. "You can't even control his Mind Palace."

The Schiller across from him gave a cold, humorless smile. "Why don't you try it, then?"

Jack's expression stiffened. "No thanks. I just took a look inside…"

He stared at his glass and smiled. "Building a 330-floor tower inside your own Mind Palace… then dividing every floor into star ratings, scores, membership tiers, access permissions… and placing thousands of traps on every single step…"

"He claims he's an ordinary man. Hahahaha—best joke I've heard in ages…"

Schiller sighed. "Can you imagine how I climbed to the 190th floor? If the elevator manager hadn't given me a backdoor, I'd still be climbing stairs like a fool…"

"Enough about that. Do you know where my other self is?" Jack asked.

"How would I know? I thought it was Yin Wensi—but Batman didn't choose him. So he's not it. The last one can't possibly be inside Batman himself, can he?"

Jack's expression darkened. "Better not be. Otherwise, I'll tie Batman here, crack open his skull, and drag out that damn thing…"

"The one who fell into the chemical pool and the one from the circus haven't been checked yet—but he's probably born from one of those two. If you find him, what will you do? Kill him?"

Jack stared into Schiller's eyes. "If your situation weren't so complicated, I'd have killed you already."

"No need," Schiller concluded. "You don't kill me, and I can't do anything. I still have over a hundred floors to climb, over two hundred thousand steps to walk. By the time I reach the surface consciousness, Batman might already be dead."

"But I might not be the worst off…" Schiller said with dark amusement. "What if some poor soul was born inside Batman? What would that be like?"

Jack's lips slowly drooped. Schiller grinned. "Why so serious?"

"You've got another you fused with the person you love most. Why aren't you happy? After all, it's still you."

Jack was visibly displeased. "Fused with Batman? Don't joke. The one who dresses as a bat is the real psycho!"

"Alright, I'm going back to climbing stairs. Good luck to you. Honestly, my place is huge—why not come stay for a while?"

Jack rolled his eyes, drained the last sip from his glass, and said nothing.

Schiller leaned back in his chair, turned to the other Schiller standing beside him with arms crossed, and waved his hand. "I think I can work a bit longer. What do you think?"

"The Superego called you back. Otherwise, he'll kick you back down to the first floor again."

"Fine. What a hassle. See you later."

Schiller pushed his chair forward, stared at the completely empty bottle, and said to Jack: "Thanks for the drink—but I still say your cheap wine is awful."

Jack covered half his face with one hand, revealing the other half in a slightly mad grin. "What did you put in the wine?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. I feel every neuron in my brain boiling. Don't you?"

Schiller paused, then said: "Alright. But it's not poison. On the contrary—it's wine too…"

Schiller pulled out a small bottle and placed it in the center of the table. Jack and Schiller both fixed their gaze on it. Schiller reached out and pushed the bottle toward Jack. "... nd it's the best wine in the world."