Chapter 421: Metropolis Mystery (Part Two)

"This station reports that, following the death of former MI6 agent Harold Kim Philby, announced from Moscow on May 11, the case concerning the disposition of Philby's remains was officially closed yesterday."

"Moscow has again rejected the family's request to repatriate the body; it has been confirmed that Philby will be buried in Moscow before January of this year..."

"It is understood that MI6 has remained silent on Moscow's actions; they may be ashamed of the name Kim Philby. A reporter from The Times attempted to contact a senior MI6 operations officer, who refused to disclose his identity but stated that Moscow's retention of Kim Philby's remains conceals a deeper conspiracy..."

"Next, we bring you the life of Harold Kim Philby—a legendary double agent of MI6..."

A click, then the radio emitted a hissing static. Merkel, who had been dusting the table with a duster, turned to Schiler, who was reading the newspaper at the dining table: "Sir, it's time for Gotham's morning news. Shall I switch the channel for you?"

Schiler turned a page of the newspaper without looking up. "Yes, and turn the volume up a bit—I can't hear clearly."

After the radio turned back on, the familiar voice of Gotham's morning news anchor filled the room:

"Mayor Brown arrived at Green Street at 6 a. m. today to inspect the area, expressing deep concern over the snowstorm and its impact on transportation. He stated that even the poorest and most chaotic East District, and even the densely populated Hell's Kitchen, should not be abandoned..."

"Transportation issues have long been his top priority in city governance. Over the past few months, his efforts have yielded significant results. Though this snowstorm has added another heavy burden to Gotham's transportation, no disaster can defeat the resilient people of Gotham..."

Seeing Schiler flip through the newspaper faster and faster, Merkel turned the radio dial again, and another Ma Lei anchor's voice came through:

Breaking news: The public safety situation in Metropolis has come under intense scrutiny. The serial killer responsible for the recent string of murders is still at large, and the Metropolis Police Department's effectiveness has been widely criticized...

"The police chief claims that during his 23 years in office, Metropolis has maintained excellent public safety, and the department will spare no effort to solve this case in the shortest possible time..."

"The serial killer's methods are extremely brutal, having murdered multiple victims in a short span, including several key aides to the mayor..."

"The killer is highly skilled and the murders are exceptionally cruel. Six victims have been confirmed so far..."

Watching Schiler's hand slowly stop flipping the newspaper, Merkel paused her cleaning, turned, and turned up the radio's volume—but the channel now played soothing music, followed by another announcer's voice:

"Emergency bulletin: Due to unfavorable weather conditions across major East Coast cities, Mayor White of Metropolis will host a disaster relief charity gala tonight at 9 p. m. at the Mayor's Residence in Metropolis..."

"The gala will invite prominent figures from major East Coast cities, hoping they will use their influence to bring new hope to ordinary citizens across the East Coast..."

"The mayor stated that this is merely the social responsibility any decent mayor should uphold. Whether in Metropolis or any other East Coast city, darkness is temporary—light will ultimately come..."

Merkel observed Schiler's expression, walked over to the radio, and turned it off. Schiler closed the newspaper, folded it, and set it aside.

Merkel picked up the newspaper. Schiler picked up his cutlery and began eating, as if he had no interest in the news just broadcast. Near the end of the meal, he began his usual small talk:

Schiler asked Merkel: "Are you from London?"

"No, sir. My hometown is Birmingham. But when I was in middle school, my parents moved to London for work, and we settled there."

"Did you attend middle school in London?"

"I spent one year in Birmingham, then moved to London."

"How were your grades? Probably excellent, right?"

Merkel smiled modestly. "Actually, they were decent—not top-tier. And compared to my peers, I have no special talents—I don't play any instruments, and I don't understand Latin."

"Did you attend a grammar school?"

"Yes. But nowadays, even grammar school kids are quite accomplished. I simply have no artistic talent..."

baimengshu.

Just then, the downstairs mailbox clattered again. Schiler frowned. Merkel turned and walked to the window, seeing a newspaper boy waiting beside the mailbox.

After going downstairs, Merkel returned holding a brown paper bag—freshly baked pretzel bread. He handed the bag to the boy, who stuffed it into his coat and immediately handed Merkel a letter.

This was the first time Merkel had handled Schiler's personal correspondence. He glanced at the wax seal—it bore a symbol he did not recognize.

Minutes later, Schiler sat at his study desk, using a letter opener to slit the seal. He carefully broke the wax, opened the envelope, and found inside a common, old-fashioned sheet of paper, bearing this text:

"Dear Professor Schiler Rodriguez, I have heard of your recent academic accolades and extend my congratulations."

"We sincerely invite you to attend a charity gala concerning the East Coast cities' joint disaster relief efforts..."

Schiler frowned as he read, and his brow deepened when his eyes fell upon the signature.

Slowly folding the letter, Schiler seemed lost in thought. Merkel, standing by, heard Schiler speak slowly: "What are the current means of transportation to Metropolis?"

Merkel paused, as if he had never considered the question. He turned slightly toward the snowy yard outside. "Probably no ground transportation is possible anymore."

Seeing Schiler's frown, Merkel bowed his head. "I'll contact a helicopter company immediately..."

Such morning conversations were common in English manors, and the Wayne Estate was no exception. When Selina stepped into the manor wearing a thick wool coat, the fireplace was already blazing. The butler took her coat and hung it on the rack. Selina gently brushed her hair behind her ear and said:

"The roads are terrible, aren't they? I heard the snowstorm didn't just hit Gotham—several East Coast cities were affected too. Of course, the southern cities fared better, but even they've endured a cold snap they haven't seen in decades."

"Yes. Master Bruce has already decided to attend a charity gala. He'll likely invite you as his companion shortly."

"Oh?" Selina widened her eyes in surprise. As she walked further in, she glanced at Alfred beside her. "How should I respond? I've never received such an invitation."

"Simply express sympathy for ordinary citizens, then say you're delighted to attend."

"Alright." Selina tucked her long hair behind her ears, sounding nervous. "When is the gala? What should I wear? What should I say?"

Alfred led Selina to the dining table. Bruce, who had not slept all night, looked neither tired nor weary, while Dick appeared drowsy. Selina noticed a stranger seated at the table and nodded to him, then turned to Bruce. "Aren't you going to introduce him?"

"This is Hal."

Bruce fell silent again. Hal had to introduce himself: "Hi, I'm Hal Jordan... no, I'm not related to that football player—I can't get his autograph..."

Selina's expression turned slightly disappointed. Then she looked at Dick, who glowed green all over. Dick shrugged at her. "It's complicated—I can't explain it to you. Suffice it to say, I'm as green as a Christmas elf now."

Watching Dick's miserable face, Selina couldn't help laughing. She picked up Aisha from beside her and fed her. After a moment, Bruce finally spoke:

"There's a joint East Coast disaster relief charity gala in Metropolis tonight. I need to attend. I'd like you to be my companion. What do you say?"

Selina straightened her back and stretched her neck, but the rehearsed words of sympathy never came. She simply said: "Alright, of course. But I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do..."

"My tailor will arrive shortly to custom-fit you a gown and jewelry."

"Once the gala begins, you simply walk in with me. Do nothing else. If anyone tries to talk to you, keep repeating how terrible this disaster is, how many ordinary people it's affected, and how deeply you sympathize."

Selina sighed. Over the past few months, she'd accompanied Bruce to several galas. Most of the time, she'd worn a stiff, aching smile, chatting with ladies and young ladies who praised her elegant gowns and expensive jewelry. God knew how much she wanted to pry the gems off their necklaces...

Bruce turned to Dick. Dick scratched his head. "Actually, I feel better now. I admit, when I first started glowing, I was scared..."

"But once I calmed down, the power calmed too—at least during these past few hours of sleep, it hasn't teleported me again."

"You should try maintaining this state until all the green energy is drained," Hal said. "Don't worry—I'll be watching you the whole time."

Dick held out his hand, staring at the ring. "I'll return it to you then. This thing is ugly."

After breakfast, Bruce's tailor arrived as scheduled. Selina, displaying various dresses in the center of the parlor, asked: "Bruce, this morning before I came, I heard a businessman's name on the radio—he's apparently Metropolis's biggest tycoon..."

"The announcer called him the most famous philanthropist. Is that true?"

Bruce sat on the sofa, holding an envelope. He opened it, read the letter inside, and replied without looking up: "You can replace the word 'philanthropy' in what he says with 'tax evasion.'"

Selina shook her head, seemingly not understanding. Bruce frowned, looking at the letter in his hand—the signature read a familiar name: "Lionel Luthor."