Chapter 425

The night was deep, yet the mayor's mansion in Metropolis remained brightly lit; the bloodstains in the grand hall had yet to be cleaned, and agents patrolling the courtyard and every floor wielded high-power flashlights, turning every corner as bright as day.

No one in any room slept; events had unfolded too rapidly, and many had been herded into guest rooms before they could react—but now, having calmed down, they noticed many inconsistencies.

This whole affair was far too coincidental: Mayor White had gathered all the East Coast elite for a charity gala, and just then, agents were assigned to secure the event, and just then, just as the gala was about to begin, the host, Mayor White, died before everyone's eyes.

Just then, the Philby List had been resurrected; with a murder case added to a spy case, the agents had even greater reason to detain everyone.

Many had realized this might be a plot by the agency.

Normally, agents could never go door-to-door investigating them; if such an operation occurred, those under scrutiny would surely warn each other, unite, and the spy might get word and hide even deeper.

But now, seizing this opportunity, everyone was detained on the spot—at least for this night, they could not leave.

Their external businesses and networks were under investigation, while they themselves were cut off, unable to arrange or prepare; under these conditions, any unhidden trace left behind by any of them might be uncovered.

Perhaps Mayor White's death was staged by the agents themselves, merely to create an excuse to lock everyone here and facilitate their investigation.

The thought sent chills down their spines—they realized the so-called Philby List and that mysterious agent must be of critical importance, worth sacrificing a Metropolis mayor to trap them here.

Many began weighing whether they themselves were more important than the mayor of Metropolis; if not, it was best to stay quietly in their rooms and not venture out.

In Schiller's room, he stood before the bathroom mirror, speaking to himself: "Cambridge Five…"

"Rebirth of a Financial Titan"

He pressed his middle finger to his brow, recalling in his mind the brilliant yet slightly absurd story he once knew.

The Cambridge Five referred to five legendary spies who graduated from Cambridge University; all were native Britons, or if not born in Britain, born in British territories and raised mostly in Britain.

Their families were all extremely wealthy—some aristocrats, some merchants—raised in comfort, never touched by the proletariat.

Yet after entering Cambridge and joining MI6, each one without exception turned to communism—voluntarily, ideologically driven, refusing payment.

All five held high positions within British intelligence for years, continuously passing information to the Soviet Union.

Of these five, the most outstanding and famous was, of course, Harold Kim Philby.

During Philby's legendary career, he once led MI6's counterintelligence division—what that meant needed no elaboration.

But in the true history Schiller knew, there was never any mention of a "Philby List"; he did not know whether this was a change from the DC world or some conspiracy he had never heard of.

And what worried Schiller most was precisely the mysterious conspiracy that had once forced him to leave Metropolis and flee to Gotham.

As Schiller pondered, he heard a knock at the door—a dull, hesitant knock, indicating the visitor was not very familiar with him.

Schiller put on his glasses, stepped out of the bathroom, and approached the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Professor Rodriguez. I'm Lionel." Lionel's voice came from outside. Schiller turned the handle and opened the door; Lionel stood there in a tailored suit.

Schiller adjusted his glasses and, before Lionel could speak, said: "You're here to ask me to the parlor to meet young Luthor, aren't you?"

"Exactly. Lex has been waiting in the parlor. Had the banquet proceeded smoothly, I would have brought him down at the start to introduce him to the mayor, who would then introduce him to the elite."

"I know. Most children entering high society experience this scene. Unfortunately, his luck has been poor—the banquet didn't go well."

Lionel nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with his finger: "It's my failure as a father. I thought this would be an ideal setting—East Coast elites gathered, many he'd met at my own gatherings."

"That way, he wouldn't feel awkward speaking with them. Also, the mayor's eldest daughter and the deputy mayor's son were here; Mr. Wayne is his peer—they'd have common ground."

"You've thought this through thoroughly, Mr. Luthor. But fate is unpredictable; no one can foresee every event."

Lionel smiled again: "Still, loss brings gain. Originally, I planned to introduce him to you after the banquet—but now, he can meet you, the learned professor, sooner."

Schiller understood: "Of course. In gratitude for your help earlier with Benjamin, I'm happy to meet him."

Their conversation was filled with subtle implications—words and particles that seemed awkward to others carried hidden meanings.

Just as before, Lionel used the same phrasing he'd used to defend Schiller before Benjamin, reminding Schiller: I helped you, so you owe my son something.

Schiller explicitly pointed this out, telling Lionel: I know you did it on purpose.

Two ancient foxes exchanged veiled thrusts and parries, soon crossing the second-floor corridor to the parlor door.

When the door opened, Schiller saw a tall, slender boy standing before the floor-to-ceiling window. Hearing footsteps, he turned—Schiller saw a handsome adolescent face.

Though his frame approached adulthood, his features remained youthful, with curly red hair—different from Lionel's, but his eyes matched Lionel's color exactly.

Lionel stepped forward, patting Lex's shoulder: "Come, this is the professor you've longed to meet—I went to great lengths to bring him here."

What struck Schiller as odd was Lex's shyness; he hesitated in place, then, under Lionel's watchful gaze, stepped forward, shook Schiller's hand briefly, and withdrew it immediately.

"Apologies, Professor. Lex is like his mother—introverted. He suffered from autism in childhood, so his social interaction has always been…."

"No problem. I've met many such children. I believe I can communicate with them. Come, Lex—I hear you're deeply interested in consciousness and dreams…"

Lex kept his head lowered; Schiller couldn't read his expression. At these words, Lex nodded and followed Schiller to sit on the parlor sofa.

What struck Schiller as stranger still was that during the conversation, he did all the talking—Lex listened, asking almost no questions, appearing withdrawn and shy, while his father Lionel peppered him with one question after another.

After the conversation ended, Lionel escorted Lex back to his room. Returning to the parlor, Lionel sighed helplessly: "Forgive me for the embarrassment. Lex has always been like this."

Lionel frowned deeply: "To be honest, I asked you here for another favor."

"Earlier, I saw you mention in your paper that deep consciousness can be influenced to shape or alter personality. I hope you can use this method to treat Lex."

Lionel's expression grew somber: "The boy's background has been difficult. His mother suffered mental instability during pregnancy, yet she gave birth to him."

"He's my only son. I love him deeply. I've summoned countless doctors, but his introversion has never improved."

"If he were just an ordinary child, I wouldn't make such a request. But he's the heir to Luthor Group. Even if he became like young Wayne—a playboy—he'd at least be socially adept. As he is now, he can't possibly inherit the company."

Lionel gripped Schiller's hand with desperate hope: "Professor Rodriguez, you're the world's foremost expert in this field. Only you can solve the problem of Luthor Group's future heir."

"I promise you'll be handsomely compensated—you'll forever be a friend of the Luthor family…"

Schiller slowly narrowed his eyes, fell silent for a moment, then asked: "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Lionel studied his expression, probing: "How far can you go?"

"Everything you imagine—or everything beyond it."

Schiller looked directly into Lionel's eyes and said seriously: "I can erase his current personality and construct a new one—any personality you desire."

"Or I can give him multiple personalities, set different triggers for each, so they surface in specific scenarios to perform specialized tasks."

Lionel's eyes widened in disbelief, as if hearing a fairy tale. Schiller's expression slowly returned to calm, then he smiled and said:

"Most importantly, I can copy a person's personality and implant it into another's body."

Lionel's face froze. Schiller lowered his gaze, murmuring as if to himself:

"If a person's entire memory and personality were placed into another's mind, wouldn't that mean he has been reborn?"