Chapter 435

With a sharp crack, Lex's gun was knocked from his hand, the umbrella's tip pressed against his brow; he stepped back two paces and raised his hands, staring at Schiller.

Selina rolled, snatched up the gun Schiller had knocked away, raised it—but for a moment couldn't decide who to aim at.

Selina was surely on Bruce's side, but it was Schiller who had clashed with Bruce earlier; logically, she should have aimed at Schiller.

But Lex was also a Gothamite, and Bruce's former teacher; they had merely argued verbally, never struck each other, while Lex had fired at Bruce—so she turned the barrel toward Lex.

Yet Lex, now unarmed, was merely a defenseless boy; in terms of threat, Schiller remained far greater. Selina stood frozen, the gun wavering, until Bruce finally stepped forward and pressed down on her arm.

Now, everyone in the room was bewildered: in their eyes, Lex's actions made no sense—he was from Metropolis, had no stake in Gotham's feuds, had never held a grudge against Bruce, even if they'd met before—why had he fired?

Add to that his earlier attack on Benjamin, which made him seem like a madman ready to strike anyone at any moment. Lex opened his mouth to speak, but Schiller thrust his umbrella forward, squinting: "Step back."

He was deeply wary of Lex, for he knew well: in the comics, Lex possessed extraordinary intellect, among the sharpest minds in the entire DC universe; such people were the hardest to handle—you never knew if their actions concealed deeper intent.

"Professor, I—"

"Shut up." Schiller cut him off sharply. The best way to deal with such a clever man was to hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing—deny him any chance to manipulate.

At that moment, Bruce stepped forward too: "Professor Schiller, I only wanted to ask—"

"You too." Schiller didn't move his hand, but turned his gaze to Bruce.

He slowly lowered the umbrella, turned, and before leaving, glanced back at Benjamin, still alive but lying on the floor, and Lionel, already dead. As he walked toward the door, he said:

"Clean this up. I'm going back to sleep."

Then he left. Only Lex and Bruce remained, staring at each other. Lex sighed deeply: "Well, looks like he really lost his memory."

Bruce heard layers of unspoken emotion in those words. He looked at Lex: "How do you know?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Clearly, Lex held deep resentment toward Bruce. He muttered under his breath as he walked to Lionel's corpse, grabbed his arm, and with great effort dragged him into the bathroom.

When he came out, he said: "Bring that annoying agent over too. I'm going downstairs to find some tools."

"What are you planning to do?" Bruce asked, watching his movements.

"I'm cleaning this up. Do you want these two corpses lying here all night until other agents find them?"

As Lex headed for the door, he muttered: "This old manor's plumbing must be terrible—disposing of two bodies at once might clog it completely…"

But Bruce didn't drag Benjamin away. Instead, he flipped him over and began pressing his renzhong point. Lex saw this and hurried forward: "What are you doing? What if you wake him up?"

"That's exactly what I intend to do." Bruce didn't look up. "I need to extract useful information from him. He's the chief investigator for the CIA assigned to Metropolis, tracking espionage cases—he can't die."

Lex stood behind him, watching, and spread his hands: "Fine. Do as you like."

He turned to leave, but Bruce continued his actions while adding: "I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor. You can't leave either. Until I get the information I need, you'd better stay."

Lex ignored him, not pausing his steps—until he heard the click of an empty trigger. Selina had leveled her gun at his head. Lex turned, sneering: "Hmph."

"You know what? Talking to you gun-toting idiots is a waste of my life."

"Your Wayne Enterprises? Just an inheritance from your parents. My Luthor Group thrives because of my decisions."

"What? Does being closer to that professor make you think you're his favorite student?"

"Maybe he secretly calls you an idiot, and only tolerates you because he has no better options. But soon he'll realize—I'm the one who truly understands him."

Lex walked back, mocking Bruce: "Pretending to be a playboy, partying publicly while secretly running your empire with discipline—you think that makes you a genius in disguise."

"But you're just an ordinary man. Before true genius, you're nothing."

Bruce rose from beside Benjamin, stepped over his body, and stood before Lex, meeting his eyes: "That professor taught me many things—but the most important was…"

Bruce deliberately drew out the pause. Just as Lex leaned in, straining to hear the rest—*BAM! *—Bruce's fist struck Lex square in the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Bruce looked down: "Words may be powerful—but sometimes, a punch is just as effective."

Lex lay on the ground, motionless. His red hair covered his eyes, hiding the heavy mockery within. Bruce studied his face, then suddenly asked: "What's the tenth digit after the decimal point of the square root of 39?"

"3." Lex answered without hesitation.

"What about the square root of 235?"

"7."

Lex rose, wiped the blood from beneath his nose, grinned at Bruce, and asked: "What's the fifteenth digit after the decimal point of the square root of 659?"

"1." Bruce answered instantly.

Their exchange had no pause. Selina, watching, hadn't even processed what was happening before a stream of mathematical formulas poured from their lips.

Though Selina understood none of it, she could plainly see: these two were locked in a contest.

She glanced down at her gun, sighed, and walked over to the sofa, sitting with a mutter: "Hah. Men's pride."

She glanced back at them, murmuring: "How long will they stand there? Half an hour's the limit, right?"

Two hours later, Selina groggily lifted her head from the table, shook her numb arm, and looked out the window: the blizzard still raged, the sky pitch black.

She squinted at the clock on the wall: it was 6 a. m.

Selina pressed her palm to her forehead, turned—and there they were, still standing in the center of the room.

Oh no—they weren't standing anymore. They'd dragged in a chair and a table, piled high with scribbled paper.

Selina rubbed her temples, rose like a zombie, stretched violently, then yawned.

She glanced at the two men, turned away, and walked toward the parlor door with a blank expression. Neither Bruce nor Lex noticed her—not even the gun she'd left on the table.

Selina stepped into the hallway. It was eerily quiet.

For some reason, though Benjamin had vanished overnight, no agents had come searching—or if they had, Bruce and Lex had dealt with them. Selina saw no agents in the hallway, so she descended the stairs.

She reached the banquet hall, turned a corner, and arrived at the manor's storage wing. Here she found the surveillance room—but she hadn't come for that. She just needed a phone.

Fortunately, the surveillance room had a line to the guest rooms. Selina picked up the receiver and dialed. Schiller's drowsy voice answered.

"Professor? …Ah, no! Don't be angry! …Oh, fine, I know you get cranky when you don't sleep well—but there's a real problem here, maybe you should come handle it…"

"But… but it might be a big problem. Wouldn't you at least want to hear—"

As she spoke, Selina looked at the phone—dead tone. She pressed her lips together, then whispered: "Whatever. It probably won't be that bad."

She turned and climbed the stairs, heading back to her room to sleep.

Selina came from a thoroughly ordinary Gotham underworld background. She'd received no formal education—schooling and learning were foreign to her. That she could read and understand newspapers already put her above many in Gotham's underclass. You couldn't expect someone with no schooling to grasp complex math or physics.

"Point Guard Here"

Selina was also a natural talent—her IQ wasn't high; she relied on instinct. So she couldn't comprehend what happened when two evenly matched super-geniuses collided.

Meanwhile, Schiller slept in his guest room, the service phone still beside his bed. His furrowed brow showed he'd barely fallen back asleep after Selina's call.

In the Hall of Thought, Schiller stood atop Gao Ta, painting a new room. As he brushed the walls, Ye Meng's voice came: "No—don't use orange. It's ugly!"

"My scales are made of emerald and silver. I'll accept blue or purple—but warm colors here clash horribly."

"Don't you know the principle of complementary colors?" Schiller said, still painting. "Besides, your emerald doesn't match the overall decor of my Hall of Thought."

"No! Stop! That orange is too bright—I hate such vivid colors!"

"Emerald and silver are so outdated… Oh, right—you're an ancient serpent. How long have you lived? Three thousand years? Five thousand? I shouldn't question your taste—in your era, maybe this was fashionable…"

"I'm not old!"

"When Odin cast me onto Earth, I was still a hatchling. I've been in slumber ever since—that time doesn't count!"

Ye Meng roared. Schiller tapped the wall with his paintbrush: "Talk, don't thrash. This room's almost done—I—"

As he spoke, Schiller felt the floor tremble. He raised his voice: "Ye Meng—"

A massive serpent head loomed beside him. Ye Meng's huge vertical pupils glowed faintly, mist veiling his cheeks. He said: "It's not me. Your dream is ending…"

Schiller dropped the brush. "If anyone's woken me again, I'll make sure they regret it…"

*Boom! Boom! Crash! * The floor shook violently. Schiller jolted awake—this wasn't a dream. The floor had truly trembled.

He sat up, grabbed his umbrella, stepped out the door—and heard screams from the hallway:

"The parlor exploded!"

"Help! Fire! Help!"