Chapter 45

The next day, after class, Shiler collected assignments as usual, but today he noticed all 32 submissions were neatly arranged, and from their thickness, each appeared to have met the word count.

He found it strange; normally, though he pressured students hard for assignments, there were always one or two who didn’t turn anything in, and many who did submitted half-hearted work—scribbling two pages with stacks of blank paper in between, or just copying some random article.

But this time, standing at the podium, he flipped through them roughly and found everyone had genuinely written essays—some poorly, clearly never having written one before, but at least trying to stay on topic, their phrasing sounding like the desperate scribbles of an illiterate, yet none had strayed from the subject.

The students, watching him flip through the papers, dared not breathe; normally at this hour, just before class ended, they’d be packing up, but now not a single one moved—they sat quietly in their seats, waiting for Shiler to speak.

The reason for this was simple: last night, the whole class had learned that Shiler had gone straight to Falcone, the underworld king of Gotham, to chase down Evans’s assignment.

In the absence of Batman, we may call this era the “Pre-Batman Era,” and in this era, the person with the most influence in Gotham was Falcone, along with the twelve crime families under his rule.

How powerful were these crime families? Sal Maroni, the undisputed boss of the East Side, was merely a lapdog of the LaRouche family—and the LaRouches ranked near the bottom of the twelve.

At the top was the Falcone family, and the old patriarch Falcone held absolute authority over all twelve families.

In this era, you might not know who the mayor of Gotham was, or even who Bruce Wayne was, but you had to know the surnames of Falcone and the other twelve crime families—or you couldn’t survive in Gotham.

Ever since learning that Shiler had chased assignments all the way to the Godfather, every student’s late-night scramble to finish their work had been harrowing.

Shiler, unusually pleased, said: “The assignment situation looks promising—everyone seems to have put in real effort. After I grade them, I’ll give everyone an extra ten points on their participation grade. And if any of you who wrote particularly well have no intention of pursuing graduate studies, come to my office to discuss recommendation letters…”

Suddenly, the classroom erupted in enthusiastic applause—no one knew whether it was for Shiler’s reward or for themselves, having survived the ordeal.

And all of this was watched by Principal Xie Dun.

Xie Dun was, to put it kindly, persistent; to put it bluntly, he was stubborn. Once he fixated on someone, he’d stop at nothing to ruin them. Though Shiler’s firm stance had prevented him from acting immediately, he’d been searching for an opening.

The principal could access all classroom surveillance cameras across Gotham University and observe instructors’ lectures—this function became Xie Dun’s best tool for monitoring Shiler.

In the following days, in Shiler’s class, every student sat as quiet as chickens. Evans automatically took on the role of class monitor, collecting, distributing, and submitting assignments, maintaining discipline—everything ran smoothly, with no one able to find fault.

This gave Xie Dun a false impression.

Back when he worked in Princeton’s academic affairs office, most students were roughly at this level. After arriving at Gotham University, he’d been too busy securing his position to actively assess student ability. To him, completing assignments was students’ duty; though Gotham University ranked lower than Princeton, its students didn’t seem markedly inferior.

At least in Shiler’s class, they didn’t.

Xie Dun focused solely on observing Shiler’s lectures, where all students were quiet and completed their tasks well, allowing Shiler’s teaching plan to proceed smoothly.

So Xie Dun conceived another idea.

As is well known, his campus alcohol ban had stalled at an awkward impasse.

Those willing to comply had already surrendered their alcohol, but the resisters were hardened fanatics—men who’d rather shoot than let the school interfere with their right to drink.

Students could carry guns and resist, but Xie Dun, as principal, couldn’t brandish a pistol to force them to stop drinking. He wasn’t a native of Gotham; his thinking still belonged to a civilized society. Thus, the plan was stuck in a humiliating deadlock, impossible to push further.

Having found punishment ineffective, Xie Dun now wanted to offer them wine.

Before taking administrative office, Xie Dun had been a professor himself—he graduated from Oxford’s Modern Literature program and had taught at UC and Metropolitan University.

Xie Dun believed that to control Gotham University, he too needed to bond with students, like Harvey, who was universally popular—a viable path.

So he decided to teach a course himself.

Coincidentally, Gotham University’s literature department barely existed—only one teacher remained to teach introductory courses; literature and philosophy majors hadn’t enrolled students in years, for this damned place had no soil for literature or philosophy.

He planned to revive the literature department, lead the revival of the major, and if he could recruit a cohort of students he himself taught, he’d have his own loyal faction within the school.

And it seemed Shiler’s class was peaceful, his teaching goals achieved smoothly—in short, the sun had come out, the rain had stopped, and Xie Dun felt he could do it again.

Though a university professor, his teaching routine was no different from teaching elementary school. Xie Dun, like a cloud gamer watching a video, observed Shiler’s class from the monitor, thinking it looked easy.

Shiler’s routine was simple: enter the classroom, wait for students to sit, pull out the textbook, begin lecturing, include one or two discussion segments, then either ask questions or have group representatives speak; after speaking, Shiler summarized, added more content, and near class end, collected assignments—the next class began with a feedback session.

University classrooms in the 20th century worked this way—no flashy slides, most professors simply read from the book, especially for subjects like psychology requiring massive memorization; if you didn’t thoroughly explain the text, students learned nothing.

Watching this process on video, it seemed effortless—if students cooperated, you could even finish early and chat a bit at the end.

Since students had become unusually obedient, Shiler began sharing stories of the mad killers he’d encountered. Though his amnesia had erased many details, these legendary experiences still captivated the young students—they realized this stern professor had genuine depth.

When announcing the establishment of the Wenxue Academy, Xie Dun fired the introductory literature teacher and took over instruction himself.

Like most cloud gamers, watching videos made them think they could do it too—pointing and shouting from the god’s-eye view—but when they actually entered the game, they got slaughtered, then quit and demanded refunds in one smooth motion.

Xie Dun was no exception.

Once he began teaching, he realized Shiler’s classroom had been an illusion—there were no obedient students here at all. Introductory literature and introductory psychology were similar in one key way: both demanded massive memorization and essay writing.

For the first assignment, out of dozens of submissions, only two were turned in—and one was only half complete.

Xie Dun deployed his hardline politician style, publicly berating the failure to submit assignments. The next time, not a single assignment was turned in.

While students might naturally be drawn to math or physics, no Gotham University student would ever pay attention to the tedious, dry subject of introductory literature.

Students did anything in class: sleeping was already the best behavior; others ate, shouted loudly, clacked game controllers, and even smoked marijuana openly.

No matter how loudly Xie Dun shouted, no one responded—even when he stormed out in rage, the class simply descended into the same chaotic self-study session.

Xie Dun didn’t understand Gotham. If he had, he’d have known the students were already doing well—those who attended university here were already among the most civilized in the city.

In this city, students didn’t threaten classmates with guns, didn’t bomb the school, didn’t kidnap professors—Gotham’s students could already be called the city’s model citizens.

Yet Xie Dun was nearly driven to death by them.

Especially since many students knew the damned alcohol ban was Xie Dun’s doing—they began protesting in his class. One student brought a whole case of champagne, popped the cork in the front row, and sprayed Xie Dun with it, drenching him, then organized a drinking party right in class.

Xie Dun screamed about deducting credits and expelling them, but they didn’t care. He expelled two students—after that, the rest went wild. One dark night, as Xie Dun walked across campus, two bottles thrown from the bushes smashed into his head, sending him to the hospital.

He couldn’t understand why students who were as docile as quails in Shiler’s class turned into fanatical extremists in his own.

Perhaps he’d never heard Shiler say one thing: here, only criminals can deal with criminals.