Chapter 4878

The window frame's shadow kept swaying on the ground; the deep blue outside was gradually eroded by a hazy white mist, and the tall pine branches layered upon each other. Water vapor on the glass slowly slid down; the lightning's light was fragmented, yet the rumbling thunder was unending. In Gotham's thunderstorm season, every night is immersed in a boundless, damp-cold dream.

Plant growth did not improve the situation. Those trees merely added a cold hue to Gotham's rainy nights. It was a kind of gloomy green under the deep blue night sky, drenched by biting rain — lonely and desolate.

When Gotham was beaten by rain into a stretch of cold verdure, the unextinguished night lamp indoors, its dim yellow light, instead revealed a touch of warmth, shaping a rare tranquil haven. Only a finger's worth of whiskey remained in the crystal glass. A hand with distinct knuckles picked up the glass; Shiler turned his head and looked up at the wall clock. As the window's swaying shadows swept across his features, those gray eyes were briefly illuminated.

Although everything looked like it was already deep night, in Gotham's early summer-autumn rainy season, darkness falls very early. If the rain also starts early, by eight or nine in the evening it is as dark as midnight.

A long-absent knock finally sounded. Shiler pinched the glass between his middle finger and thumb and called out: "Come in."

The door was pushed open. First to meet the eye was an umbrella, then a slightly frail figure. Cobblepot closed the umbrella, placed it in the umbrella stand by the door, wiped water stains from his shoulders and cuffs, then stood on the carpet for a while until two damp footprints were left, before stepping inside.

"Sorry, Professor. Brainiac gave me trouble, that's why I'm a bit late." Cobblepot glanced at the glass by Shiler's hand, wore a look of understanding, then said, "What a coincidence, I just happened to bring a bottle of pretty good malt whiskey."

Cobblepot took the whiskey out of its packaging. Shiler merely narrowed his eyes slightly, looking as if he were drunk. He reached out and pointed at the cabinet nearby; Cobblepot saw several crystal glasses placed on it.

Cobblepot walked over, took two, poured fresh drinks, then said: "How is it, Professor? Has the trouble in the lake been resolved?"

"Not at all," Shiler's voice was low and slow, "Brainiac tirelessly investigates the seepage issue, yet even Jonathan can't produce a detailed report on the lake water's bacterial contamination, Pamela's plant mutation experiments have made no progress, Gordon doesn't think spending too much manpower on this is a good idea, and Clark went back to harvest wheat."

"Brainiac is really making trouble out of nothing." Cobblepot complained, "Even if it's true that excessive bacteria in the lake water corroded the rock strata, causing excessive seepage and ruining his server room, he should consider reinforcing the server room's defenses, not insist on finding a culprit."

"He gave you trouble too?" Shiler asked.

"Not because of this issue." Cobblepot tilted his head, "I merely stockpiled 200 tons of ice in the mall's basement, and he insists I damaged the temperature of the groundwater system 20-odd miles away. Truly unreasonable."

"At a time like this, we all support democratic voting." Shiler chuckled lightly, "Too bad it's already too late."

Cobblepot let out a long sigh, leaned back against the armchair, a hint of gloom between his brows. The stormy weather seemed to worsen his mood. He casually picked up the cigar cutter beside him, tried to clip a cigar, but failed, and could only helplessly toss it aside.

"Is your mother alright?" Shiler asked, "I heard she had sudden heart failure yesterday and was rushed for emergency treatment. How is she now?"

"Pretty good," Cobblepot said with forced casualness, "Both I and the doctors think it was just an acute episode; as long as her condition stabilizes these few days there shouldn't be a problem."

"This isn't the first time," Shiler said, "Signs of her premature aging were evident long ago. This city's past disasters consumed too many people's vitality. They should have lived longer."

"I've accepted reality." Cobblepot's tone held regret but was fairly calm, "She won't let me look for any more methods. She said even if I found them, she wouldn't use them. She wants to return to God's embrace soon, to reunite with my father there."

"Cobblepot," Shiler called him, "In the cabinet behind you, the second drawer of the first row has something — could you fetch it for me?"

Cobblepot stood to retrieve it. It was a palm-sized white paper box, printed with characters Cobblepot couldn't read and a flower.

"Clarkia glycoside." Shiler said softly, "Try one last time."

Cobblepot looked up at him. Many years had passed, yet his gaze was clearer than before, shimmering with many subtle emotions — a world apart from that bellboy standing at the door on a rainy night years ago.

Cobblepot opened the box; inside were vials, meaning they could be injected and wouldn't be discovered by his mother. Cobblepot couldn't read the Chinese on them, but he knew this was most likely some kind of drug that could reverse physical condition.

"I'm not certain it will work," Shiler said, "There are three vials inside; you can run an experiment first. I imagine the hospital would be happy to cooperate with you."

"Where did this come from? Professor?"

Shiler pursed his lips again and smiled: "You've all turned into Batman one by one. You never used to ask this kind of question."

"I'm worried about your safety." Cobblepot looked into his eyes and said, "In this regard, your record is checkered, Professor. I have to make sure the process of obtaining it wasn't so hair-raising."

"It's a legal drug," Shiler said, "Just not produced in our universe. But it's been preliminarily verified effective for humans from most universes. The efficacy is very mild, and there are no side effects."

Just as Cobblepot lowered his eyes to the vial, Shiler continued: "For this kind of vitality exhaustion, the Golden Apple would be most useful. But your mother has taken other esoteric medicines; it's uncertain whether the two would conflict."

Shiler's gaze fell on the vial: "Although the Clarkia flower is a miraculous plant growing on Clarkia Island, it has been determined to possess no esoteric energy beyond its medicinal components; it won't conflict with other esoteric herbs, and effects can even stack."

Cobblepot held the bottle in silence. He looked at the pine shadows outside the window, his thoughts seeming to drift far away.

"You can use the remaining vial too." Shiler added, "Clarkia glycoside has been proven effective for hereditary schizophrenia and other pathological mental disorders. You're still young; you may not necessarily develop it."

"It may have actually already onset." Cobblepot said, "I don't remember where I got 200 tons of ice from."

"Brainiac didn't force you into institutionalization?"

Cobblepot shook his head lightly: "Right now there are only some surface symptoms. If coercive measures stimulate me, it'll be even more troublesome. On this, I can vote for him."

Cobblepot took a sip of wine, subconsciously exhaled, and forced his thoughts back: "Did you call me here just for this, Professor?"

"You don't seem very willing to use it. Why?" Shiler looked at him and said, "You've paid a lot to stay alive. Why want to give up now?"

"I don't want to give up." Cobblepot shook his head, "Being a successful businessman is living; going to a mental hospital for treatment is also living. Isn't it?"

"That doesn't sound like you." Shiler shook his head lightly. He sat up straight, took a sip from his glass, then said, "But if you're tired, you can rest for a while. Go somewhere with plenty of sunshine to recuperate. Gotham's out — the rain will last another week."

"Edward's condition hasn't been good lately either. I've been running between two hospitals, seen a lot." Cobblepot said, "That whole set of profit-first theories I used to motivate and numb myself — it really doesn't fool me anymore. The fact is, no matter how high you stand, some tragedies always happen, and they never cease."

"You've matured a lot." Shiler assessed, "In those dark days, believing that as long as you crawled out of the mud pit and became a superior person you could solve everything — that was of course correct. But when you truly stand at the top, you aren't blinded by wealth and status; instead you realize those tragedies that happened to you will happen to everyone, and not everyone is as lucky as you. This is a compassion and humility that can be called great."

"I'm not that great." Cobblepot raised his glass and shook his head, "I'm just thinking, can we change these things in another way? After all, Gotham has been changed; this isn't a fantasy. Right?"

"You've always been like this," Shiler sighed, "When poor, think of change — always thinking of change."

"Do you think that's a good thing? Professor?" When Cobblepot looked at Shiler, light flickered in his eyes. The desk lamp's dim yellow and the cold blue outside intertwined in his eyes, like a bright star suspended in the deep universe.

"If you go use the medicine, then probably yes." Shiler replied, "Because it'll give you the strength to make changes, instead of really going to a mental hospital. Then you can go persuade Brainiac to introduce this drug."

Cobblepot's movement froze. He subconsciously glanced at the small bottle in his hand again, then said: "Is this mass-produced?"

Shiler nodded lightly: "Everything there is mass-produced; otherwise there's no point."

Cobblepot gripped the bottle tight, as if summoning courage anew. He finished his wine, tightened his suit jacket: "I should go, Professor. The rain is getting heavier."

After Cobblepot left, Shiler unhurriedly finished the remaining whiskey in both glasses. With the internet's development, TV programs had become diverse and interesting, more suitable for stormy nights than newspapers. Shiler picked a "True Crime Record" investigation show and watched until midnight, until Brainiac repeatedly urged him to sleep.

But facts proved Brainiac was wrong. Because the rain this night was exceptionally heavy, by morning Gotham University announced class cancellations; Shiler didn't have to go to work at all, another day of staying home with nothing to do.

Gotham's dark clouds dispersed, but that doesn't mean no water cycle. The major rainy season is in midsummer, lasting about half a month. The minor rainy season is at the summer-autumn junction, usually raining continuously for a week. The major rainy season is just longer; precipitation isn't necessarily more than the minor season. That week's rain always falls fast and fierce, followed by a cliff-like temperature drop — each autumn rain brings a chill.

Brainiac is more humane than most human bosses. Whenever weather unfit for humans to go out appears, he generously suspends work and classes. Last year's minor rainy season gave a whole week off; this time maybe even longer, because he doesn't want too many humans coming out causing trouble while he improves drainage facilities.

"Is your server room fixed?" Shiler asked.

"That's the last question you should ask." Brainiac's tone didn't change much, but it didn't sound like anything good.

"I'm very sorry." Shiler's tone held not a shred of apology, "But I must point out you shouldn't have driven Commissioner Gordon away like that. You'll get your lesson."