[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-935":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2323503,4544,"Chapter 935: In the Mist and Rain (8)","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-935",935,"\u003Cp>In the dark biological laboratory, Catwoman revealed an expression of utter terror; in an instant, she leapt onto the top of a nearby instrument, eyes wide, staring at the scene in the room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This had originally been a plant experimentation lab, and now all the plants swayed violently, shattering their glass containment units, surging wildly toward Shiler.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Catwoman was about to descend and help Shiler, she suddenly caught a hint of intoxicating wine fragrance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sound of a bottle shattering was unnaturally sharp in the silent lab; the next second, Catwoman found herself standing in a small room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It looked like a child’s bedroom—small, with only a tiny window in the corner, a bedside table, a desk, and a small stool.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman froze for a moment, but quickly remembered: last time, Shiler had pulled her into his consciousness space, and she’d been terrified when Superman’s consciousness exploded during their amusement park visit—she remembered it vividly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Whose memory is this?” Catwoman crouched, frowning. “It doesn’t look like Shiler’s—he’s not from this era. Could it be Pamela’s? But why am I in her memory?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman looked down at the blanket’s pattern: a cute pink teddy bear, and the small stool atop it was also pink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman stood again, scanning the room. More than a child’s room, it resembled a princess’s chamber—many decorations were pink, including the curtains, bed sheets, and even the frames holding the paintings.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman took two steps forward and spotted a small backpack beside the desk—also pink. She picked it up, rummaged inside, and found a student ID bearing the name “Pamela Asley.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman brought the ID closer: the photo showed a red-haired little girl who looked exactly like Pamela—this must have been her childhood picture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But what puzzled Catwoman was Pamela’s expression—not happy at all. The downward turn of her lips reminded Catwoman of someone: Batman, perpetually gloomy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, Catwoman heard movement outside the door. She crept silently to the door’s edge, where a woman’s voice came through:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Little Pa, I’ve told you countless times—that’s not a toy you should play with. I bought you the best, most expensive dollhouse. You should take it to school, show your friends, prove you’re a true lady…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But… but I really don’t like it…” came a child’s voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t like it?!” The adult woman’s voice rose sharply, piercing enough to make Catwoman instinctively tug at her ear. She heard the woman say: “Do you know that dollhouse cost me two months’ salary?! You must take it to school—tomorrow, you will take it!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You must play with the same toys as the rich kids to fit into their circle. You must discuss the latest dollhouses, how to decorate pretty light strings, what dresses to wear for Christmas—instead of obsessing over dirt all day!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The child began to cry, but the woman’s voice grew more frantic: “Pa! Don’t cry! Stop crying! You can’t cry so loudly! I spent so much money getting you into the best private school—you must become one of them…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Tell me you like the dollhouse! Like the dresses I bought you! You’ll wear them to the Christmas party… Say something, Pa… Pamela… please!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman began to cry too: “Our house isn’t presentable—you can’t let your classmates come visit. So you must actively join the parties!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman heard sudden, rapid high-heeled footsteps inside—the woman had stood up, searching. After a moment, her voice returned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, where’s that Bonpoint dress I bought you? You know, lots of royal and celebrity kids wear this brand!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Good girl, you must wear it to the Christmas party, draw everyone’s attention. Listen to Mommy—go to your room and put it on. You’ll be the most beautiful little princess!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. She wasn’t sure if she’d be seen, but she relied on a thief’s instinct and slipped like smoke under the bed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hidden beneath the bed, Catwoman saw the girl enter, shut the door, then toss the expensive children’s dress onto the bed. She sat on the edge. From the shadow shape on the floor, Catwoman judged she was curled up, crying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No way? Catwoman thought. She has a beautiful dress and won’t wear it? Christmas party? She’d never attended one herself—but judging by the description, there’d probably be lots of good food…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under the bed, Catwoman shook her head. Elite kids were so damn dramatic. If she’d had these conditions as a child, she’d have gone wild with joy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a while, little Pamela reluctantly changed into the dress and stepped out. Amid a stream of her mother’s praise, she continued whispering sobs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright, my little princess, it’s time for violin practice. Remember—violin is the key to the aristocracy. That’s true. Yesterday you only practiced five hours. Today, you must practice six. Agreed?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman led little Pamela into her bedroom and handed her the violin. “Practice here. I’ll go get something to eat. But first—play the piece your teacher taught you yesterday. Let me hear it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hidden under the bed, Catwoman could only judge little Pamela’s movements by their shadows, but from the speed of her actions, she seemed hesitant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a moment, little Pamela lifted the bow and placed it on the strings. Her mother watched from above, holding the sheet music. The first note scraped from the strings made the woman utter, “Hm?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Little Pamela immediately stopped. Catwoman saw her arm trembling. Then, the next sound came—like sawing wood, but worse. Even worse was the woman’s shriek.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What are you doing, Asley?! How could you play like this?! I spent thousands of dollars hiring you the best teacher! Yesterday in class, you said you learned it!?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Little Pamela shrank back, crying again. The woman, frantic, snatched the bow from her hands, threw it on the bed, and hurled the violin to the floor. “Why are you crying?! If you didn’t learn, why didn’t you tell me?! I paid the teacher to reteach you!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I paid, and you learned nothing. You’ve been studying this piece for three lessons. Why can other children learn it in one?! Asley! You’re defying me! You’re trying to drive me mad—just like your father…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The furious woman grabbed the nearby bow and struck little Pamela’s arm. The girl screamed sharply, sobbing as she scrambled toward the corner. Catwoman was about to rush out to stop it—when the woman suddenly pulled back, embraced little Pamela, and wept:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s Mommy’s fault. I shouldn’t have hit you. But your father abandoned us. One day, you must return—to that world, to live like your father and his people, like the rich…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You must hone your skills, climb higher—don’t be like me, naive and deceived. Pamela, you’re my only hope. Please—study violin, play piano, attend parties…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t talk about mud and weeds at parties. They won’t like it. You’ll be shunned, despised—mocked for your lowly origins, just like me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“In the end, even those who claim to love you will abandon you—for your ignorance, your stupidity, your innocence. You must not walk my path…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman clutched little Pamela, weeping uncontrollably. When she knelt down, Catwoman caught a glimpse of half her face—surprisingly young, yet her voice sounded weathered, like the smiling women Catwoman had seen in Gotham’s narrowest alleys.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the woman left, little Pamela resumed playing. Even though Catwoman knew nothing about instruments, she could tell—the girl hated the violin. Her movements were stiff, her whole body screaming resistance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a while, the woman opened the door and led Pamela out. Once both had left, Catwoman crawled out and peered through the bedroom door crack. She thought they were leaving—but instead, they sat down at the dining table.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman frowned deeply. She smelled no food at all. She trusted her nose—she could detect a steak cooking blocks away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So she widened the door crack slightly, stood up, and looked at the table. There was no meat. Not a single dish emitted steam.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Little Pamela’s plate held a small bowl of vegetable salad and two sandwiches wrapped in cheese and cucumber. The woman’s plate was even more absurd—just three fruits on a single dish.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What the hell?!” Catwoman whispered to herself. “They’re not actually eating this?! Good God, they’ll starve to death!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then she heard the woman say: \"Dad, don't make that face. You must understand—this is to protect the world. We can't eat those poor little animals anymore...\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, tell your classmates exactly that. You’ve always been vegetarian—because you’re kind, you can’t bear to see little animals hurt. You’re an environmentalist, right?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Maybe you can also tell them your mother is the same. You know? It’s the most popular diet among the rich—it makes them look up to you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Little Pamela sat at the table, poking at her vegetables. Then she looked up at the woman and asked: “What about plants? Don’t plants get hurt too?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The question stumped the woman. She pursed her lips. “Animals run, they scream—they have souls. Plants? They just sit in the dirt.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sitting in the dirt means they have no soul?” little Pamela asked again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course. If you kill animals, they scream, cry, weep. Plants don’t.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Maybe they do,” little Pamela whispered. “We just can’t understand them.” The woman raised her voice: “Pa! You’ve made me angry enough today! Stop talking back!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You must be a good child who protects animals—that’s your ticket to the upper class. Why can’t you understand? You need shared topics to hide your embarrassment!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I have no money left to buy you those expensive jewelry pieces or trendy dresses from the shop windows. You must make them see—you’re not some poor girl hiding in this tiny apartment. You’re a princess raised by the elite!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman grew angrier. She dropped her fork, walked to the window, picked up a small flowerpot, and said: “I know you love staring at it, saying ‘plants can talk.’ That’s madness! Madness! Do you understand?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You must never say that at school! If they think you’re insane, you’re finished!… Why are you still looking at it?! Why won’t you focus on what I’m saying?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Because… she seems to be crying…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman, enraged, hurled the flowerpot to the ground. Soil scattered, exposing the plant’s roots.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman picked up the shards and smashed them against the plant’s stem. “Look! See?! Plants don’t talk! They give no response! Nothing to protect! They have no soul!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But little Pamela’s face twisted in terror. She burst into tears, pointing at the flower and screaming:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“She’s crying! She’s crying! She’s… she’s angry!”\u003C\u002Fp>",1755,"2026-06-20T16:39:22.658Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","274b90424f7e76a66befca3caf210375de5b39bb9626e6de93329b0ada86ffc7","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-936","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-934",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]