The shadows of the window frame kept swaying on the floor, the deep blue outside gradually corroded by the misty white fog, and the branches of the tall pine trees layered upon each other. The water droplets on the glass slowly slid down; the lightning's glow was fragmented, while the rumbling thunder continued incessantly. Every night during Gotham's thunderstorm season was immersed in an endless dream of wet cold.
The growth of plants did not improve the situation. Those trees merely added a cold hue to Gotham's rainy nights. It was a kind of eerie green soaked by the chilly rain under the deep blue night sky, lonely and desolate.
While Gotham was drenched into a cold verdancy by the rain, the unwasted night lamp inside, with its dim yellow light, showed a hint of warmth, crafting a rare tranquil world. There was only a finger's width of whiskey left in the crystal glass. A slender hand picked up the cup, and Shiller turned and glanced at the clock. As the window's shaking shadows passed over his features, his gray eyes were briefly illuminated.
Although everything seemed to have reached the deep of night, during the light rain season at the junction of summer and autumn in Gotham, it would get dark early. If the rain started early, it would be as dark as midnight by eight or nine in the evening.
The long-awaited knock finally sounded. Shiller, holding the glass between his middle finger and thumb, called out, "Come in."
The door opened. A rain umbrella came into view first, followed by a slightly frail figure. Cobblepot folded up the umbrella, placed it in the umbrella stand by the door, wiped the water stains from his shoulders and sleeves, and stood on the carpet for a while until two damp footprints remained, then stepped inside.
"Sorry, Professor. Brainiac gave me trouble, which is why I'm a bit late." Cobblepot glanced at the glass by Shiller's hand, showing a knowing expression, then said, "What a coincidence, I just happened to bring a pretty good bottle of malt whiskey."
Cobblepot took the bottle out of the packaging. Shiller just squinted slightly, looking like he was drunk. He pointed to the cabinet next to him, where Cobblepot saw a few crystal glasses.
Cobblepot went over to get two, refilled them with whiskey, and said, "How's it going, Professor? Has the trouble at the lake been resolved?"
"Not at all," Shiller's voice was deep and slow, "Brainiac tirelessly investigates the leakage problem, but even Jonathan can't provide a detailed report on the lake's bacterial contamination. Pamela's plant mutation experiments have made no progress, and Gordon doesn't believe spending too much police force on this is beneficial, while Clark has gone back to harvest the wheat."
"Brainiac really is making trouble out of nothing," Cobblepot complained. "Even if it's true that the bacterial overload in the lake water eroded the rock strata leading to excessive leakage and ruined his server room, he should consider reinforcing the server room's defenses instead of blaming a scapegoat."
"Has he troubled you too?" Shiller asked.
"Not because of this issue." Cobblepot tilted his head, "I just hoarded 200 tons of ice in the underground of the mall, and he insisted that it somehow altered the temperature of the underground water system 20 plus miles away. It's utterly ridiculous."
"At this moment, we all support democratic voting." Shiller chuckled softly, "Unfortunately, it's too late."
Cobblepot took a deep sigh, leaned back against the sofa chair back, with a clouded expression between his brows. The stormy weather seemed to make his mood even worse. He casually grabbed the cigar cutter nearby, attempting to cut open a cigar, but failed and had to discard it helplessly.
"How's your mother doing?" Shiller asked, "I heard she suddenly suffered heart failure yesterday and was taken to the emergency room. How is she now?"
"She's doing okay," Cobblepot said, pretending to be relaxed. "The doctor and I believe it's just a sudden condition, as long as she remains stable for the next few days, there shouldn't be any problems."
"This isn't the first time," Shiller said, "The signs of her early deterioration have long been apparent. The former disasters in this city have drained a lot of people's vitality. They should have lived much longer."
"I've come to terms with it," Cobblepot's tone held regret yet remained calm, "She's forbidden me from seeking any more remedies. She said she wouldn't use them even if I found them. She wishes to return to God's embrace early and reunite with my father there."
"Cobblepot," Shiller called to him, "In the first row of the second drawer in the cabinet behind you, there's something. Can you get it for me?"
Cobblepot stood up to get it. It was a palm-sized white box with text Cobblepot couldn't understand and a flower printed on it.
"Clarkia glycosides," Shiller said softly, "Try it one last time."
Cobblepot looked up at him. Many years had passed, yet his gaze was clearer than ever, with subtle emotions flickering, a world apart from the pageboy standing at the door on that rainy night years ago.
Cobblepot opened the box, finding vials indicating they could be injected, ensuring his mother wouldn't know. He couldn't read the Chinese characters on it, but he knew it might be something capable of reversing the body's state.
"I'm not sure if it will work," Shiller said, "There are three doses inside; you can try experimenting first. I believe the hospital would cooperate with you."
"Where did it come from, Professor?"
Shiller pressed his lips and smiled, "You're all becoming like Batman. You never used to ask such questions."
"I'm worried about your safety," Cobblepot said, looking into his eyes, "In this regard, your track record is notorious, Professor. I need to ensure that the process of acquiring it wasn't too thrilling."
"This is a legal medication," Shiller said, "it's just not produced in our cosmos. But it's been preliminarily verified to be effective for most humans throughout different universes. The drug is very mild and has no significant side effects."
As Cobblepot lowered his eyes to look at the bottle, Shiller continued, "In the face of this depletion of vitality, a Golden Apple is the most useful. However, since your mother has taken other mystical medications, it's uncertain whether there will be any conflicts between them."
Shiller's gaze fell on the bottle: "Although the Clarkia Flower is a magical plant growing on Clarkia Island, it has been confirmed to possess no mystical energy beyond its medicinal components, and will not conflict with other mystical herbs. The effects are even stackable."
Cobblepot held the bottle in silence. He looked at the shadow of the pine tree outside the window, his thoughts wandering far away.
"You can also use the remaining one," Shiller continued, "Clarkia glycosides have been proven effective for hereditary schizophrenia and other pathological mental disorders. You're still young; it might not be too late for an outbreak."
"In fact, it may have already broken out," Cobblepot said, "I don't remember where I managed to get 200 tons of ice."
"Didn't Brainiac force you into the facility?"
Cobblepot gently shook his head, "There are just some superficial symptoms now. If forced measures are used on me, it would only add to the trouble. In that aspect, I can cast a vote for him."
Cobblepot took a sip of whiskey, exhaled a breath unconsciously, and tried hard to pull his thoughts back: "Is this what you came to talk to me about, Professor?"
"It seems you're not keen on using it. Why?" Shiller looked at him and said, "You've given up a lot to stay alive. Why think about giving up now?"
"I'm not thinking about giving up," Cobblepot shook his head and said, "It's just that surviving as a successful businessman is living, and going to a psychiatric hospital for treatment is also living. Isn't it?"
"That doesn't sound like you." Shiller shook his head slightly. He sat up straight, took a sip from his glass, and continued, "But if you feel exhausted, you can take a break. Go recuperate somewhere sunny. Forget about Gotham; it's going to rain for another week."
"Edward hasn't been doing well recently either. I've been shuttling between two hospitals, and I've seen a lot." Cobblepot said, "The self-serving theories that used to motivate and numb me don't quite work anymore. The fact is, no matter how high you stand, some tragedies are bound to occur; they never cease."
"You've matured a lot," Shiller remarked, "In the old dark days, thinking that climbing out of the mire and becoming superior would solve all problems was surely sensible. But once you scale those heights, instead of being seduced by riches, you realized that the tragedies that happened to you can happen to everyone, and not everyone is as lucky as you. This is a great compassion and humility."
"I'm not that great," Cobblepot lifted his glass and shook his head, "I'm just wondering if there's another way to change these things. After all, Gotham City has been changed; it's not a pipe dream. Isn't it?"
"You've always been like this," Shiller sighed, "striving for change in adversity, always seeking transformation."
"Do you think that's a good trait, Professor?" Cobblepot asked Shiller, his eyes gleaming. The dim glow of the lamp and the cold blue outside the window intertwined in his eyes like a bright star suspended in a deep cosmos.
"If you're going to use the medication, then yes, it probably is," Shiller replied, "because it gives you the strength to make changes, instead of really going to a psychiatric hospital. Then you can persuade Brainiac to introduce such medication."
Cobblepot paused in his actions. He instinctively looked again at the small bottle in his hand and then asked, "Is this mass-produced?"
Shiller nodded slightly, "Everything there is mass-produced, otherwise there's no point."
Cobblepot tightened his grip on the bottle, seeming to have found renewed courage. He drank the rest of his whiskey, adjusted his suit jacket, and said, "I should go, Professor. The rain is getting heavier."
After Cobblepot left, Shiller leisurely finished the remaining whiskey in both glasses. As the network developed, TV programs became more diverse and interesting than newspapers, making them more suited for stormy days. Shiller selected an investigative crime program like "Real Crime Records" and watched it until midnight, until Brainiac reminded him several times to go to sleep.
But as it turned out, Brainiac was wrong. Because the rain that night was exceptionally heavy, by morning, Gotham University announced it would suspend classes, leaving Shiller with another day at home with nothing to do.
Gotham's clouds dissipated, but that didn't mean there was no water cycle. The monsoon season in the height of summer lasts about half a month. The small rainy season at the summer-autumn junction usually rains for a week straight. And the monsoon season, though long, doesn't necessarily have more rainfall than the small rainy season. The week-long rain always comes in a rush, followed by a cliff-like drop in temperature, cooling with every autumn rain.
Brainiac had more humanity than most human bosses. Whenever there was weather unsuitable for humans to go out, he generously allowed work and classes to halt. Last year's small rainy season saw a whole week off, and this time might be longer because he didn't want too many people to cause chaos while improving the drainage system.
"Has your server room been fixed?" Shiller asked.
"That's the last question you should be asking." Brainiac's tone didn't change, but it didn't sound like a good thing.
"I apologize," Shiller's tone was devoid of any apology, "but I must point out that you shouldn't have driven Chief Gordon away. You'll learn your lesson."