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Chapter 249: Campfire on a Snowy Night (4)

Since the last incident of Gotham being frozen, the temperature in the city started to drop. Not long after the summer, the temperature decreased significantly. Yesterday night, the fine drizzle turned into ice pellets. The next morning, when Schiller arrived at Arkham Hospital, he placed his umbrella by the office door and let out a sigh.

Mrs. Miller entered the room carrying a kettle of hot water and glanced back at the umbrella leaning against the door. As she placed the kettle on Schiller's desk, she commented, "Dr. Rodriguez, why are you still using that broken umbrella?"

Taking the kettle and pouring himself some water, Schiller shrugged and replied, "It wasn't too damaged before. I had someone reinforce the frame. It's still usable. Who would have thought that Gotham would have hail instead of rain these days?"

His gaze shifted beyond Mrs. Miller to his umbrella. It was evident that one of the umbrella ribs was already broken, even without being opened, there were visible dents.

Mrs. Miller used to be a head nurse and was rehired by the hospital after retirement. She now served as the housekeeper of Arkham Mental Hospital. She was a slightly thin old woman but had a good spirit.

She tightened the knitted shawl around her and said, "The weather has been getting stranger recently. Today it's hail, tomorrow it might even snow. I'll have someone come and light the fireplace later."

"Oh, Mrs. Miller, you always exaggerate. We're still far from that," Schiller said, taking a sip of hot water.

He then took out his schedule and asked Mrs. Miller, "Who is my first patient this morning? Do I need to prepare a room?"

"I don't think so," Mrs. Miller shook her head. She picked up a notebook from the side and read from it, "This morning, we have Mr. Oswald Copperpot's follow-up appointment for about two hours. After that, we have Anthony and Miss Scott on the third floor, also for follow-up appointments. It will be a total of two hours, so I'll come to collect the medical records and files around 12 noon."

Mrs. Miller snapped the notebook shut and said, "The afternoon is your private time. Your two friends have already made appointments. Is there anything I can help with during that time?"

"No, thank you. Oh, by the way, I have a friend coming in the evening, but he contacted me on my personal phone..."

Mrs. Miller placed the notebook back on the bookshelf on her desk and said somewhat helplessly, "Dr. Schiller, you should know that generally, the mental hospital does not allow people without appointments to enter. Appointments need to be made by calling the hospital one day in advance. If your friend contacts you on your personal mobile phone, it should be at least two days in advance..."

"Yes, I know, Mrs. Miller, but my friend's situation is a bit special. If I don't allow him to come in, he might go to the television station and cause a scene."

"Well, we can make an exception this time, but please remember to remind him next time to call the hospital for an appointment. Otherwise, if any problems arise, the hospital cannot take responsibility. It's for your own good, Dr. Schiller."

"Alright, thank you."

As the hot water filled the cup, a slight sizzling sound could be heard. Thin wisps of white steam rose from the cup as Schiller took a sip and set the cup down. Through the haze of steam, he looked at Copperpot's face.

Copperpot appeared better than before, although his cheeks were still gaunt and his eyes sunken. It was evident that he had groom

ed his hair, and his complexion had improved, with lips no longer chapped.

Flipping through his medical record, Schiller said, "Although I have told you many times before, I want to emphasize again that your current living environment is not conducive to your recovery. If possible, it would be better to change your residence."

"Leaving aside the poor lighting and air quality, hygiene alone is a big problem."

Setting aside the medical record, Schiller looked at Copperpot and asked, "How is your mother?"

"She's doing well."

"What's wrong? It seems like you have something to say?"

Seeing Copperpot's hesitant expression, Schiller placed his medical records on the table, neatly aligning them with the other documents and setting them aside.

Resting his arms on the table, Schiller said, "The regular follow-up is already over, but there are still 20 minutes left. It's free consultation time now, so you can say whatever you want."

"Professor Fries suggested that I... go to high school," Copperpot placed his hands on the table. He intertwined his fingers and squeezed them tightly, saying, "It's ridiculous, isn't it? How could I go to high school?"

"Why do you think it's ridiculous? Why do you think you can't go to high school?"

"I..." Copperpot hesitated for a moment, seeming unsure how to express his emotions. Schiller spoke for him, "Because it's not common in Gotham, right?"

"Almost everyone around you doesn't read books, let alone go to high school. They probably didn't even finish elementary school before leaving school, and you're the same."

"Perhaps in your life plan, there has never been a conventional path of studying books and then going to college..."

Copperpot nodded, still appearing nervous, with his Adam's apple trembling as he spoke, "It won't work. I can't go to high school. I don't have the tuition, and my mother needs someone to take care of her."

"But now, these shouldn't be problems. The money you're earning is enough for your living expenses and to pay for tuition. It's also enough for your mother's hospital treatment, and you can even hire a caregiver to be with her full-time."

"Yes, but I don't know how to choose..." Copperpot hesitated for a moment. He didn't intend to hide anything, but his ability to express himself made it difficult for him to fully describe his current state of mind. So Schiller could only guide him, saying, "You don't know how to choose. What are your options?"

"I can continue working, earn a lot of money, open a restaurant, buy a luxurious house, and let my mother live there. That was my original plan..." Copperpot bit his lip, his words somewhat unclear.

"When you're describing this goal, you seem to feel a sense of shame. Why is that?"

"Because Professor Fries described a completely different life to me, his experiences..."

"What is it?"

Copperpot hesitated for a moment, as if struggling to find the words. It was completely different from when he described his criminal plans in a non-stop manner.

His imagination of a better life was lacking, and the language and vocabulary used to describe this state of life were even more limited.

"He lives in a good family, has a large countryside villa, a big yard, siblings, and even a dog. He commutes to school by car, sits in the classroom reading books from middle school to high school, and then gets into a very good university with excellent grades..."

Copperpot's vocabulary was hollow. The adjectives he used to describe this life were simply "good," "big," and "happy." Schiller picked up on this and said, "What kind of house do you consider big?"

Copperpot gestured with his hands and said, "Probably similar to the houses in the wealthy district down south."

"Did Professor Fries describe it that way? Does he have a house as big as the ones in the wealthy district down south?"

Copperpot shook his head and said, "No, he didn't say that."

"Perhaps your focus is a bit skewed. The point he wanted to convey to you wasn't about how good his family's house is, how big the yard is, or what kind of car he drives or school he attends."

"His essence is not to show off how happy his childhood life was, or to tell you that as long as you go to high school and study books, you can have this kind of life..."

"Your memory should be good, so have you noticed any differences between when he described this life to you and when you're now recounting his words to me?"

Copperpot fell silent for a moment and then said, "I don't have his rich vocabulary, nor do I have such abundant emotions. I feel like my brain is blank..."

He opened up like a floodgate, but there was still a tremor in his tone, as if he was eager to spit out the last syllables.

"When he described this life to me, it was very persuasive and made me feel both envious and jealous. But now, when I have to describe

it, I can't find the words..."

"The reasons for this problem may be twofold. First, you have never experienced such a life, and all fantasies of a better life are still just imagination due to a lack of experience. This is a matter of life experience. However, more importantly..."

"Copperpot, do you know why people read books?" Schiller took a sip of water, and Copperpot answered, "To gain knowledge? And to obtain education?"

"That is only part of it."

Schiller put down his cup and used a simple and understandable analogy to explain to Copperpot, "Your brain is like a sophisticated machine. But even the most sophisticated machine needs regular activity to prevent rusting."

"When your brain keeps turning in one direction, it creates inertia. The gears and components change their structure according to the direction of your rotation. As a result, your brain spins faster and smoother in that specific area."

"This may make your abilities in that aspect stand out, but it can also bring many problems. When these components specialize in one direction, they actually sacrifice balance for efficiency, which can lower people's mental stability."

"Now you should have noticed that when you think about conspiracies, crimes, interpersonal relationships, and business connections, your brain flows exceptionally well. This is normal because you were born and raised in Gotham, and these things are more practical than art, literature, or philosophy."

"But the process of learning is actually about helping your brain regain balance."

"You don't have to memorize all the books in the world about art, literature, and philosophy and apply them to your life. That's not possible."

"Just like even if you learn advanced mathematics theory, it won't be of much help in managing a water supply system. Managing a water supply doesn't require profound theory."

"But what it does is help the gears and components of your brain mesh in another direction, making it more balanced and stable."

"What we learn from studying, besides knowledge, is a way of thinking. When you face something, using multiple thinking approaches and looking at problems from various angles can greatly enhance your mental stability."

"When you have more perspectives to consider, it can largely prevent your thinking from falling into a dead end or your emotions from becoming extreme."

Copperpot saw a profound and serene power reflected in Schiller's eyes, even stronger than what he felt from Victor.

He understood for the first time the metaphor "eyes are the windows to the soul" because in Schiller's eyes, he saw an infinite and vast ocean.

The last time he felt this way was when he faced the Godfather, but the Godfather carried an irresistible power, more like a violent storm on the sea's surface. Schiller, on the other hand, was more like the boundless depths of the sea—quiet, peaceful, and seemingly bottomless.

Copperpot's clenched index fingers rubbed against each other, and he felt a cool breeze, not because of the weather.

In his somewhat limited imagination, he felt like a penguin swaying on the icy surface, with fierce winds and storms of Gotham above his head, and beneath his feet, an unfathomable sea.

Now, two paths lay before him. Should he be a bird soaring with the wind or should he dive into the sea and become a fish bravely swimming in the sea of knowledge?

The brain that always turns in one direction experienced some friction among its components and gears, and to Copperpot, it sounded like thunder on a cold night.

But Copperpot didn't feel fear. After the fireplace in the room was lit, he felt a barely noticeable warmth.

If Gotham's rain never ceased and he didn't have an umbrella to shield him from the rain, then he would dive into the vast sea, swim forward through currents and whirlpools until he found his place of refuge. He would freeze the water there into ice and build himself a house.

"Gulp," Schiller heard Copperpot gulp down his saliva fiercely, but it sounded more like the sound of a young aquatic bird jumping into the sea from an ice floe.