When the footsteps of high-heeled shoes pass by in the empty corridor, there will always be a gentle echo, somewhat like the trembling of the keys in a piano.
There was a "squeak" and the door was pushed open. Mrs. Miller, who was holding tea, said in surprise: "Professor Schiller, why are you standing so close to the fireplace?"
Then, she moved her eyes to Schiller's hand, which was holding a piece of firewood. Mrs. Miller sighed helplessly and said: "Sir, the wood in the fireplace has been specially treated.
The new wood you pick up from outside cannot be burned."
"Really?" Schiller, who was standing by the fireplace, casually threw the piece of wood in, closed the door of the metal railing outside the fireplace, and walked to the single sofa next to the coffee table. He looked at Mrs. Miller and said: "
Sorry, ma'am, who are you?"
"Professor Schiller, in the four hours since you returned to the hospital, you have asked me this question six times, and during these four hours, I have only come six times."
Mrs. Miller put the teapot and teacup on the coffee table, looked at Schiller and said: "How I hope you are playing tricks on me, because if you really have prosopagnosia, I may be troubled by this problem for the rest of my life."
After saying that, she turned around and walked out the door, but just as she reached out to pull the door handle, she was almost hit by the door being pushed open.
Mrs. Miller raised her eyebrows angrily. Just as she was about to rebuke, she realized that it was Bruce who pushed the door open. She immediately softened her expression, shook her head and said, "Mr. Wayne, come here."
It’s just right, the tea has just been brewed.”
Bruce nodded to Mrs. Miller and moved away. After Mrs. Miller walked out of the door, Bruce entered, then turned around and closed the door gently.
Schiller raised his eyes and glanced at him, pointed to the sofa opposite, and continued to pour water into the teacup. After Bruce sat down, he spoke in a very rare and positive voice: "Hello, uh, a new professor,
What should I call you?"
"I am Schiller." Schiller replied. After he poured his own tea, he poured another cup for Bruce, put the teacup in front of him, and said, "You don't have to distinguish between us, we are all Schiller."
.”
"Okay, but I hope to know more about you. You are different from the Professor Schiller I am most familiar with." Bruce looked into Schiller's eyes and said directly.
"Do you want me to evaluate him from my perspective?" Schiller blew the tea gently and said: "He is a very nosy little guy. Like most of me, he talks a lot.
Pretentious and a bit noisy.”
Bruce opened his eyes slightly, stared into Schiller's eyes, and repeated his words: "...little guy?"
"Oh, so he didn't tell you?" Schiller looked a little surprised. His eyebrows on the right side jumped, and then he leaned on the armrest of the single sofa, supporting the armrest with his elbow, index finger and thumb.
He pinched his chin, raised his head slightly and said, "There is a sequence in the birth of personality traits. Generally speaking, the earlier they are born, the stronger they are."
"Professor Schiller, whom you are most familiar with, is one of the earliest Yuan personalities born. He is the origin that supports Schiller's personality and the pillar of the tower of thinking."
"The Professor Schiller you know is arrogance. Perhaps, you also know greed and laziness. Every personality trait has a name, and I am no exception. I am called pathological."
"He should have told you that he is a mental patient. This is not a metaphor. He suffers from a real mental illness."
"Savant autism?" Bruce asked.
Schiller nodded and continued: "You should know that Schiller's thinking tower was not born with him, but originated from an accident."
Bruce fell into memories. He remembered what he had seen in Schiller's memory space. One day, Schiller's personality suddenly shattered, and those fragments formed the current tower of thinking.
"Before the tower was broken, personality traits such as arrogance, greed, laziness, etc. were not independent existences. Just like you cannot talk to the arrogance or greed in your personality now, personality is a whole, and traits are
It will not exist independently."
Bruce seemed to understand a little bit. He looked at Schiller and said, "At that time, you were alone?"
"This brings us to the duality of autistic patients. Perhaps you know that many patients with mental illness have a common characteristic, that is, they have completely different states when they are on the onset of the disease and when they are not."
"It's not just people with dissociative identity disorder or schizophrenia who feel that there is another self living for them, but almost all patients with duality mental illness will have this feeling."
"The life of a patient with mental illness is divided into two parts, the normal part and the part during the onset of mental illness. The vast majority of patients cannot control themselves when mental illness attacks. So at that time,
What is controlling them?"
"It's mental illness." Bruce replied instinctively. Then, he raised his eyes and stared at Schiller and said, "Sick...sick...so that's what it means."
"Yes, the opposite of normality is pathology." Schiller nodded and said, "Before his personality is broken, Schiller, like every patient with mental illness, has two states, one is normality and the other is
It was a disease, so at that time, I existed."
Bruce thought for a moment, and then thought of a question, but before he could ask it, Schiller directly gave the answer: "The collapse is of course the normal state, which is why Schiller cannot take care of himself. If the collapse is pathological
If so, wouldn’t he be cured directly?”
Bruce showed a helpless expression, and Schiller shook his head and said: "To be precise, I cannot be regarded as a personality trait, because personality traits are actually part of consciousness, and I am the product of a disease in the brain.
part of matter."
"No matter how Schiller's personality collapsed, his brain structure did not change, so no matter what the normal state became, the pathology remained the same."
Hearing this, Bruce had new questions. He said, "Since you don't have personality traits, how can you control the body?"
"This brings us to the doctor who treated me." Schiller took a sip of the tea that was just right and said, "Which one do you think is more painful, a person suffering from a mental illness or a person whose personality has completely collapsed and can't even think?"
?”
Bruce pursed his lips. He thought about this question seriously, but felt that he couldn't compare because he had never had a personality breakdown, and he didn't know what it felt like to be unable to take care of himself or think.
"The doctor believes that it is better to be a mental patient than to be a crazy monster for the rest of your life." Schiller concluded, and Bruce could not refute it.
"When the normal personality collapses, external forces are needed to help Schiller re-establish the order of personality. However, no matter how powerful the psychiatrist is, he is still another person and cannot directly enter the consciousness. So it is better to use another method."
"you mean……"
"The doctor used some methods to stimulate me, causing my mental illness to relapse in a state of personality collapse, and guided me to reorganize a mess of chaotic thinking without normality and continuous illness, and then build it up again.
An orderly personality.”
Bruce slowly opened his eyes, and he said in disbelief: "Is this really possible?"
"I know, this sounds a bit unrealistic, but you have to understand that Schiller is extremely special, and it is because of his specialness that he encounters these things, but it is also because of his specialness that he receives treatment.
"
After finishing speaking, Schiller slowly put down the tea cup. He leaned back on the chair and said:
"In other words, I actually helped Schiller build the entire tower of thinking, sorted out all the broken personalities, witnessed their birth, gave them names, and taught them how to regain control of this body - I am theirs
Teacher and father, I am the real professor."
Bruce lowered his head slowly, exhaled and said: "In other words, the psychiatrist's treatment for Schiller was actually completely ineffective... No, what I mean is that the psychiatrist only treated Schiller's broken normality.
And no treatment was given to his illness?”
"This statement is not accurate." Schiller shook his head and looked at Bruce and said: "Where have you read all your books? Is there any psychiatrist in the world who dares to say that he can cure autism? This is not true.
It’s an incurable disease.”
"Most of the autistic patients you see who are just like ordinary people are staged. In other words, teaching autistic patients how to act like ordinary people is the most formal treatment for autism."
"But acting like an ordinary person does not mean that he is an ordinary person. If pathology can be covered up by normal performances, it does not mean that it does not exist."
"You must be very disappointed now, but I still have to tell you that as of now, the cause of autism is still unknown, and it is not a simple psychological problem, it may be a brain lesion."
Schiller stood up from the sofa and walked to the cabinet behind the glass screen wall. While sorting out the newspapers, he said: "Don't say you can cure Schiller, but if you can completely cure any autistic patient in the world, the whole world will be affected."
If you win the top medical award, you will write the next textbooks on psychology, psychiatry, and behavior."
"But..." Bruce felt himself holding his breath. He stood up, turned to look at Schiller and said, "But even if you represent autism, you shouldn't... I mean, neither should autistic patients.
As for..."
Bruce never mentioned a word, because just mentioning this word had already exceeded his moral bottom line.
But Schiller seemed to understand what he meant. He walked back to the sofa with a newspaper and sat down. He opened the newspaper and shook it. He glanced at Bruce from above the newspaper and said, "You are worried that I will be like this."
Like Professor Pig Noodle?"
Although Bruce didn't answer, his expression was full of affirmation. Schiller glanced at him, and Bruce saw the negative answer in Schiller's eyes. Just when Bruce wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, Schiller's next words made him
Even more creepy.
"Don't worry, I don't like pork."
At this moment, Bruce felt like he was being poured with a basin of ice water from head to toe, and every pore on his body was sweating. He had not felt like this for many years since the gunshot in the alley.
But then, he thought of a more serious problem - if the sick Schiller eats human flesh, but he does not regard ordinary people as his kind, but thinks that they are pigs, then what he is eating is...
Bruce no longer felt like he was being doused with cold water. He felt like he was frozen in a piece of ice. He was both cold and unable to move.
And when he raised his eyes to look at Schiller again, he very clearly saw a desire in Schiller's eyes staring at him, which was the most primitive human instinct - appetite.
Bruce hadn't jumped up from his chair so quickly in many years, and he quickly took a few steps back to the side of the sofa.
He did not expect that the truth was more terrifying and horrifying than he thought - Schiller never regarded ordinary people as human beings, and the food he liked was the same natural-born murderer as him.
Schiller is a hunter’s hunter and a butcher’s butcher.
And then, Bruce thought of an even more terrifying fact. The inexplicable connection between serial killers came out of the blue, but they came together like minds. There was no logic at all, but who organized the audacious action to target Schiller?
?
Seeing Schiller's very distracted eyes at the banquet and his extremely focused expression now, Bruce didn't even need to keep this question in his mind for a second, the answer was already very obvious.
"Sorry, Professor, I have something else to do. I'm leaving first." Bruce turned and walked out the door.
It wasn't that he was worried about what Schiller thought of him. The main thing was that he had to fight crime and let those serial killers go back to wherever they came from. Their crimes would be enough to go to jail, but not to the pot.
A "whoosh" sound came from behind. Bruce instinctively ducked to the side and rolled on the spot. But just when he was about to stand up, someone kicked him hard on the shoulder. Bruce fell directly to the ground.
On the ground.
The moment he turned over, he saw Schiller walking over, holding a cold boning knife in his hand.
"Since you are my student, and Arrogance will be very distressed if you die, leave 1000 ml of blood and you can leave."
Seeing Schiller approaching with a knife, Bruce finally remembered why Pride had conjured up so many serial killers in his dreams and made him play the escape game for several months.
With a "crack" sound, the boning knife cut through Bruce's arm. Blood spattered and stained the left half of Schiller's shirt. The batarang followed the blood and left a wound on Schiller's left shoulder.
The blood overlapped and dyed the shirt crimson.
But the moment the batarang was thrown, Bruce thought again that when he first saw Sick, Sick Schiller inserted his fingers into the bone-deep wound.
If Bruce remembers correctly, the expression on Schiller's face at that time was one of enjoyment.
He is a pain-loving madman.
Bruce rolled to his feet, covered his arms and backed away, but he was already forced to the door.
Bruce grabbed the chair by the door and blocked the boning knife. Schiller used his arm to press the back of the knife against the leg of the chair and lifted it outward, causing the chair to fly out.
With a "swish" sound, the knife was inserted into the wall less than three centimeters from Bruce's right ear.
Bruce's blue eyes, when they appear on the reflective blade, are like the moon falling on the sea in Gotham, or like a lighthouse on a night of rising fog, bright and clear, with fear rippling like waves.
There was no way out in the room, so Bruce immediately opened the door and tried to run into the corridor.
Even if he does this, he may get another wound on his back, but his experience in fighting many horrific murderers tells him that sometimes, blood must be exchanged for space.
But as soon as he opened the door, he bumped into a small figure. Harley covered her nose and glared at Bruce and said, "Why are you here again? Get out of the way, I have something to do..."
"No! You're fine!"
As soon as Bruce finished speaking, he watched helplessly as Schiller turned his eyes to Harley's face.
Bruce pulled Harley behind him, but just when Schiller was about to slowly move his eyes back to his face, a strong figure suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor.
Bruce turned his head and saw the terrifying pig head of Professor Pig Face.
He cursed the efficiency of the Gotham Police Department in his mind, but when he went to see Schiller, he found that the bloody knife had disappeared.
Schiller returned to his gentle demeanor, stretched out his hand to straighten his tie, and even took the initiative to push the door open, making an inviting gesture to the pig-faced professor, and then said: "Please come in."
Bruce was very sure that Professor Pigface didn't even see the scene just now, because he just walked in.
What Bruce is even more sure of is that the second before Schiller turned around and walked towards the room, his eyes were saying to him: "Don't ruin my good deeds."
"Wait a minute." Bruce stopped Schiller from closing the door with a quick step, forcefully tore a crack in Schiller's closed door, and then squeezed in.
Bruce saw the pig-faced professor walking at the front, looking back at him with eyes filled with deep disgust. It was obvious that this was another person who knew Bruce's identity as a vigilante, but Bruce spoke quickly:
"Professor, I don't think you should stay with such a dangerous murderer. This may be dangerous!"
There was a hint of doubt in Professor Pig Face's eyes, because when Bruce said this, his eyes were staring at him closely.
"What's wrong with your arm?" Schiller's worried eyes fell on Bruce's arm. Bruce used his uninjured arm to block Harley who was trying to knock on the door with all his strength, and said through gritted teeth:
"It's nothing, I drew it myself."
"Then you'd better go back and heal your wounds as soon as possible." Schiller took another step forward.
"But I'm fine! Professor! ...Thank you!"
When you level up, the monsters also level up.jpg
This chapter has been completed!