The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.

When the footsteps of high-heeled shoes pass by in the empty corridor, there will always be a gentle echo, somewhat like the vibration of the keys playing in the piano cavity.

With a "squeak", the door was pushed open, and Mrs. Miller, who was holding tea, said in surprise, "Professor Schiller, why are you standing so close to the fireplace?"

Then, she shifted her eyes to Schiller's hand, which held a piece of firewood. Mrs. Miller sighed helplessly, and said, "Sir, the wood in the fireplace is specially treated. The new wood you randomly picked up from outside cannot be burned."

"Really?" Schiller, who was standing by the fireplace, threw the piece of wood in, closed the metal railing door outside the fireplace, and walked to the single sofa next to the tea table. He looked at Mrs. Miller and said, " Excuse me, ma'am, who are you?"

"Professor Schiller, in the four hours you have been back to the hospital, you have asked me this question six times, and in these four hours, I have only come six times."

Mrs. Miller put the teapot and cups on the coffee table, looked at Schiller and said, "I hope you are kidding me, because if you really have prosopagnosia, I may be troubled by this problem for the rest of my life."

After finishing speaking, she turned around and walked out the door, but just as she reached out to pull the doorknob, she was almost hit by the opened door.

Mrs. Miller raised her eyebrows angrily. Just as she was about to reprimand, she realized that it was Bruce who pushed the door. She immediately slowed down her expression, shook her head in and said, "Mr. Wayne, come on!" It’s just right, the tea has just been brewed.”

Bruce nodded to Mrs. Miller and stepped aside. After Mrs. Miller walked out of the door, Bruce entered the door, then turned around and closed the door gently.

Schiller looked up at him, stretched out his fingers to the opposite sofa, and continued to pour water into the teacup. After Bruce sat down, he said in a very rare positive way: "Hello, uh, a new professor, What should I call you?"

"I'm Schiller." Schiller replied. After pouring his own tea, he poured another cup for Bruce, put the teacup in front of him, and said, "You don't have to distinguish us. We are all Schiller." .”

"Okay, but I want to know more about you. You are different from the Professor Schiller I am most familiar with." Bruce said directly, looking into Schiller's eyes.

"Do you want me to judge him from my point of view?" Schiller blew on the tea lightly and said, "He is quite a nosy little guy, like most of me, talking a lot, Hypocritical, a little noisy."

Bruce opened his eyes slightly. He stared into Schiller's eyes and repeated his words: "...Little guy?"

"Oh, so, didn't he tell you?" Schiller looked a little surprised, his eyebrows on the right side twitched, and then he leaned on the armrest on the side of the single sofa, supported the armrest with his elbow, index finger and thumb Holding his chin, he raised his head slightly and said: "The birth of personality traits is sequential. Generally speaking, the earlier they are born, the stronger they are."

"The Professor Schiller you are most familiar with is one of the first few primordial personalities born. It is the origin of Schiller's personality and the pillar of the tower of thinking."

"Professor Schiller you know is arrogant. Maybe 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, he's a mental patient, it's not a metaphor, he has a real mental illness."

"Scholarly autism?" Bruce asked.

Schiller nodded, and he continued: "You should know that Schiller's tower of thinking was not born with him, but stemmed from an accident."

Bruce fell into memory. He remembered that he had seen in Schiller's memory space. One day, Schiller's personality suddenly shattered, and those fragments.It constitutes the current thinking tower.

"Before the tower was broken, personality traits such as arrogance, greed, and laziness were not independent existences. Just like you can't talk to the arrogance or greed in your personality now, personality is a whole. Traits won't exist on its own."

Bruce seemed to understand a little bit, he looked at Schiller and said, "At that time, you existed alone?"

"This is about the duality of autistic patients. Perhaps you know that many patients with mental illness have a common feature, that is, when they are onset and when they are not, their states are completely different."

"It's not just people with dissociative identity disorder or schizophrenia who feel that another self is living for them, but almost all patients with dualistic mental illness will feel this way."

"A mentally ill patient, his life is divided into two parts, both the normal part and the part when the mental illness occurs. Most patients cannot control themselves when the mental illness occurs. Then at that time, What is controlling them?"

"It's mental illness." Bruce replied instinctively, and then he looked up at Schiller and said, "Sick...sick...so that's what it means."

"That's right, the opposite of the normal is the pathological." Schiller nodded and said: "Before the personality was broken, Schiller, like every mentally ill patient, had two states, one was normal, and the other was mentally ill." It’s sick, so, at that time, I existed.”

Bruce thought for a while, and then thought of a question, but before he could ask, Schiller said the answer directly: "The collapse is of course normal, so it will cause Schiller to be unable to take care of himself. If the collapse is pathological If so, wouldn't he be cured immediately?"

Bruce showed a helpless expression, and Schiller shook his head and said: "To be precise, I can't be regarded as a personality trait, because personality traits are actually part of consciousness, and I am a product of a lesion in the brain. part of matter."

"No matter how Schiller's personality collapsed, the structure of his brain did not change, so whatever the normal became, the pathological remained the same."

Hearing this, Bruce had a new question. He said, "Since you are not a personality trait, how can you control your body?"

"This is about the doctor who treated me." Schiller took a sip of the warm tea and said, "Which one is more painful, a person who has 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 he felt that he couldn't compare, because he had never had a personality breakdown, and he didn't know what it was like not to be able to take care of himself and not be able to think.

"The doctor thinks it's better to be a psychopath than to be a crazy monster for the rest of your life," Schiller concluded, and Bruce couldn't refute it.

"When the normal personality collapses, an external force is needed to help Schiller re-establish the order of the personality. However, no matter how powerful the psychiatrist is, he is still another person who cannot directly enter the consciousness. It is better to use another method."

"you mean……"

"The doctor used some methods to stimulate me, so that my mental illness relapsed in a state of personality breakdown, and guided me to reorganize a mess of thinking in the absence of normality and continuous onset, and then build up again. Orderly personality."

Bruce slowly opened his eyes wide, and he said in disbelief: "Is this really possible?"

"I know, it sounds a little unrealistic, but you have to understand that Schiller is very special, because he is special. This happened to him, but also because he was special, he was treated. "

After finishing speaking, Schiller slowly put down the teacup.Leaning back in the chair, say:
"In other words, I actually helped Schiller build the entire tower of thinking, sort out all the broken personalities, witness their birth, give them names, and teach them how to regain control of this body-I am their Teacher and father, I am the real one, Professor."

Bruce lowered his head slowly, let out a breath and said: "In other words, the psychiatrist's treatment of Schiller is actually completely ineffective... No, I mean, the psychiatrist actually only treats Schiller's broken normality, And no treatment was given for his sickness?"

"This kind of statement is not accurate." Schiller shook his head and looked at Bruce and said, "Where did you read the book? Is there any psychiatrist in this world who dare to say that he can cure autism? It’s an incurable disease.”

"Most of the autistic patients you see, who are no different from 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. A sickness can be covered up by a normal performance, and it does not mean that it does not exist."

"You must be very disappointed now, but I still have to tell you that up to now, the cause of autism is still unknown, and it is not a purely psychological problem, it may be a brain lesion."

Schiller stood up from the sofa, walked to the cabinet behind the glass screen wall, and said while arranging newspapers: "Don't say you can cure Schiller, but if you can completely cure any autistic patient in the world, the whole world If you get the top medical award, you will be lenient, and 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 people." As for..."

Bruce never mentioned a word, because just mentioning this word has already broken his moral bottom line a bit.

But Schiller seemed to understand what he meant. He took a newspaper and walked back to the sofa and sat down. He opened the newspaper and shook it. He glanced at Bruce from the top of the newspaper and said, "You are worried. I will be like Like Professor Pig Noodles?"

Although Bruce didn't answer, his expression was full of affirmation. Schiller glanced at him, and Bruce saw a negative answer from Schiller's eyes. Bruce just wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but Schiller's next sentence made him Creepier.

"Don't worry, I don't like pork."

At this moment, Bruce felt as if he had been poured from head to toe by a basin of ice water, and cold sweat was breaking out from every pore of his body. He hadn't felt this way in 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 doesn't see ordinary people as his own kind, but thinks they are pigs, then what he eats is...

Bruce no longer felt being poured with cold water, he felt that he was frozen in a piece of ice, cold and unable to move.

And when he looked up at Schiller again, he clearly saw a desire in Schiller's eyes staring at him, which was the most primitive instinct of human beings—appetite.

Bruce has not jumped up from the chair at such a fast speed for many years, and he quickly took a few steps back to the side of the sofa.

He didn't expect that the truth was more terrifying and frightening than he thought—Schiller never regarded ordinary people as human beings, and his favorite food was the same natural killer as him.

Schiller is the hunter's hunter, the butcher's butcher.

And then, Bruce thought of an even more frightening fact. The inexplicable connection between the serial killers came out of nowhere, but they converged like a tacit understanding. It was completely illogical, but who organized the daring action of targeting Schiller? ?
Seeing Schiller's very slack eyes at the banquet and his extremely focused demeanor 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.

He wasn't worried about what Schiller thought of him, the main thing was that he had to fight crime, so that those serial killers would go back to where they came from immediately.

A sound of "whoosh" came from behind, and Bruce instinctively dodged sideways and rolled over on the spot, but the moment he was about to stand up, someone kicked his shoulder hard, and Bruce fell directly on the ground. on the ground.

And the moment he turned over, he saw Schiller walking over, holding a cold bone removal knife in his hand.

"Because you are my student, if you die, Arrogance will be very distressed, leave 1000 ml of blood, and you can leave."

Seeing Schiller approaching with a knife, Bruce finally remembered why arrogance conjured up so many serial killers in his dream and made him play escape games for several months.

With a bang, the boning knife cut through Bruce's arm, and the blood splashed, staining Schiller's left shirt red, and the bat dart followed the blood, leaving a wound on Schiller's left shoulder. His blood overlapped, staining the shirt crimson.

But the moment the bat dart was thrown out, Bruce thought again that when he saw the sick for the first time, the sick Schiller inserted his finger into the deep bone-deep wound.

At that moment, if Bruce remembered correctly, the expression on Schiller's face was one of enjoyment.

He's a pain addict.

Bruce rolled to his feet, clutching his arms and backing away, but he was already cornered against the door.

Bruce grabbed the chair by the door and blocked the boning knife. Schiller exerted strength with his arm, pressed the back of the knife against the leg of the chair, and lifted it outward, and the chair flew out.

With a "swish", the knife was inserted into the wall less than three centimeters away from Bruce's right ear.

Bruce's azure blue eyes, when they appeared on the reflective knife surface, were like the moon falling on Gotham's sea, and also like a lighthouse on a foggy night, bright, clear, and fearful like waves.

There was no retreat in the room, so Bruce immediately opened the door and wanted to run into the corridor.

Even if he did so, it might cause an extra wound on his back, but the experience of fighting many terrifying killers told him that sometimes, blood must be exchanged for space.

But as soon as he opened the door, he collided with a small figure. Harry held his nose and stared at Bruce, saying, "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, and Schiller turned his eyes to Harry's face.

Bruce pulled Harry to his back, but just as Schiller was about to slowly turn his gaze back to his face, a burly figure suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor.

Bruce turned his head and saw Professor Pig's terrifying pig head.

He scolded the efficiency of the Gotham Police Department in his heart, but when he went to see Schiller again, he found that the bloody knife had disappeared at some point.

Schiller returned to his gentle manner, and stretched out his hand to straighten his tie. He even pushed open the door, made a gesture of invitation to Professor Pig, and said, "Please come in."

Bruce was sure that Professor Pigface didn't see that scene at all, because he just walked in.

And what Bruce was more sure of was that the second before Schiller turned and walked into the room, his eyes were saying to him: "Don't spoil my good things."

"Wait a minute." Bruce stopped Schiller from closing the door with a stride, and abruptly tore a gap through the closed door of Schiller, and then squeezed in.

When Bruce saw the one walking in the front, the pig-faced professor looked back at him, full of disgust. Obviously, this was another person who knew Bruce's identity as a vigilante, but Bruce said quickly:
"Professor, I don't think you should stay with such a dangerous murderer, it may be dangerous!"

There was a trace of doubt in Professor Pig's eyes, because when Bruce said this, his eyes were fixed on him.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Schiller's worried eyes fell on Bruce's arm. Bruce used his uninjured arm to block Harry who was trying to hit the door with all his strength, and said through gritted teeth:

"It's nothing, I rowed it myself."

"Then you'd better go back and heal your injuries." Schiller took another step.

"But I'm fine! Professor! . . . Thank you!"

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