Chapter 1614: Fishing Day (Seven)_1

When Loki closed the book, she looked thoughtful. She wasn't sure when Schiller had written these words; it could have been when Asgard stabilized, or it could have been earlier. Nonetheless, it perfectly matched Loki's point of view from the beginning to the end.

Doctor Schiller had a remarkable mind, which Loki had realized for a long time. Unlike others, Loki knew that his insightful opinions weren't the result of some kind of superpower mind reading; rather, they seemed to be the result of precise analyses and judgments.

What shaped these views of his?

The three sentences in this book fueled Loki's curiosity. A smart person should have a reason for being smart, and if a person is as smart as Schiller, it would be unbelievable if there's no story behind it.

Loki put the book back in its place, meticulously wiping away any traces of having moved it. She then turned around and resumed studying the room.

The clinic in Hell's Kitchen was small to begin with, and three rooms were squeezed into the second floor, which made the bedroom appear rather cramped. Despite this, two rows of bookshelves were tucked against the wall, a row of display shelves, a desk by the window, and the bed didn't occupy much space.

The room was in shades of brown wood, with a faint smell of wood and ink, likely from the books displayed on the desk. The most impressive thing was that all tables and shelves in the room were filled with strange and unusual artifacts.

To Asgardians, these things in the room did not qualify as antiques, and many of them didn't seem to have much commercial value according to Loki's taste. They felt more like tokens or mementos, and some of them even looked like random things picked up somewhere.

Loki could already imagine that Doctor Schiller would pick up trinkets from local stores wherever he went. She even found fragments of small asteroids, possibly debris from the battles of the Cosmic Sorcerer that Schiller had picked up.

Maybe in his spare time, Schiller would remember bits and pieces of his past from these items. Loki smiled at this thought. This way of remembering the past was indeed quite "human".

But if one's mind has a Tower of Thought that can store countless Memory Fragments, such mementos would seem redundant. Thus, this seemingly naive, somewhat cute clumsiness did not match the usual savvy Doctor.

Loki couldn't help laughing when she thought of Schiller — the mastermind behind everything — not plotting behind the scenes, or leading charges on the front line during those cosmic battles. Instead, he was picking up mementos behind the Cosmic Sorcerer.

However, it also satisfied a strange voyeuristic desire. Seeing a widely acknowledged flawless person's private side would always provide a sense of superiority as being something different.

Loki was always proud, she always believed that no matter when or where, she deserved the preferential treatment she got.

Like now, she went directly upstairs to Schiller's bedroom instead of leaving like Charles. As such, she naturally deserved to know these secrets, which was a reward for the wise choices she made.

Loki walked along the two rows of bookshelves on the wall. The books on the shelves fell into several categories: professional books, mostly those of psychology and psychiatry; folk tales and bizarre stories; literature, art and philosophy-related theoretical books.

Loki knew that most human intellectuals have an interest in philosophy, especially if they study psychology, as it is closely tied to their worldview, so it's not a surprise that Schiller liked to read books on philosophy.

But literature and art...

Loki roughly scanned the books on the shelf. There were numerous literary classics from various countries without specific characteristics, so Loki's gaze moved to the art books.

Loki was somewhat surprised to find that the range of art books was narrow, almost entirely excluding forms like music and dance, leaving only visual or plastic arts.

"What do you think of art, madam?"

On the vast, quiet ice field, Schiller wiped the water droplets on his hands with a gem-blue towel. He had just put a rebellious young pike in a water tank. The process wasn't complicated but slightly thrilling, as the fish had knocked Natasha's cigarette out of her hand with its powerful tail as soon as it was hooked.

The side of the female agent's right hand was still red, but she had already fished out another cigarette impatiently. With the end of the cigarette in her mouth and her teeth biting on it, she mumbled.

"What type of art are you referring to? I skipped ballet, even did well in it, but I didn't consider it art, at least not to me. "

"Russian ballet art is world-renowned," Schiller said noncommittally. "It's different from French ballet. It is not just a lace decoration on the edge of the materialistic era for extravagant elites; it is more like a strong declaration against ice and storms."

Natasha raised her eyebrows in surprise but quickly focused back on her fishing rod and said, "I'd like to accept this compliment on behalf of Russian ballet dancers, but you know I didn't take ballet for the sake of art, right?"

"For performance? Art is mostly performative."

"That sounds insightful, but I've never heard of you having any artistic education background or related hobbies, Doctor," Natasha said, pausing as if it to search her memory, she added, "You don't seem to go to opera houses or buy records."

Schiller nodded and said, "But you guys probably don't know I can paint, because I've never painted, not until the day before we left."

Natasha was genuinely surprised this time, she was very sure that Shiller's daily acquaintances, those who interacted with him on a regular basis, were truly unaware of Shiller's ability to draw.

Natasha found her interest piqued, her task of uncovering Shiller's past now elicits a new curiosity and art was a topic she could discuss at length.

"I've visited the art museum of the Repin Academy of Fine Arts," Natasha said, lightly wiping the frost gathered on her chin with the back of her still reddish hand. Recalling her memory, she continued, "Its art greatly differs from that of America or Europe. Like Nick mentioned, Russian art is always imbued with a vitality that emanates from suffering. Affected and groundless moaning is not the main theme here."

"Suffering may not shape character, but it usually shapes art."

"Suffering shapes art?" Natasha savored this phrase, swallowing back her planned questions that were meant to guide the conversation. Instead, she posed a more philosophical question: "How does suffering shape art?"

Shiller sat up straight from the back of his chair, leaned back, then leaned forwards again. Fiddling with the reel of the fishing rod, he said, "The somber tones of suffering always remind people of death; survival and destruction are indeed the main themes of all art."

Natasha thought this answer was somewhat uninspiring, not nearly as impressive as what she heard before. But then, Shiller added, "Forgive me for not being able to answer your question better, madam. To explain it more effectively, I'd have to start with you."

It took Natasha a moment to understand what Shiller meant. She had to inhale deeply on her cigarette, exhaling a mouthful of smoke to obscure her own sight.

She tugged at the corners of her upper lip, "Doctor, all your actions in the past didn't put as much pressure on me as you do now."

"Given the fact you still call me 'doctor', I must remind you that your lungs are about to be destroyed by cigarettes and you still haven't caught a fish."

"I'm about to." Natasha, seemingly vexed, hauled up her fishing line with a sharp twist of her fishing reel. She reached to catch the wobbling bait in mid-air, intending to replace it with a fresh one.

"I knew nothing good would come from hanging out with you guys!" Taking another puff of her cigarette, she stubbed out the remainder in the ice and tossed it aside. This, while Shiller only watched her with amusement, as if observing a ballet performance.

Natasha decided not to speak further. As an agent, Natasha faithfully executed every one of her decisions. She intended to maintain her silence until lunch, and if Nick and Steve didn't catch any fish, mocking them would make for a nice new topic.

But then she heard Shiller speak again: "Charles would've told you about my life prior to university. Would you like to hear what happened afterwards?"

Natasha felt like facepalming. She thought she needed another cigarette because she couldn't help but want to nod, yet she knew very well Shiller wasn't just wanting to merely speak about himself.

The truth is like a sweet bait - Natasha finally understood the real significance of that phrase. What benefit could understanding Shiller bring? What use is such truth? To accomplish the mission? However, this wasn't really a mission. It was just a casual mention from Nick, and Natasha, seeing the difficulty of his work, wanted to help her old boss.

"Alright, doctor, I really can't imagine you humble in your pursuit of knowledge. Could you describe it in detail?"

Shiller shook his head saying, "In fact, there was nothing humble about my pursuit of education. You could say it was the complete opposite."

"Then why did you attend University?"

"Because it was others' expectations." Shiller also pulled up his fishing line to replace the stale bait. Busy at work, he continued, "It was a decision that pleased everyone, so I went."

"I assumed that during those long four years, there'd be some surprises that would prevent me from regretting my decision, but it turned out that my university life was incredibly mundane."

To Natasha's surprise, she actually saw a trace of regret on Shiller's face, which was so juvenile that it seemed out of character.

As everyone knows, Doctor Shiller is a man who never regrets. Or rather, he doesn't have much room for regret, considering everything in front of him has been thoroughly planned. With every outcome within expectation, what is there to regret?

Feeling genuinely curious, she leaned forward and cautiously asked, "So you weren't you back then? You weren't a...'doctor'?"

"I was about to get to that," Shiller said, comforting her. As he placed the fishing hook back into the water, he paused and added, "What was it like the first time you came to America?"

Natasha didn't expect this question. She was stunned for a few seconds before realizing the topic Shiller intended to discuss, leading her to provide a more general answer.

"No expectations, I had to come, hastily done, I prayed everything went smoothly, and that once I finished my task, I could immediately leave."

"I was the exact opposite of you, full of enthusiasm and anticipation."