Chapter 251: Snowy Night Campfire (End) _1

When Alberto left, darkness had already fallen, and before Shiller could rest for a while, the doorbell rang again.

This time, it was Bruce who appeared at the door. He wore a high-collar sweater under a trench coat, looking very tall and upright. When Mrs. Miller passed by outside, he smiled and nodded at her, which delighted her.

When he sat down across the table from Shiller, looking at Bruce's gradually serious expression, Shiller said, "You haven't been to the psychological therapy room at Gotham University for a long time. Now you have scheduled a treatment at Arkham Hospital. What's the matter?"

"You also haven't appeared in the psychological therapy room at Gotham University for a long time, Professor."

Shiller sighed and said, "It was you who actively scheduled the psychological treatment, don't adopt a tone of a commercial negotiation. Who's the doctor here, you or me?"

"If you are approaching this with a winning attitude, then I suggest you go home and talk to a wall."

Bruce's lips moved, then he said, "Actually, it's Alfred…"

"Your butler? What's wrong with him?"

"Previously, Evans stayed at my house for a few days. Alfred was happy, but after he left, I could clearly feel that Alfred was a bit despondent…"

Shiller, looking at Bruce's eyes, said: "Isn't that normal? Facing a friend's departure, anyone would be unhappy, right?"

"I think you thought of this point, so right now you're upset because you've realized that Alfred is essentially always in a state of loneliness, and in the past, you haven't cared about him…"

"He raised me, I understand his hobbies, I have prepared opera tickets for him, tried to let him travel, or even build a nursing home for him to retire in, but he doesn't want to…"

"Do you think it's because he likes Evans so much, and now that Evans has left, he's unhappy?"

"Isn't that the case?"

Shiller shook his head and said, "I think he's happy because you allowed Evans to stay, or rather, he's happy because you've made friends at university."

"But…."

"You want to say you don't need friends? Or to go a step further, do you feel you don't need these extra emotions? Then, what do you feel about Alfred?"

Bruce lips moved again, but he didn't utter that word, as though he didn't want to mention this term. Shiller pretended he had heard it and said, "I'll compare Alfred to your parents. I believe you wouldn't object to this comparison."

"Normally, parents are happy and relieved when their children bring classmates and friends home and get along well with them. Most of this comes from being pleased with their child's growth in social relationships, with a part of it stemming from their emotional and rational judgment - they're happy at their child's ability to express normal emotions."

"If their child can express and receive emotions normally, it goes to show that the child can feel their parents' love. Once you can confirm that your love has been received by others, you would feel immensely happy because this is a common emotional feedback mechanism."

"On the other hand, if your child appears indifferent to everyone around them, as if their heart is dead, the parents will worry whether their child cannot feel their love, or whether it is because their love is still insufficient, which led to the child having difficulty expressing and receiving emotions..."

"The same applies to Alfred, who like your parents, places all his emotions on you. When any negative changes in you appear, he would reflect on himself, but when there are any positive changes, this positive feedback would resonate with him, making him feel happy."

"This is the most typical emotional relationship between parents and children. Empathy for empathy, heartfelt compassion."

"Now you should understand some of the reasons behind Alfred's emotional fluctuations, right?"

Bruce nodded to indicate that he understands this theory fully, then asked, "What do you think I should do now?"

"That is something you should ask yourself. I believe Alfred knows you pretty well. He should know which part of you is the real you, and decipher which of your emotions are genuine, and which are masks."

"At present, he feels happy for your friendship with Evans, therefore can I infer that you have indeed gained some positive emotions from this friendship?"

Without saying a word, Shiller had no choice but to say: "You can't assume I'm a mind reader, Bruce, do you plan on making me guess if you don't spit out your answer?"

"If the positive emotions you're referring to are the tiredness from not being able to sleep, and the helplessness of being dragged to listen to some old-fashioned operas, then there may be some."

"I recall that bats should be mammals, not birds…" Shiller looked at Bruce. Bruce also looked at Shiller, unsure of what he was going to say upon his sudden change of subject. Then Shiller beat around the bush and said, "Birds aren't as stubborn as you."

"Tiredness from not being able to sleep? How come you didn't mention that when you were out fighting criminals all night in your suit? Helplessness from being dragged to listen to some old-fashioned operas? If only Evans could beat you. He wouldn't have needed to resort to a bomb to blow himself into a hole in the church…"

Bruce showed no embarrassment at being seen through, still expressionless, he said: "I'm here for a solution. I can't have Evans staying at my mansion forever. Even if Falcone doesn't mind, Selina will be upset…"

"Before you seek a solution, you should first state what your problem is."

"I've already stated my problem. I've found that Alfred has been immersed in a kind of lonely emotion, and I want to make a change."

"The answer to that problem, I've already given: if you're happy, your butler is happy; if you're not, he's not."

Bruce lapsed into silence once again, finding himself cornered by Shiller. Following this theory, the way to make Alfred happy was simple: to make himself happy.

In theory, this solution should be very effective. But in practice, it was nearly impossible because Batman was perpetually unhappy.

Not unhappy, exactly. More like emotionless, without dramatic highs or lows.

The room fell silent again. Shiller didn't continue to advise Bruce, because doing so would mean delving into Batman's heart, exploring why he was unhappy, and how he could become happier.

Considering that such research might constitute academic plagiarism regarding the Joker, Shiller decided it was best not to look into it too closely.

"Do you think there's a way for his emotions to stop relying so heavily on me?" Bruce proposed another possibility.

"That's a valid direction. According to the theory, all parents go through this process of realization. If they truly start to disconnect emotionally from their children, to return to their own personal lives, two possibilities emerge."

"Either they strongly believe that their child is happy enough to manage without them, understanding that parental care is no longer the primary source of their child's happiness."

"Then they will willingly shift their emotions either onto others or onto themselves."

Shiller capped his pen with a click and looked at Bruce. "Are you planning to get married any time soon?"

The agile shift of the topic caught Bruce off guard.

"I'm not joking. If you have plans to marry, or even to have a child with Selina, Alfred could probably shake off this state, essentially solving the issue at the root."

Bruce shook his head slightly, and Shiller continued: "The other possibility is that parents have a certain obsession that outweighs their love for their child. Once they pick up that obsession again, their emotions will be detached from their child and poured into that obsession."

"Obsession..." mumbled Bruce, his brow furrowed. Shiller asked: "Even if it's a bit personal, I still want to ask: Does your butler have any living relatives?"

Bruce shook his head again, and Shiller asked: "Has he ever been married or had someone he was interested in?"

After a long pause, Bruce shook his head again. Shiller asked, "Is it that there isn't anyone, or that you don't know?"

"I know some, but not enough. That could be the problem. He knows me well, but..."

"Alright, you've investigated everyone around you, even memorizing the information of strangers you've only seen once on the street, yet lack detailed understanding of your closest butler... maybe this is proof of how special he is for you."

"I'll figure something out." Finally, Bruce said.

The fireplace in the room was fully ablaze, the fire growing fiercer. Contrarily, as the sky grew darker, the temperature dropped further. When the rain started falling again, it had turned into tiny ice crystals, soon becoming pale snowflakes.

It's hard to imagine a city on the East Coast where it snows in the fall, but Gotham had been absurd for a long time, so this idiosyncrasy was really nothing.

Shiller sat behind his desk, as people came and went.

To Cobblepot, who was struggling with life decisions, the desktop had turned to ice under his feet. This frail bird lost its balance on the table. As it fell into the sea, it saw a faint flame in the deep blue ocean.

The double-faced Evans stepped in, and the room became his stage. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled outside the window. When lightning struck, it split the room in two, half black and half white. A flame sparked on the border, shining brighter than the sun.

Before Evans's figure had completely left, Batman walked in. His heart harbored a snow night darker and colder than anyone else's. The flame was almost too faint to see, but he still stood there, as if the illusory light could provide him with a trace of warmth, however psychological.

Three solitary figures huddled around the bonfire. Soon, more silhouettes approached. Some faces were familiar; they stayed for a while then disappeared into the snowstorm. Others were ghostly, as if separated by a cosmic barrier.

When the cold wind rose and the fire grew faint, people going back and forth threw wood into the fire, and the crackling sound of burning wood once again filled the room. Suddenly, the sharp ring of the telephone echoed. Shiller looked up. A green-haired figure stood in the doorway, a bottle of wine in his hand.