Chapter 1610 Fishing Day (3)_1

The sky darkened at a speed unimaginable to ordinary people. The few people sitting by the shore began to pack up. Natasha stomped out the flames with her boots, then buried the embers with dirt, leaving only a faint trail of smoke.

"Did anyone ever tell you guys that there might be bears in these parts?" Natasha casually remarked, kicking aside the rocks piled next to the fire.

"Has anyone told the bears that we're here?" Shiller retorted, toting his chair and not looking back. "Especially that there are Russians around here?"

The red-haired agent burst into raucous laughter, gasping, "Stop making these stereotypical jokes, they're not funny at all."

From ahead, Ivan and Steve's voices floated back in fragmented conversations: "Yes, back then, to prove I was an adult, I ran into the forest and killed a bear with my bare hands..."

Natasha pursed her lips and pulled a face, catching up to Shiller quickly, patting his shoulder, saying, "There's no such coming-of-age ceremony in Russia. I had a cake on my eighteenth birthday, just like Americans."

"And you had the head of the previous Black Widow next to you, right?" Shiller retorted without hesitation.

"What do you think we are in your eyes? Savage people who eat bloody meat?" Natasha arched an eyebrow. The light from the lake house illuminated her face, making her features undulate like a mountain range under the night sky.

"Stereotypes." Shiller pronounced, sounding as professional as a psychologist, but then added, "There's always a few Russians who've never killed anything, or dreamt of killing anything after getting drunk, right?"

"I'm sure there are. Go search in Moscow, you might find a few moralities."

Their path led them through the porch to the hall, guided by the faint glow from the lakeside cabin. Upon opening the door, they found the fireplace still cold, the room filled with chilly moisture. Steve walked a round in the room and discovered some damp firewood pieces that couldn't be burned at all in a corner.

"Looks like we're going to start with chopping wood." Steve stepped into the cabin, swinging an ax and saying in an exaggerated tone, "'Where's the bear, where's the bear?' Do I look like a Russian now?"

"Not even close. At this point, my father would have already brought in a bear head, chopped it like firewood, and its blood would splatter all over our woodpile behind our cabin..."

"Dr. Vanke, quit scaring these Americans," Natasha sat down on the couch, lifting her delicate chin, "or our brave Captain America will feel the need to find a bear and chop it down in front of you."

"Your estimate is completely wrong," Shiller picked up her sentence, but then teasingly added towards Steve, "Our Steve isn't Tony Stark, he doesn't possess that kind of untimely competitive spirit. Even if you provoke him, he would only vent his anger on the firewood."

The good-natured Steve just held the ax, shook his head with a smile, and the heavy footsteps of Nick sounded from behind him. He peered into the cabin and asked, "What's going on? How come there isn't an ax anymore?"

With a "whoosh", the window behind the couch flung open, and chopped wood blocks flew in one after another. Without moving a finger, Erik leaned on the single-seat couch like he was tired, grumbling in his still displeasing tone, "You really seem to be playing some 'Pretend we don't have superpowers' game."

"Oh, please!" Natasha threw up her hands in disbelief, "I thought there might be some serious difficulties other than chopping wood, or were you trying to challenge our Captain America? Who would want to chop firewood?"

Nick immediately hurried to the chair nearest to the fireplace, wrapped himself up in his jacket, and said, "Thank God for superpowers, pretending to be ordinary people is totally dull. Who's going to liven up the fire?"

Steve also came into the house. He squatted down next to the fireplace, lit some small branches, and stuffed them in. Warmth began to rise from the fire that would send people into a snoozy state, and in this drowsy atmosphere, aimless chatters were taking place.

"I don't know why you two aren't planning to start families again." As Nick polished his boots, he glanced at Charles and Erik and asked, "It makes sense for Erik, he's already got children. What about you, Charles?"

"Do you think children and a family are mutually substitutable relationships?" Charles countered with an academic tone.

"Under normal circumstances, it suggests a failed attempt to start a family."

"But not a total failure. Or rather, there is no need for pessimism if it was due to external coercion or limitations of the time," remarked Charles, glancing at Erik next to him.

"Do you think you fall in love with someone first, then want to start a family with them or do you want to start a family with someone, then realize you've fallen in love?" Steve queried.

"Are you asking whether love and family must necessarily be connected?" Shiller was searching for possible tea utensils in the kitchen of the cabin, and he responded, "Or, you want to know whether the existence of love necessarily leads to the formation of a family, including your love interest and children."

"I think love is only related to responsibility and a family is an expression of responsibility. When love deepens, there's an inevitable desire to be responsible for the other person, then you'll think about starting a family." Shiller explained.

"Does not starting a family mean lacking a sense of responsibility? Implies never falling in love?" Natasha asked with a frown.

"That's offensive to a lot of people, including me." Shiller rummaged through the cupboard for a small bag of tea, inspected it and said, "There's a step between the idea of responsibility and starting a family, and that step is reality. Without realistic conditions, an idea is just an idea."

Charles turned to look at Erik again, who was enjoying the soft sofa and warmth of the fireplace like a cat, utterly uncaring to everything else, just like a cat would.

"So, Doctor, are you not starting a family because of reality?"

The question was somewhat pointed, but considering that it was Captain America Steve who asked, it wasn't so much interrogative.

"Firstly, I have a pathological loneliness, so don't demand too much of my emotional capacity." Shiller plugged in the kettle, followed by, "If everyday happiness and anger is at the base of the pyramid, then wholehearted love for someone is at the apex. If any mental patient with a lack of compassion and empathy tells you he truly fell in love with someone, just take it with a pinch of salt."

"You can't get the truth from him." Natasha looked at Steve and said, "The excuse of pathological loneliness seems to be the standard answer for all personal questions. You can't say anything else to him except expressing sympathy."

Steve pressed his lower lip upwards, seemingly agreeing, yet also expressing dissatisfaction.

Shiller brought over a tray of hot tea and set the cups in front of them one by one and said, "Of course, that's only part of the reason. Loners usually have normal desires and hormonal secretions, so there won't be any functional issues."

Upon hearing this topic, Natasha immediately perked an eyebrow with interest. She picked up the cup of hot tea, leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees and said:

"In fact, I've pursued several professors and doctors. The main reason for my interest is the aggression that inadvertently surfaces under their gentle and courteous facade. The process of chasing them is like hunting a beast under the skin of a person—I love hunting."

Now it's Erik's turn to glance at Charles, who looked more like a dog curled up under a blanket. His eyes were constantly moist, his face cheerful. He seemed completely harmless.

"Studies have shown that people's interest in abstinent-looking people is similar to the thrill of committing taboos. Some even deliberately hide their indulgent side to attract potential mates who are interested in forbidden fruit."

"Are you like that, Doctor?"

"That's one possibility." Shiller seemed unfazed by Natasha's slightly predatory gaze, just answering, "Avoiding emotional life is often a forced choice."

Erik glanced at Charles again, who was still innocent and cheerful but didn't understand humans at all.

Natasha leaned even further forward, occupying only the front third of the sofa. She held the cup with both hands and looked at Shiller under her red hair and asked, "So, what would compel a healthy male to make that choice?"

Shiller sighed deeply, gently exploring the side of his teacup with his fingers, "Human desires grow as we age, and so do the abnormal behaviors of mentally ill patients. When the growth period overlaps too much, desires can be easily infected by abnormality, resulting in deviations beyond the normal range..."

"Here we go again." Natasha shook her head, "If the scholars I'd pursued were half as professional and boring as you are, I would've backed off much earlier, Doctor."

It was then that Ivan, who was next to them, mused, "Actually, I think I've encountered this situation. I've seen people who connect violence with sexual desire. I'm not sure how this happens, but the consequences are much more severe than most people imagine."

"This is not flirting." Ivan shut his mouth, as if recalling, "That murderer stabbed a girl to death, then he …"

It seemed that Ivan didn't avoid the sexual word due to conservativeness, but rather confusion, misunderstanding, and a bit of fear. He shook his head slowly, "When the police took him away, he was trembling with excitement and kept saying that he gave her the 'noblest' love."

Steve shuddered, not because of the murder, but because he couldn't understand the perverted thinking. He had a sip of tea to settle his nerves, then said, "Is there really such a person who kills the one they love?"

Suddenly, he realized that Shiller had diverted the topic here, in essence, to plead his innocence.

Seeing the gaze Steve cast at him, Shiller sat on the sofa, cradling his teacup, and shook his head, "Don't look at me like that. I'm not that kind of person."

Just as Steve was about to sigh in relief, he heard Shiller say in a nonchalant tone, "But I won't be taken in by the police."