Smile (Part 1)

Several spotlights shone down on Batman, making him squint like a bat sleeping in a dark cave, startled awake by an explorer’s flashlight.

"I advise you not to make a move right now." Schiller turned to look at Batman, but saw no expression on his face. He was no longer the Bruce he had been when he first started out; it was now almost impossible to tell what he was thinking from his outward appearance.

"Why?" Batman’s voice remained low and deep.

Schiller turned back toward the stage. A spotlight swept over him, making his lenses flash brightly. He said, "You need a little patience. The good part has only just begun."

"I don’t see anything worth watching." Batman remained motionless, his expression stern. He said, "Even if he moved the kidnapping into a theater, it’s still just a crime. He’s a lunatic."

"He is a lunatic, but unlike other lunatics."

"What makes lunatics different?"

"Then why are you sitting here right now instead of rushing down to stop him? I may have advised you not to, but I didn’t stop you. Besides, I couldn’t stop you."

Batman fell silent.

"Because he interested you. Because you, too, want to see how this play begins."

"Because the Owls are your enemies. Perhaps your indulgence carries the pleasure of revenge."

Batman had just been about to deny it when Schiller said, "Watching these actors suffer is indeed interesting, but if you still treat him like an ordinary lunatic, then you’ll be the one suffering."

Batman’s brow furrowed deeper, but the people onstage had pulled their attention back together. Holding the little metal rod used to strike a triangle, Joker extended it toward the mouth of a fat man tied up in the air and said, "All right, you pick an audience member. Let him read the clue on his ticket to you."

"I, I…" The fat man was drenched in sweat. Having been suspended in midair by rope for so long, his physique had left him utterly exhausted. Joker pursed his lips, then suddenly straightened up and tucked the hair at both sides behind his ears, revealing his eyes.

He deliberately kicked his legs out as he marched forward, as though goose-stepping, then walked over to another man beside him, took the glasses from his face, and put them on himself.

He held the little metal rod to his mouth like a microphone, cleared his throat, and said, "Next, the world’s most professional psychology expert, Jack, will bring you an in-depth analysis."

Schiller narrowed his eyes in the audience. Evans instinctively shifted toward the aisle, seemingly wanting to sit farther away from his professor.

"What an ugly sight, pal." Joker walked back to the fat man and said, "Your arrogant attitude is built on a safe environment. You stand in safe conference rooms dressed in suits, using the foundations accumulated by your ancestors as capital, believing you control everything and wallowing in the thrill of being the Black Hand behind the scenes."

"But when your supposedly indestructible grand ideals have to be put into practice, they turn into the pain of losing vested interests. In truth, you’re no different from ordinary people who ache over losing five dollars for an entire night."

"All your grand goals ultimately become the most mundane regret and heartache. And when you truly become one with ordinary people, you lose everything."

"What comes after that? A bloated, obese body? A soul utterly devoid of originality?"

"As actors, you are such failures that you can’t even put on a good performance by yourselves."

"What are you thinking? I know. I know it all. Begging a lunatic for mercy is so difficult…"

The fat man made wheezing noises through his mouth, his face flushing bright red.

Just as Joker had said, no matter how brilliant a Black Hand behind the scenes claimed to be, once he was hung from a rope onstage and forced to let everyone watch his humiliating state, he could not remain calm.

"Since you don’t want to choose, I’ll choose for you." Joker pushed up his glasses and said, "I imagine Professor Rodriguez has been waiting a long time."

The fat man looked as though he had suddenly choked. He forced out several words through clenched teeth. "No! No… this isn’t according to the rules…"

"Shut up!" Joker suddenly went mad again. He viciously whipped the fat man’s face with the little metal rod, leaving him unable to voice any further objection.

The fat man seemed afraid that Joker might do something even more extreme, and he fell silent, mumbling under his breath.

Schiller stood from his chair and said, "I’m honored to be the first, but before that, I have a better suggestion for this game. Would you like to hear it?"

Joker narrowed his eyes at him as well. Everyone could feel the atmosphere onstage freezing over, as though an invisible conflict had begun, two lunatics clashing after encroaching on each other’s favored domains.

"A better suggestion?" Joker stressed the words, baring his teeth as he said, "You’d better make sure it’s a good one, or I’ll count it as you forfeiting…"

"Of course. This gentleman wants me to tell him the clue, but he can’t give me nothing in return. I want to add a rule: if they want to obtain the clue, they must agree to one request from an audience member."

After being stunned for several seconds, Joker erupted into manic laughter. "Oh, you really are a genius!"

Then his face abruptly darkened. "You thought I’d say that? What a terrible idea!"

Schiller cut off whatever he was about to say next and continued, "Fine, then I withdraw the suggestion. I only have one question: may I lie?"

Joker glared straight at him, his mouth curling sharply downward. He muttered in a low voice, "I knew it. I hate that name."

"Why not let this gentleman decide? He can either agree to one request from me and receive the real clue, or do nothing and risk receiving a lie."

"Agree to him, Haru!" A shrill female voice rang out. A woman hanging higher up shouted, "Agree to his request! Do you want all of us to get fake answers? We’ll die that way!"

Another male voice chimed in, "That’s right, we choose the first one!"

Schiller slapped the back of the chair in front of him, making a small noise, and said, "I’m asking this gentleman to choose."

"He’s only the lowest-ranking councilor. He can’t represent anything…"

"Yes, exactly!"

"How can such an important decision be left to a low-ranking councilor?"

"We should vote and allocate votes according to rank…"

"Only high-ranking councilors can make the decision, don’t forget…"

"You old fossils! At a time like this, you’re still thinking about…"

Joker’s shoulders suddenly began to shake. His laughter rose from a low snicker into loud guffaws. After a while, as though tired from laughing, he wiped his eyes and said, "This really is… kind of interesting."

Haru’s body trembled. His fat lips moved, and he spat out several words. "I choose… I choose the first one. I can agree to one of his requests. Please tell me the real answer!"

Before Joker could host the next step, Schiller moved the process along himself. He said, "All right, my request is—take off your mask, sir."

"No! No… I can’t…" Haru screamed in terror, his eyes constantly darting toward Falcone.

"I take it back!!! I choose the second one…"

"You don’t get another chance." Joker grinned. "You already said you would agree to his request."

As he spoke, he ripped the fat man’s mask off, revealing his fat head and broad ears beneath it.

"Wild Boar Harris." Falcone smiled, clearly recognizing him. "Didn’t your father Bruno teach you that once you put on a mask, you should never take it off?"

Haru’s face was ashen. His true identity had been exposed. Not only he, but his family, his forces, and his property would all fail to see tomorrow’s sun.

The mask did not fear the Godfather, but the person beneath it did. The mask would not die, but the person beneath it would.

The people who had been arguing nonstop onstage all fell silent. Joker trotted back to the center of the stage, spread his arms, tilted his head, and asked them, "Why are you all so serious? He chose the outcome you wanted. Why aren’t you smiling happily?"

"Mr. Jack, may I announce the answer now?" Schiller was like an emotionless NPC following the procedure.

Joker made a disappointed expression like a child and said, "What a pity. I should have designed an interview segment here. I wanted to play a little longer."

Ignoring his reaction, Schiller picked up the crumpled slip of paper, unfolded it, and read aloud, "Artemis is prettier than Athena…"

It was obvious that the group hanging onstage froze for a moment, then fell quiet as though each had their own thoughts.

Joker struck the triangle in his hand and shouted, "All right, that scene is over. Next! Next! Sit down already, you’re done here…"

Schiller obediently sat down. Batman said to him, "You really are a devil."

"Takes one to know one."

Then Joker walked over to a tall, thin man and struck the triangle violently beside his ear, making him swing his body desperately as he tried to avoid the lunatic.

"Your turn. Who do you choose?"

"I choose… I choose Little Falcone!"

Joker first pulled the corners of his mouth sharply downward, then twitched the muscles around his nose, revealing a somewhat vicious expression before breaking into a smile again.

"Then! Let us welcome Evans Falcone!"

With a sweep of his arm, a spotlight stopped on Evans. Schiller slapped the chair back beside him and shouted, "I object! Why does his entrance get a host’s introduction? And a spotlight following him? That’s discriminatory treatment! We all bought tickets. We paid the same price!"

"Objection overruled."

Joker turned his gaze back to Evans. Evans froze for a moment, seemingly not expecting anyone to choose him. Three minutes into this play, he still could not figure out what was going on, and he was busy unfolding the paper balls from the popcorn bucket, trying to see whether they could be assembled into a complete sheet of paper…

Suddenly, he twitched. A gloomy expression crept across his face. He stood up and said first, "First of all, my name isn’t Evans."

He gave the tall, thin man a cold smile and said, "Second, you may choose again. One or two?"

"I choose two, I choose two! It’s his turn to give the answer!"

Alberto’s voice rang out coldly. "The answer is that the button in your hand corresponds to that fat man."

The moment those words left Alberto’s mouth and fell to the floor, the entire venue went silent. No one had expected that answer.

The answer Schiller had read earlier was like a mythological riddle, filled with incomprehensible metaphors. Even for Gothamites, it was a little ahead of its time. But the very next second, the answer Alberto threw out was so straightforward.

It was like a problem whose first part asked you to find the general solution to a differential equation, while the second part asked what you ate for breakfast this morning.

"Wait!" the tall, thin man hanging there said. "You’re lying. This has nothing at all to do with the first answer…"

"Because you chose two, it might indeed be a lie." Alberto shrugged.

But the tall, thin man heard his companions begin whispering among themselves.

"Haru is too heavy. He’s very close to the ground. Even if the rope lowers slowly, his belly will definitely touch the ground before anyone else’s…"

"Right, and this lunatic might have written several completely different styles of answers. Maybe that person wasn’t lying…"

"Anyway, Haru won’t live much longer. Falcone knows his true identity. He’s dead for sure!"

"He’ll die whether it’s sooner or later…"

"Then press it…"

"Press it…"

"Why not?"