Snowy Night Campfire (End)

By the time Alberto left, it was already dark. Schiller had barely had a moment to rest before the doorbell rang again.

This time, Bruce stood outside. He wore a high-collared sweater beneath a trench coat, looking tall and straight-backed. When Mrs. Miller passed by outside, he smiled and nodded to her, delighting her immensely.

Once he sat across from Schiller’s desk, Schiller watched Bruce’s expression gradually turn serious and said, "You haven’t shown up at the psychological clinic at Gotham University for a long time. This time, you even booked treatment at Arkham Hospital. What’s wrong?"

"You haven’t shown up at the psychological clinic at Gotham University for a long time either, Professor."

Schiller sighed. "You were the one who scheduled psychological treatment. Don’t use the tone of a business negotiation trying to seize the initiative. Are you the doctor, or am I?"

"If you’re determined to win every negotiation, I suggest you go home and talk to a wall."

Bruce’s lips moved, and then he said, "It’s actually Alfred…"

"Your butler? What happened to him?"

"Evans stayed at my house for a few days before. Alfred was very happy, but after he left, I could clearly sense that Alfred was somewhat disappointed…"

Schiller looked into Bruce’s eyes. "Isn’t that perfectly normal? Anyone would be a little unhappy when a friend leaves, wouldn’t they?"

"I think you’ve already considered that. What’s troubling you now is that you realized Alfred has actually been in a state of loneliness all this time, and you never cared about him before…"

"He watched me grow up. I know his hobbies. I once bought him opera tickets, wanted him to travel, or even build a retirement home for him, but he refused all of it…"

"You think he was unhappy because he liked Evans very much, and Evans left?"

"Isn’t that it?"

Schiller shook his head. "I think he was happy because you agreed to let Evans stay over. Or rather, he was happy because you made a friend at university."

"But…"

"You want to say you don’t need friends? Or, going further, that you don’t need those superfluous emotions? Then what kind of feelings do you have for Alfred?"

Bruce’s lips moved again, but he did not say that word. He seemed unwilling to mention it, so Schiller treated it as though he had heard it. "Let’s compare Alfred to your parents. I don’t think you’d object to that analogy."

"Generally speaking, when normal parents see their child bring classmates and friends home and get along well with them, they feel happy and gratified. Most of that gratification comes from seeing their child grow in social relationships, but part of it is also because both their emotional and rational judgments are pleased that their child has the ability to give and receive normal affection."

"If a child has the ability to give and receive affection normally, that means the child can feel their parents’ love. When you can be sure that your love has been received by someone else, you feel very happy. That is a common emotional feedback mechanism."

"Conversely, if your child is indifferent to everyone around them, as though their heart has turned to ashes, then parents begin to worry. They wonder whether their child cannot feel their love, or whether they themselves did not love the child enough, causing a problem with the child’s ability to give and receive affection…"

"Alfred is the same. Like your parents, he has placed all his emotions on you. Whenever you show even the slightest negative change, he reflects on himself. And when you make positive changes, that positive feedback reaches him too and makes him happy."

"This is the most ordinary emotional relationship between parents and children in the world: putting yourself in another’s shoes and feeling what they feel."

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

Bruce nodded, indicating that he completely understood the theory, then asked, "Then what do you think I should do now?"

"You have to ask yourself that. I think Alfred understands you very well. He should know which version is the real you, which emotions are genuine, and which are a disguise."

"Now, he is happy about your friendship with Evans. Can I then infer in reverse that you truly gained some positive emotions from that friendship?"

Bruce said nothing. Schiller said helplessly, "You can’t assume I can read minds, Bruce. If you don’t tell me the answer, do you expect me to guess?"

"If by positive emotions, you mean the exhaustion of not being able to sleep and the helplessness of being dragged into listening to old-fashioned operas, then yes, there were some."

"I remember bats are mammals, not birds…" Schiller looked at Bruce, and Bruce looked back at Schiller, unsure why he had suddenly changed the subject. Then Schiller rounded the corner and said, "Even birds aren’t as stubborn as you."

"The exhaustion of not being able to sleep? Why didn’t you say that when you were out all night in tights fighting criminals? The helplessness of being dragged into old-fashioned operas? If Evans could beat you, he wouldn’t have needed to rig a bomb just to blow himself into that pit in the church…"

Bruce showed none of the embarrassment of being exposed. He remained expressionless as he said, "I came here looking for a solution. I can’t let Evans live in my manor forever. Even if Falcone doesn’t mind, Selene will be furious…"

"Before seeking a solution, you’d better state your problem."

"I already told you my problem. I realized Alfred has always been immersed in loneliness, and I want to change that."

"I already gave you the answer. When you’re happy, your butler is happy. When you’re unhappy, he’s unhappy."

Bruce fell silent again. He realized Schiller had led him into a dead end again. According to that theory, the way to make Alfred happy was simple: make himself happy.

In theory, that solution should have been highly effective, but in practice, it was nearly impossible, because Batman was unhappy all year round.

It could not exactly be called unhappiness. His emotions simply did not fluctuate much.

The room fell silent again. Schiller did not continue offering Bruce suggestions, because under the normal process, he would next have to delve into Batman’s heart, discuss why he was unhappy, and figure out how to make him happy.

Considering that researching this subject might constitute academic infringement against the Joker, Schiller decided it was better not to investigate too deeply.

"Do you think it’s possible to stop him from placing all his emotions on me?" Bruce proposed another possibility.

"That is indeed a direction. Let’s still look at it through that theory. Parents all go through such a psychological process. If they truly begin to withdraw their emotions from their child and return to their own lives, there are two possibilities."

"Either they have become convinced that their child is happy enough and can live well even without them, understanding that the greatest source of the child’s happiness is no longer parental care."

"Then they will actively shift their emotions, either onto someone else or toward focusing on themselves."

Schiller snapped the cap onto his pen with a soft click. Looking at Bruce, he asked, "Do you have any plans to get married soon?"

The abrupt change in topic caught Bruce off guard.

"I’m not joking. If you plan to get married soon, then Alfred should be able to break free of this state. Or you could simply have a child with Selene. That should solve the problem at its root."

Bruce gently shook his head. Schiller continued, "There is another possibility: some unfulfilled obsession the parents have outweighs their love for their child. When they pick up that obsession again, their emotions will be drawn away from the child and invested in it instead."

"An obsession…" Bruce muttered with a frown. Schiller then asked, "This may be a little intrusive, but I still want to ask: does your butler have any living relatives?"

Bruce shook his head again. Schiller asked again, "Then was he ever married, or did he ever have someone he loved?"

Bruce paused for quite some time, then shook his head again. Schiller asked, "Is it that there was no one, or that you don’t know?"

"I know some things, but not in enough detail. That may be where the problem lies. He knows me very well, but…"

"All right. You investigated everyone around you, and even memorized information about strangers you only met once on the street, yet you never learned much in detail about the butler closest to you… Perhaps that is proof that he is very special to you."

"I’ll think of something," Bruce said at last.

The fireplace in the room was now burning fully, its flames growing stronger. Yet as the sky darkened, the temperature continued to drop. When the rain began again, it had become tiny ice crystals, soon turning into pale pellets of snow.

It was hard to imagine a city on the East Coast snowing in autumn, but Gotham had been absurd for a long time. One more bit of strangeness made little difference.

Schiller simply sat behind his desk while people came and went before it.

In the eyes of Cobblepot, troubled by the choices in his life, the desktop became the sheet of ice beneath his feet. The small bird waddled off the table, and as he fell into the sea, he saw a faint flame in the deep blue water.

Evans, two sides of the same body, walked in, and the room became his stage. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled beyond the window. When lightning struck, the blinding light suddenly split the room in two: one half black, one half white. When a flame ignited on that dividing line, it shone brighter than the sun.

Before Evans’s figure had fully disappeared, Batman walked in. The endless snowy night in his heart was darker and colder than anyone else’s. That flame had weakened until it was almost invisible, but he still stood there, as though even illusory light could offer him a trace of warmth, if only in his mind.

Three solitary figures stood beside the campfire. Soon, more silhouettes approached. Some faces were familiar; after standing there for a while, they went back into the wind and snow. Other figures were so vague that it seemed as though they were separated by the barrier of the universe itself.

When the cold wind suddenly rose and the flames grew weaker and weaker, the passing figures took out firewood and threw it into the blaze. As the crackling sound of burning returned, the doorbell rang urgently. Schiller looked up to see a green-haired figure standing outside, holding a bottle of liquor.

Seeing the protagonist work another hard day, the author laughed.

Seeing the author spend another hard day typing, the readers laughed.

Seeing the readers work another hard day, the protagonist laughed.

A world where everyone was a fun-seeker had been achieved. √