Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

Batman had never seen Gordon in such disarray before.

He was standing in Gordon's office waiting for him when he saw James Gordon, soaked to the skin, walk in through the door. The heating at the police station was insufficient, so he was hunched over and shivering.

Batman watched him in silence as he walked in and asked, "What happened to you?"

"Nothing much," said Gordon after a deep breath, "I just accidentally fell into the Gotham River and happened to save someone along the way."

"Who?"

"Landen Harvey, who had just been bailed out of jail."

"Why was he in the Gotham River?"

Gordon glanced at Batman, and Batman had never seen such a look in his eyes before. It made Batman uneasy, feeling as if his old friend had become a stranger.

"Is he going to court?" Batman asked.

"I don't know." Gordon went to change clothes in the rest room. He came out in a dry uniform, his hair still wet. But instead of drying it, he just slumped in a chair.

Batman saw his face was particularly pale, and it wasn't just from exhaustion. Something indescribable was consuming him from the inside.

Gordon closed his eyes, and a series of fragmented images flashed through his mind.

No one knew that James Gordon, a graduate of the Chicago Police Academy, had the highest ground pursuit success rate among his graduating peers. He was an excellent driver.

After he became the Chief of Police, he rarely had to use this skill again. But yesterday, he forced Harvey's car into the river.

Then he saw Shiller standing on the bridge.

Shiller saw him. Gordon was sure of it, even thinking that Shiller might have come after him on purpose. This was all part of his plan. Once he'd made a move, there was no turning back.

In the second before the car was completely submerged, Gordon jumped off the bridge. He pulled both the half-drowned Harvey and his lawyer out of the water.

He thought Shiller would try to stop him, but Shiller just stood quietly by the river bank, watching Gordon use all his strength to rescue the two men, then called an ambulance to send them to the hospital.

The police car Gordon drove had been totaled. As he staggered toward the nearest highway, soaked to the bone, another car stopped in front of him.

The car window rolled down, revealing Shiller's face. Without saying anything, Gordon silently sat in the passenger seat.

"Do you think the thank-you note or the handcuffs will arrive first?" Shiller asked.

Gordon unusually did not ask if Shiller minded him smoking, but took out a cigarette with trembling fingers and put it in his mouth. The lighter flicked several times at the end of the cigarette before it was successfully lit.

Gordon took a deep drag, leaned back, looking like an addict lost in the throes of pleasure.

"What are you thinking about?" Shiller asked again.

"About which prison would be most appropriate for me."

"Did they recognize it was you?" Shiller asked as he turned the steering wheel, looking at him with something like reproach, "You were too careless, going there in a police car."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Gordon said, looking out the window with his cigarette, "The reporters must already be rushing to the hospital, right?"

"I'm afraid so," Shiller nodded in agreement, "Soon you will see Harvey tearing his heart out on television, accusing the police of murder. I won't ask you what you plan to do. I just want to know, what were you thinking the moment you jumped off the bridge?"

Gordon's gaze was vacant, as if he had emptied all thoughts and wasn't thinking of anything. But at Shiller's question, he came back to his senses, touching the badge on his chest.

"I wasn't saving him; I was saving myself."

Shiller's hands on the steering wheel paused for a moment, and his tone finally showed some fluctuation as he said, "Am I the first to stress your foolishness to this extent?"

"Of course not," Gordon actually smiled and said, "You're too late, not only not the first but not even in the top hundred."

"Who was the first?"

"A drill instructor at the Chicago Police Academy, my teacher. He said if I chose to throw myself into a pile of shit, I should be prepared to become a maggot one day."

Gordon lit another cigarette, his teeth clenched and brows furrowed, his voice revealing an aggressive temperament he had never shown to anyone before, like a starving wolf that had not eaten for days and suddenly smelled blood.

"It seems you don't understand one thing. I uphold the rules, not because I so admire these things that never really protect ordinary people well. I do this to maintain my position."

"If the law only protects the interests of the upper class, then by upholding the law, I'm just another type of lapdog. I'm not oblivious to this, but I need this position more than anyone else."

Gordon looked up again, his eyes blurry in the smoke. Holding the cigarette, he said, "The kindness of the weak is a burden; it's useless. You need a gun in your hand to save people. And to have them confidently hand the gun over to me, I must be a keeper of the rules, to make them think that I'm an obedient dog."

"But now you're not," said Shiller, "You have opened your mouth, but you didn't kill anyone. They will soon realize you are not safe."

"They never sincerely thought I was safe, they just had no choice but to rely on me. Just like you."

Shiller suddenly turned to look at him, braking hard. Gordon's forehead hit the side window glass. The Gotham Police Department's sign shimmered faintly in the fog of early morning.

"You've made it," Shiller said.

Gordon took his last puff of smoke, turned his head to Shiller, and said: "I know you're not really out of options, but no matter what your motives are for not doing so, I thank you."

He got up and got out of the car but kept the door open, leaned down, and said to Shiller who was sitting in the driver's seat: "But I must also warn you, better not get caught by me."

With a bang, the car door was closed. Shiller watched as Gordon walked into the police station, then he reached for a cigarette himself, lit it but didn't smoke, just quietly watched the smoke disperse inside the car.

He had to admit, when he saw Gordon leap from the Gotham Bridge, his brain froze for a moment, momentarily forgetting the countless strategies that were wrapped in his mind.

The Gotham Bridge is 187 meters high. The human race falling from such a height to touch the water surface has no chance of survival.

Gordon wasn't insane; he wasn't committing suicide. He was betting that Shiller would definitely save him.

Shiller used Gray Mist to break the surface tension of the water, allowing Gordon to safely enter the water and then rescued the two of them.

Shiller didn't know how to evaluate James Gordon.

He rarely came across such a complicated person in Marvel, possessing both heroic and mad traits, yet blended perfectly.

Shiller's appearance was just to pressure Gordon.

If unnoticed, he could pretend nothing had happened. But once there were onlookers, Shiller's presence would constantly remind him that he had broken his own principles, losing his previous legitimacy and purity.

When a piece of pure white clothing gets a stain, more will follow. For when people find that the first stain is indelible, they will assume it doesn't matter how dirty the clothing gets. Police uniforms are the same.

But Gordon found the only way out of this deadlock—he chose to jump off the bridge, throwing back the question of "to save or not to save" at Shiller.

And Shiller had no choice.

At that moment, Gordon was a madman. But most of the time, he is a hero.

And Shiller can never watch a hero die.

Shiller saved Gordon but also left behind a permanent mystery. If he had not shown up, would Gordon have chosen to save those two people?

Gordon would never answer that question, perhaps that is an answer in itself.

To find himself as the unnecessary element in his own plan did not make Shiller feel defeated. He just felt a little sentimental.

In such a city, it might indeed be right to live well and arrogantly. Nobody here needs saving.

After finishing his cigarette, Shiller opened the car window and restarted the engine. He arrived at the entrance of a bar, parked the car by the side of the bar, and entered through the side door.

This is the Lower city area. A person dressed like him entering a cheap bar here would usually turn heads. But the bar was in its climax, no one cared about Shiller sitting in the corner.

He ordered a drink at random, sat down against the wall, and listened to the noise in the bar. The loudest sound wasn't the deafening passionate music, but a person's roar.

"Bo'er is dead! This son of a bitch finally died! I don't care who this Hick is, he's the damn best boxer in this city! Next time he fights, I'm betting all on him!"

The bar erupted with cheers. But soon, someone said with a frown: "But there was another explosion on Lark Street, over a dozen people died. Do you think those criminals will come to our area?"

"Did you hear? Willie's daughter was assassinated," somebody suddenly remarked, "Seems like someone broke into their house, nearly killed her. Lucky she ran fast."

"Willie? Gladiator Willie?" someone responded immediately, "Wasn't he the one who took people to demand their wages back at Bo'er's factory? Is it him?"

"Yeah, that's the guy. Tough as nails. I heard he took a couple of police baton hits and still didn't run, instead the police started to fear him. His daughter hasn't even graduated high school, right?"

"Seems like it. I've seen that young girl once—red hair, freckles on her face?"

Suddenly someone in the crowd stood up, a massive man weighing at least 200 pounds, wearing a cap. He said, "I need to check on Willie's place, can't let those damn bastards get their hands on that girl."

"Are you insane? Those killers may still be there!"

"I'm not going to go head-to-head with them, just going to take a look. If I can find her, I'll have my aunt sneak her away to Brude Haven. At least she won't lose her life that way."

"I'll go with you. We'll just scout around her house, she couldn't have gone too far."

"I'll go too, I'll keep watch for you."

The noise in the bar quickly settled, and Shiller finished his drink. Fiona was smarter than he expected. She learned fast, or maybe the Pale Knight had taught her something. Releasing the assassination news was all in her favor.

Shiller drove to Willie's house. He arrived quite quickly; the others hadn't arrived yet. He saw the door battered open, glass fragments on the ground, blood in the center of the living room.

Shiller put on shoe covers, walked around the room twice, clicked his tongue, and said: "Still too inexperienced."

After speaking, he returned to his car, took out a bottle of glass cleaner from the trunk, and entered the house again. Upon opening the bottle, the liquid inside was deep red.

After dealing with everything, Shiller sat in the car, looking through the window as a group of people stealthily approached Willie's front door.

The person who peeped into the window screamed out immediately.

"Blood! There's blood!"