As afternoon came, just as the weather forecast in the newspaper had predicted, Gotham experienced a light rain.
Shiller sat in the study of the manor, the sound of rain outside the window acting like the perfect sleeping pill.
On the somewhat cluttered desk, a stack of books cast undulating shadows beneath the wall lamp. The reflections from the ink bottle and Shiller's glasses shone brightly in the dim room. He held a fountain pen, writing invitations in an elaborate, ornate script.
Customs are very similar around the world. When you move, you must always inform your friends and family to come visit. This weekend, Shiller planned to invite his few friends from Gotham over for dinner.
The rain outside the window grew heavier. A bit of damp air entered the room through the cracks of the window. In the rays of the lamp, one could see tiny droplets of water slowly falling onto the desk. Soon, the part of the desk near the window held many small droplets, reflecting the flames from the fireplace behind them, like red gemstones.
Darkness gradually overtook the sky, and the colder mist made glass form a white frost. Shiller put down his pen and rubbed his wrists, raising his head to look outside.
From this angle, Gotham didn't seem any different. But Gotham in the rain, not only was it more melancholic, it was also more peaceful, surprisingly leisurely.
No matter how you look at it, urban life in the 1980s was much slower than later information society. After an afternoon of writing letters, only when the butler reminded him it was dinner time did Shiller leave the study.
After dinner, Shiller put on his coat, grabbed his umbrella and left his house. By then, the rain that had been falling all afternoon in Gotham had stopped. Only the cold dampness of the air, drawn into the lungs, remained, still lingering in the city.
Puddles on the ground mirrored the street lamps' light, reflecting golden shards like the leaves that autumn hadn't carried away. As Shiller's heel pressed onto it, the light disappeared into the subtle ripples and splashing droplets.
Like any other custom around the world, when you move, you must also visit your neighbours.
The security here was quite good because anyone capable of affording and maintaining such a manor would be wealthy or noble. Though it couldn't compare to the prosperity of the Southern wealthy district, the fallen old district still possessed a languid old-style charm.
A street away from the manor where Shiller lived, there was an opera house. However, few theatre troupes came to perform there, and so it had become a clubhouse for the residents.
When Shiller got to the theatre's entrance, the doorman - who clearly wasn't used to the job - only hurried up to open the door when Shiller had already reached the entrance. Shiller took off his hat and stepped inside.
Although it was a cold rainy night outside, the theatre was warm. Shiller's glasses fogged up. He took them off, went to the front desk, and lightly tapped the tabletop.
The drowsy receptionist blinked, and when he saw someone standing there, he straightened and asked, "Do you have a reservation?"
"I'm the new resident who purchased Viscount Manor. All the alcohol expenses today should be on my tab. God bless everyone."
The receptionist instantly became cordial and said, "It's you. I just received the news yesterday that the largest manor, Viscount Manor, has a new owner. Your taste is truly unique. Such a luxurious manor is befitting of a generous gentleman like you."
"Rest assured. Once everyone gathers later, they'll know that you are a gentleman who is easy to get along with."
Listening to the endless compliments from the receptionist, Shiller expressionlessly placed a roll of US Dollars under the bell. The receptionist immediately said, "You don't have to worry about the appearance of this building. After all, it is the oldest theatre in Gotham. Being a bit rundown is normal, but our service is definitely the best..."
When Shiller walked down the steps of the theatre, he turned back to look at the theatre, possibly the oldest in Gotham. It bore the traces of the vicissitudes of life. Years ago, it may have welcomed countless prestigious theatre troupes, with countless actors performing on its stage. It was a revolving stage of performers.
But now, it was utterly deserted. The old facade was like a stela recording the history of Gotham, etching the marks left behind by the wind, frost, rain, and snow. This could be more intriguing than the fabricated plays, but not many people were willing to watch it any longer.
When Shiller returned to the manor, it was already very late. But yesterday, there were still some things he hadn't finished writing.
He was grateful to be living in a rather slow-paced era where he didn't have to worry about the bombardment of texts or calls. He had plenty of time to leisurely read books, search for the knowledge he needed from paper resources, and then write them down with his fountain pen.
Suddenly, there was a light sound behind him. Without looking back, Shiller said, "Gordon visited carrying a gift. What about you, uninvited bat?"
The shadows of Batman were cast multiple times on the wall under the light. He said, "I'll send it in the daytime."
"Gordon is getting married soon. Don't you plan to give him a gift as this weird guy in tight clothes? After all, he's your partner."
"I don't have any gifts to send." Batman's tone is always low and steady, it pushed one toward sleep in this late-night room.