Chapter 2206 Battle of Two Cities! (Seventy-four)

"Isn't it my weakness to have never been firmly chosen?" Constantine asked.

"Bruce Wayne should believe it." When Constantine heard Schiller's answer, it sounded like "think again."

"You think this is wrong?"

"maybe."

Constantine really couldn't bear it anymore. He took a big sip of wine and said: "I have paid the price. You can't always let me ask you. Shouldn't you ask me some questions and then give you

Can you give an accurate answer?"

"That's what other Schillers did."

"So what will you do?"

"you ask I answer."

Constantine felt very confused. He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. Although this did not allow him to see Schiller more clearly across the long table far away, but just to show his urgency, he also

It must be done.

"You can't perfunctory me. If there is no basis, how can you ensure that your analysis is correct?"

"If you want evidence, go to Bruce."

Constantine was really going crazy.

"If there is no basis, isn't it just a guess?"

"I am."

The stunned Constantine saw Schiller finally slowly straightened up from the back of his chair. Constantine thought this was a sign that he would conduct serious analysis, but Schiller just picked up the bottle and poured more into the glass.

Drinking wine, he leaned back in the chair and squinted his eyes.

This made Constantine suspect that he was asking at the wrong time. Schiller looked like a large beast that was digesting food. The mages digested moose meat, and Schiller digested the mages. What a wonderful food chain.

Pushing these unrealistic associations out of his mind, Constantine had to be more straightforward.

"Give me a reason for doing this, so that I can believe that you didn't intend to fool me in your answer. It doesn't need to be scientific and reasonable, as long as it can convince me."

"I'm afraid I'm not good at it."

Constantine once again saw Schiller's ability to tell lies, but he still said: "Tell me about it."

Schiller adjusted his posture and sat up slightly. It was obvious that he had accepted the impact of alcohol on his brain with great relaxation. Although the drunken state made him look more lazy and mysterious, if he was in this kind of situation,

Seriously, Constantine can only be a bacon.

"Do you know the psychological difference between me and arrogance?"

He finally asked a question! He finally asked! Constantine almost cheered in his heart, so he shook his head and said excitedly: "I don't know, can you tell me?"

"I have less theoretical basis than he does."

"ah?"

Constantine couldn't imagine it, because in the few times he had seen arrogance making judgments about someone's psychology, arrogance acted as if he had received divine inspiration, and this was by no means his only feeling.

Everyone had the same expression as Constantine.

Constantine could not imagine how there could be no theoretical basis.

"So you'd better not expect me to give any explanation for my judgment. You ask, I answer, absolutely accurate, without omissions."

"Narcissist" is the only label that Constantine can give Schiller now, just like a gambler saying "I will win every bet."

"Then let's try it." Constantine said without belief: "What is the correct criterion?"

"If you think it's wrong, it's wrong."

"No refunds?"

"Full compensation."

This made Constantine himself look like a gambler, as if he was testing whether he could control himself from pointing out Schiller's mistakes and thus obtain compensation.

He can always point it out, because it is him whom Schiller is analyzing now. Even if he is not, who has no faults in his words?

"You have to make sure not to be too short and perfunctory, nor to go around in circles." Constantine habitually blocked all roads and said: "Very good, not bad and other perfunctory words must not appear, let alone repeat known things.

fact."

"Guaranteed to be brand new and substantial enough until you are satisfied."

Constantine was really shocked.

"Are you sure you're not drunk?" Instead, he began to question this, and even looked at the wine in his hand carefully. His many years of drinking experience told him that even a child would not be drunk with this amount of wine.

"How many questions can I ask?" Constantine asked anxiously.

"Unlimited."

This must be some kind of manipulation trick to gain his trust, Constantine thought, just like if you use horoscopes to divine fortune, no matter what is divined, you will try it on yourself, but in fact it is because it is just some cliché that refers to the general public.

Or it's definitely the kind of flattering words that people are willing to use on themselves.

But Constantine decided to try it anyway.

"Then let's start with that question." Constantine swallowed and thought, "If not having a firm choice is not a weakness of my soul, then what is my weakness?"

"Before that, let me first ask how your empathy is."

"I think it's pretty good, what do you think?"

"My answer will probably be very abstract."

"What is my weakness?"

"The sunset after the rain stops will be beautiful, but the rain will never stop."

Constantine was silent for twenty minutes.

A bolt of lightning struck the first half of a rotten man's life. From then on, most of the memory scenes that Constantine couldn't name, and those feelings that he himself felt fuzzy and broken, finally had a perfect sentence.

describe.

Constantine believed it.

“How should I overcome my weaknesses?”

"Go to bed early and get up early, have adequate nutrition and exercise appropriately."

"You mean 'can't get over it'?"

"I'm trying to make as many suggestions as I can."

"That just can't be overcome."

Constantine hesitated for a moment and then asked: "Do you think this is necessary to overcome?"

"This is a too broad question. It needs to be considered based on all your experiences in the first half of your life. I can start talking now, but maybe you can use the question to get some key points in advance."

Constantine expected every answer to have such an effect, but he also feared it.

There is no doubt that if Schiller had started talking himself, he would not have gotten any more of these maxims, it would have been a hearty psychoanalysis on a psychological level, but if that was the case, why didn't he

How about finding a professor who talks better?

Even if Constantine didn't want to admit it, he had to admit that he preferred this kind of answer. Even if there was no basis, it couldn't explain any principle. It was like a guess based purely on intuition. But at that moment, he saw the cold light on the sword.

Stained with the blood of your own heart.

Constantine swallowed.

“What was my childhood like?”

"The foundation that makes you look forward to the sunset."

This was an answer that was beyond Constantine's expectations. All the doctors in the psychiatric hospital where he had lived said that he had received neglect and abuse from his father, and that his poor native family was the tragedy of everything he encountered.

the root of.

"Why do you say that?" he couldn't help but ask.

"That's the only time in your life when you can sit on the lawn in front of your house and watch the sunset."

The answer is surprisingly simple, but it is like an extremely accurate harpoon gun piercing a certain memory in Constantine's mind - he was bathed in the orange-red ocean, watching the light of the setting sun illuminate the grass into a kind of...

A color that still cannot be described.

"What else?" Constantine wanted more.

"It's not that you like the sunset, you're just curious as to why the Creator made its color so similar to blood, your father's blood."

Constantine's fingers froze.

The fragments of memory were completed. On the grass, blood was left along the cracks in the soil. He knew without looking back that the doormat was soaked with blood and there was an arm inside.

"It would be great if they could really be the same." Constantine murmured to himself in a low voice: "It's not that similar."

"But I saved my father." He added.
To be continued...