Chapter 634: Schiller's Leisure Vacation (Part 2) (Patreon)

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"What's wrong?" Schiller noticed a change in Viking's expression and asked, "Are you afraid?"

Viking continued to focus on arranging the fishing line while saying, "My dad always said that the people who come from there aren't good folks. I never expected there would be university professors there."

"Of course, it's a big city, after all. By the way, have you been to college?" Schiller casually chatted with Viking, trying to divert his attention because he was also worried about getting seasick.

Viking shook his head and said, "I graduated from high school just a few months ago. My dad wanted me to go to college, but I didn't want to be too far from the sea. This place raised me."

"You just graduated from high school?" Schiller looked him up and down, unable to believe that he was only eighteen or nineteen years old.

Even though most white people tended to mature early, and having facial hair made him look older, his strong physique and build didn't make him seem like a teenager.

"That's why they call me Viking," Viking chuckled. "They think I look too strong, like a pirate." After finishing arranging the fishing line, Viking stood up, walked to the edge of the boat, and cast a line to test the fishing rod.

Schiller walked up and stood beside him, looking out at the vast ocean. He said, "I've never seen the sea in all my years growing up. This is my first seaside vacation, and it feels really nice. I can understand why you love it here."

Viking turned his head to look at Schiller, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Aren't university professors supposed to take beach vacations often? Wait a minute, are you telling me you can't swim?"

Schiller nodded and said, "In theory, I've never swum before. If I fell into the water, I wouldn't even know if I'd drown."

"Of course, you would," Viking said confidently. "The sea isn't as gentle as it looks now. When it gets angry, you'll experience a real natural disaster."

After saying that, he handed the fishing rod in his hand to Schiller, who took it and adjusted it before starting to fish.

After a while of Schiller fishing with no luck, the fishing boat had reached the challenging fishing spot Viking had mentioned.

It was still a shallow area with some rocks and plenty of seaweed and coral underneath. Finding the shadow of fish here was difficult, let alone catching them.

Viking also took a fishing rod and stood next to Schiller. Schiller's fishing rod remained motionless, while Viking kept pulling in one fish after another. Half an hour later, Schiller turned to Viking and said, "You know, if it were someone else, they definitely wouldn't tip you."

Viking smiled, as if he had played a prank successfully. "Plenty of rich folks come on my fishing boat, boasting about their fishing skills. I bring them here, just as I said. The sea isn't always as calm and gentle as it seems; it can teach you what failure really means."

Surprisingly, Schiller didn't get angry or leave. He simply continued holding the fishing rod, quietly gazing at the sea. He said, "No rush. As you said, this is a challenging fishing spot. If I catch a fish today, I'll be quite happy."

Viking pulled in his rod once more, removed the hook from a fish's mouth, and said, "You're the best Gotham guy I've seen. When the big gang leaders come here, they either complain about bad luck or pay for the fish I catch."

"The joy of fishing isn't about the fish but the anticipation of the unknown," Schiller replied.

"If you taste the fish soup my dad makes, you might think differently," Viking laughed again and said, "As compensation for your failure today, I'll take you to my place to have some of his fish soup. We've never had a university professor visit before, and he'll be thrilled."

Schiller smiled and said, "Then I won't hesitate to enjoy your spoils."

In this era, most people held great respect for professions like teachers and doctors, especially university professors. In this simple coastal town, the local residents would treat a visiting university professor kindly.

Until the sun set, Schiller didn't catch a single fish. The twilight's glow reflected onto the seabed, casting shadows that made the dancing seaweed look like graceful maidens. In the distance, seagulls circled in groups, their silhouettes tiny against the red sun. Watching this scene, Schiller no longer cared about the outcome of his fishing.

About half an hour later, Schiller walked along a slightly damp stone road. He looked at the lighthouse ahead and asked, "Is your home in the lighthouse?"

"Of course not. Who would live in a lighthouse? My father is the keeper of the Brooklyn lighthouse. I came to pick him up after work. After all, I can't cook, and if he doesn't come home, I'd go hungry tonight."

Schiller laughed, and Viking joined in. When they arrived at the lighthouse's entrance, a middle-aged man with graying temples walked out. He didn't appear elderly but exuded a worldly and gentle demeanor behind his glasses.

Viking's father warmly welcomed Schiller. Like everyone else, he held a great admiration for university professors. On the way back, Schiller learned about Viking's father's experiences from Viking.

Viking's father had been the longest-serving keeper of the Brooklyn lighthouse. He had witnessed countless ships returning home and claimed that he could recognize every captain who had docked in Brooklyn and remember every story they had shared.

When the steaming fish soup was brought to the table, a white mist rose. Until it reached the chandelier on the ceiling, the entire room warmed up. The deep blue night sky outside the wooden window no longer seemed as cold.

As Viking had mentioned, his father was truly skilled at making fish soup. The mixed fish soup was exceptionally delicious, and the pepper in it added an extra warmth to the broth when it slid down their throats.

After taking a sip, Schiller exhaled and felt sweat forming on his forehead. Viking quickly finished a large bowl of fish soup, let out a long sigh, placed the bowl on the table, and said, "Thanks to my dad's fish soup, he managed to establish himself in this city. Every fisherman here wants a taste of the fragrant fish soup he makes after a successful catch."

The man referred to as Old Curry chuckled gently and said, "That's an exaggeration, but it's true that I won your mother over with my cooking."

"Is your last name Curry? What's your first name?" Schiller asked Viking, who shrugged and replied, "I'm Arthur, Arthur Curry. You can just call me Little Curry or Arthur, whichever you prefer."

Schiller nodded and took another sip of fish soup. He asked, "So, this place is Cien Harbor?"

"I haven't heard that name in a long time," Old Curry sighed and said, "It was a name given by those Europeans, meaning 'God forgives everything.'"

"But because we were discovered relatively late and had the same name as another port on a different coast, we haven't really used that name in the last few decades. Only old folks like me remember it."

"I actually came across that name in a document, which seemed to be about the local fishing industry. The author was also quite old," Schiller nodded in agreement.

In fact, Schiller had seen Cien Harbor in comics; it was the hometown of Arthur Curry, also known as Aquaman, one of the founding members of the Justice League, and the man sitting in front of him was none other than Arthur Curry himself.

"That makes sense," Old Curry leaned back in his chair, relaxing, and said, "You're quite knowledgeable. When this place was still called Cien Harbor, the fishing industry was indeed thriving. Back then, we had more ships than we do now."

"I'm curious, though. This place is so close to Gotham. Why didn't the fishing industry develop there, given its larger population?" Schiller inquired.

Old Curry, an experienced fisherman, explained, "It's just not feasible. Gotham's rainy weather is a killer, not only for people but also for fish. Fishing near the city is impossible, and aquaculture doesn't work."

"Experienced fishermen know that the shallow waters here need sunlight. Gotham has very limited sunshine, making it difficult for any plant growth, let alone seaweed. Plus, industrial pollution in the city might affect the nearby waters..." Old Curry shook his head, clearly thinking that Gotham could never develop a fishing industry.

Schiller nodded, realizing there were valid reasons. The greenery he had seen in Gotham was indeed lackluster. Even the few trees and shrubs didn't thrive. Upon arriving in Brooklyn, the whole world seemed brighter, almost blinding.

However, this was where normal people should live. Gotham's perpetually gloomy weather, where mornings at 10 o'clock felt like midnight, was not suitable for human habitation, let alone plant growth.

While Schiller and Old Curry discussed the fishing industry, Arthur suddenly put his bowl down, stood up, and said, "I almost forgot. Just wait here for a moment; I'll be right back!"

With that, Arthur hastily rushed out. Old Curry frowned, appearing somewhat displeased, but he didn't stop Arthur. Instead, he explained to Schiller, "Sorry about that. He's been doing this for the past few months, running out at night and returning after a while."

Schiller chuckled and said, "Could it be that he's in love? Among the students I've taught, some also like to stay out late at night, usually for dates with their girlfriends."

"Who knows?" Old Curry sighed with concern. "Arthur and his generation are too wild and free-spirited. They aren't very appealing to young women in town. The local girls prefer men like you, well-educated and polite. I worry about his future marriage."

"They'll find their special someone eventually," Schiller said, turning to look out of the window. He saw Arthur heading towards the sea. He continued, "People in this age group tend to be impulsive, confused, and uncertain, but they'll grow up overnight in a few years."

"Sometimes, I don't want him to grow up," Old Curry gazed at Arthur's figure outside the window, his tone carrying a hint of another emotion, as if there was more to his statement.

After a while, the fish soup on the table had cooled down, and the white mist had dissipated. The fireplace was lit, but the warmth had faded.

Arthur had not returned yet, so Schiller grabbed an umbrella and attempted to open the door. Old Curry stopped him and said, "Professor, you shouldn't go out so late. Arthur will be back soon."

"Don't worry. Have you forgotten where I come from?"

"Goodness, you're from Gotham. I guess I worried for nothing. But you should still come back soon. It's chilly outside, and I don't want you catching a cold."

Schiller put on his coat, opened the door, and walked into the night in Brooklyn.

It was certainly much quieter here than in Gotham. There were no gang shootouts, no gunfire, no murderers disposing of bodies, and no terrorists planning bombings. Everything seemed serene and peaceful.

Schiller followed Arthur's footprints and arrived at a beach not far from the house. There, he saw Arthur sitting on a rocky outcrop, talking to the air—or perhaps not just the air. Schiller gazed at the moonlit sea, where a group of fish was circling around Arthur's feet. Schiller heard Arthur saying to them:

"How is he today? I see. Unfortunately, you can't speak, or I would have you tell him to hang in there. I'll be setting sail to rescue him soon."

"What? Are you saying he's been injured by someone?!" Arthur suddenly raised his voice, stood up, and looked anxious. "No, I can't wait. I need to go out on the boat right now. I have to help him!"

Under the moonlight, a voice replied:

"Whom do you want to help?"

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 635: Schiller's Leisurely Vacation (Part 2)