The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.

Chapter 2288 Gotham Music Chapter (27)

Chapter 2288 Gotham Music Festival (Twenty-Seven)

Tupac walked up, gave a gang-style wave, and then shook hands with Eminem.

"I've heard of you. Dr. Dre, a white rapper, said your song "Infinite" is pretty good and he's considering discovering you."

Eminem actually looked very surprised. He reached out and touched the area under his nose and lips. His Adam's apple moved as he said, "Really? I thought no one was listening."

"We listen to every West Coast rap song, most of which is garbage, but we can also find gold." Tupac lowered his eyes again. He didn't look very energetic, but because of the black skin, it was not obvious whether he was exhausted.

If Hal and Clark were really two white people who came to bully Tupac, they should have directed their attacks at Eminem at this time. Racists hate white people who defend black people more than they hate black people. People hate traitors in their own group more.

"You came at the right time. We two really didn't come here to cause trouble for him. We heard about him from a friend, and our current friend got into some trouble, and we wanted to know if he knew what it was."

Clark's words were very sincere, and it was difficult for someone staring at him in those blue eyes to tell that he was lying.

Tupac seemed hesitant, as he always seemed hesitant, but Eminem stopped him with his hand, looked at Clark and said, "Is your friend a fan of his, or does he actually know him?"

"They are alumni of the same high school, but they may not know each other." Hal said truthfully: "But you may have heard of him, Oliver Queen, the heir to the Quinn Group."

Tupac showed a look of reminiscence, but Eminem shook his head and said, "If they haven't actually met, then it's hard to help. You can talk about it, but if it doesn't work, you have to promise that you won't cause trouble for anyone."

Tupac looked at Eminem with some surprise. Before they met Eminem, they would think that a white rapper was probably a playboy with nothing better to do. In fact, there are many such people who just like the gang life in their fantasy.

But Eminem seems to be very good at dealing with the lower class. He is careful in his words, sophisticated in his behavior, and never gives in. This is the survival wisdom that belongs only to the lower class.

Tupac felt a little relieved, he understood that in this country, the rich are a minority, whether black or white, the poor masses are the majority, and there are also many white people at the bottom.

"I assure you, we will never cause any trouble to anyone at any time. We are here to help our friend." Clark raised his hands to indicate his harmlessness and said, "He is in trouble, but he is unwilling to tell us. We can only find out what happened to him through other methods."

"When we found out he was in trouble, he mentioned you, Tupac, and we thought it was relevant, so if I may..."

"I don't know him." Tupac said, "I've hardly heard of the name. Maybe I heard about the Quin Group on TV news a long time ago, but I don't remember it anymore. I didn't meet him in high school."

Clark sighed. He knew this would happen. Hal was obviously disappointed, but he didn't say anything. Clark still said, "If that's the case, maybe we misunderstood. We won't bother you anymore. We'll go over there for a while."

After saying that, the two of them were about to leave. At this time, Eminem and Tupac realized that the two of them were not here to cause trouble. Tupac pursed his lips, but still said: "Tell me what trouble your friend is in. I may not be able to help, but I am willing to listen."

Clark looked at Hal again. He was a little unsure whether to say it or not, because this was an extremely sensitive topic in the United States. All media outlets spoke with one voice. Once he said it, he would have to face the risk that the other party might not stand on their side.

Hal was more aggressive on this issue, so he said, "Mexico, he had some trouble in Mexico."

Eminem looked confused and didn't understand what he was saying, but Tupac's expression suddenly became serious. He lowered his eyes again, touched his earlobe and said, "I don't know what you are talking about, but I have to leave here now. If you can find me on the boat, we can talk about it later."

After saying that, he turned and walked away, even bumping into Eminem. This sudden change of attitude made the three people stunned. After reacting, Clark looked at Hal and said, "He must know something."

"Absolutely." Hal also confirmed his thoughts and said: "His attitude is very strange, beyond common sense."

Eminem glanced at them but decided to go after Tupac. Clark pulled out his phone and said, "I was going to check what kind of trouble Tupac was in. Was it related to the rapper?"

So they both started looking at their phones, and then they discovered that there was another protagonist in the East-West Coast rap dispute - Christopher.

"Honestly, I have no idea why I'm here." The big guy sighed while holding his glass, "I don't understand why he wants to solve our problems in this way. This is not good for anyone."

"If you ask most people here, they would say so," Schiller said, clinking his glass with him gently, "but whether they really think so is unknown."

"I know that most people don't think so." Christopher said bluntly, "Although they say that this way of solving the problem is too radical, the fact that they are here proves that they agree with this method."

"And you too."

"No, I'm going to get on the boat. I just want to see Tupac because I know there's no other way to see him and he doesn't want to see me at all."

"Aren't you going to bet with him?"

“Fuck it.” Christopher shook his head and said, “There’s a popular saying on our street, ‘The best way for you to die is to take drugs and die on the street.’ Because if you die like this, it might be a good thing for a lot of people. They can be relieved from worrying about you. The sadness is only temporary.”

"This also proves one thing: if you choose to die in a casino, or even if you don't have the courage to die there, then you are doomed to bring disaster to all those who are worried about you. That is the most shameful cowardice."

"I know that many gangs prohibit gambling." Schiller said, "At least in Gotham, if you take drugs, you may die in a gunfight by mistake, but if you gamble, you may be shot and killed by your own boss."

"It's like this everywhere." Christopher didn't show any surprise at Schiller's knowledge of gangs, because he knew that in this damn place called Gotham, there was no one who had no connection with gangs.

"I'm not saying that taking drugs is a good thing. I've suffered a lot from it." Christopher stretched out his hand and said, "But it may also make you crazy and hurt the people around you. But there won't be any good people around you, and you will suffer retribution for it."

"But if you gamble, you will definitely hurt those who believe in you the most and want to save you the most, because they love you and believe that you will change for the better, so they will continue to give you money and pay off your gambling debts. This is a crime that cannot be washed away even in hell, and the devil will spit on your coffin."

There was a wonderful rhythm to Christopher's speech, as if he had so intended to put the words into song, and indeed he had been inspired.

"Can you tell me what Gotham people think about gambling, Doctor?" Christopher looked at Schiller and said, "I rarely have the opportunity to meet someone as knowledgeable as you. This is the only good thing that has happened since I decided to board the ship."

"In fact, I don't think I know enough about the people of Gotham, but I think I can talk about my opinion." Schiller shook the wine glass in his hand and said, "It's a cliché that gambling will destroy people's values, but I think the most interesting thing about the emotional changes shown by a person addicted to gambling is that throughout the process, their humanity is gradually annihilated and their emotions are gradually disappearing."

"Do you think these people were able to calmly face the disappointment and sadness of their loved ones from the beginning?" Schiller asked.

"Of course not." Christopher shook his head and said, "I have seen such people. They will sincerely repent at first, toss and turn, and stay awake all night, but in the end, nothing will change."

"That's what's interesting, initially their emotional systems are normal, and when they see their loved ones sad, they also feel sad, which proves that their empathy organs are functioning normally."

"But what makes this organ rusty?" Schiller asked, and answered himself: "Perhaps too frequent dopamine stimulation, which can effectively dull the empathy organ."

"The pleasure of gaining and controlling is a long-term source of dopamine for humans. If you experience strong stimulation of this kind repeatedly in a short period of time, you will become addicted to this pleasure and amplify its effect in your brain. When your own voice becomes louder, the voices of others become much weaker."

"Until the bangs are roaring in your head, like a whole car team racing in the grooves of your brain, and you hope they will never stop, so that you can listen to them to your heart's content."

"Then those normal voices and the sad emotions transmitted to you by other people's advice will make you feel annoyed. You think that it affects your concentration on listening to yourself and prevents you from amplifying the pleasure you experience. So you block them as much as possible."

"If you do this for a long time, your sense of empathy will close down until you can hardly hear those voices anymore."

"The metaphor about drag racing is amazing." Christopher took out a pen and paper from somewhere, started writing quickly and said, "I think there will be a song in my next album to interpret the life of a gambler. When he wins money, he will be like the king of the world. Let me use the most gorgeous words to describe the most passionate moment in his life. I hope to borrow this metaphor."

"Of course." Schiller nodded and said, "My pleasure."

Christopher put away his pen and said, "I'll say it again, Doctor. I rarely have the opportunity to see professionals like you. After all, there is not even a doctor in the community where I live. So I still hope to hear your professional opinion. What do you think happened to Tupac? Why would he pin his hopes on such means?"

"I'm afraid that if it were not for this occasion, I would have to discuss the consultation fee with you first." Schiller laughed and said, "But thinking that my metaphor will spread around the world with your masterpiece, I am happy to provide you with a free consultation."

Christopher laughed heartily, clinked his glass against Schiller's and said, "I'm afraid I'll steal more of these wonderful metaphors during this consultation, and perhaps I can get these songs to even further places, perhaps to the moon and Mars."

"What do you think of Tupac?" Schiller asked.

"In fact, I once misunderstood him." Christopher sighed and said, "This may be the root of our conflict. I got to know him through his music, but I found that he was not the person he wrote in the songs. He was a little... too pessimistic."

(End of this chapter)