Chapter 107: I Bet There Are No Bullets in Your Gun!
Half an hour ago.
In a room.
A bald man in his fifties was talking on the phone with a gentle expression. On the other end of the line came an excited young man's voice: "Professor, I visited One World Trade Center today. It's truly a landmark in New York, the tallest skyscraper. It's absolutely spectacular."
"It's currently the tallest building in New York, and the sixth tallest in the world now," the bald professor laughed. "The Willis Tower in Chicago held that record for decades, but now Dubai and other cities have buildings that dwarf them both."
"When I get the chance, I definitely want to travel and see some of these architectural marvels," the young student's words were full of enthusiasm. "I really hope that one day I can design and build a landmark skyscraper right here in Manhattan."
"I believe you can do it," the bald professor said encouragingly with a smile. "Edison said genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, but beyond that, passion is the best teacher and the driving force behind learning." He walked to the window, pulled out a small telescope, and peered down with one hand while holding his phone with the other, continuing to speak softly to his student, Ted. "It's only in recent years that I've truly understood the joy of pursuing something you're passionate about. Ted, when I met you in your first Introduction to Architecture class at Columbia, I knew you were destined to be a great architect."
"Professor, you're too kind," the young student named Ted said on the other end of the line. He was thrilled by the professor's praise, but he still had a realistic sense of his own limitations and responded modestly.
He knew that no matter what field, the best are always those with natural talent. Interest might be as important as ninety-nine percent perspiration, but it's definitely not as important as that one percent of inspiration and talent.
Otherwise, there wouldn't be so few of history's great architects who are remembered.
"Do you know who my most admired architect is?" The bald professor heard some disbelief and lack of confidence in his student Ted and smiled slightly.
"Frank Lloyd Wright? I.M. Pei?" Ted rattled off several famous architects, but he still couldn't get the bald professor's approval.
"It's Walter White." The bald professor didn't let the student continue guessing and gave the answer directly.
"Who is Walter White?" Ted was stunned on the other end of the phone.
He loved architecture, but he seemed to have never heard of this name.
"He was my college roommate at MIT, a chemist with a strong interest in architecture." The bald professor recalled the past and smiled happily.
"A chemist?" Ted suddenly understood.
It turned out he didn't study architecture and wasn't in the same circle. No wonder he had never heard of this name.
"Although he majored in chemistry, he conducted extensive research in architecture—a skill he taught himself in his spare time out of pure interest." The bald professor sighed. "If he weren't so gifted in chemistry, I'm sure he would have made a name for himself as an architect. He's a talented architect whose chemistry career held him back."
"Where is he now?" asked student Ted on the other end of the line, somewhat curiously.
"I don't know." The bald professor shook his head. "After graduating from university, he moved to New Mexico and we gradually lost contact. I just heard he almost won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry."
"Oh, my God!" Ted was immediately stunned by the Nobel Prize mention and exclaimed, "It's probably a blessing he didn't pursue architecture then."
This was the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, a pure natural science award, not some participation trophy. To win such an award, one must be a true giant in the scientific community. Even if one falls short and doesn't win, just being nominated is truly remarkable.
"You have a problem with your mindset," the bald professor corrected, lowering his binoculars. "Architects are no less capable than chemists. Perhaps it's his lifelong regret that he chose chemistry over architecture, his true passion. If he had chosen to honor his passion, he might have already won the Pritzker Architecture Prize."
"Professor," Ted admitted his mistake decisively on the other end of the line, though he remained a little skeptical.
He knew, of course, that the Pritzker Architecture Prize was the Nobel Prize of architecture, but the fact that he had to compare it to the Nobel Prize when introducing it to outsiders spoke volumes.
"Actually, you have seen his work." The bald professor took out a small notebook from his pocket, opened it, took out a pen and started writing and calculating, while continuing to talk on the phone: "Remember those unsigned architectural sketches I showed you in class?"
"I remember." On the other end of the phone, student Ted was stunned: "You mean those architectural sketches were drawn by your roommate?"
"Yes, very imaginative, wasn't it?" After finishing his calculations in the small notebook, the bald professor took out a portable wrench from his pocket, went to the window, and began loosening the screws of the air conditioning unit.
"...Haha." On the other end of the phone, student Ted smiled awkwardly but politely, and agreed dryly: "The shapes of the... intimate apparel... were indeed very imaginative..."
"You liked those two architectural concepts the best." The bald professor smiled while working on the screws, "Actually, I appreciate the phallic tower design more."
"..." On the other end of the phone, student Ted couldn't say anything more, his mouth twitching, wanting to complain loudly: "Professor, don't you realize that even if someone were willing to build something like that, it would be censored and couldn't be shown on television?"
Of course, he couldn't say this out loud, as it would be questioning the professor's taste.
"Landmark architecture is all about novelty, being eye-catching, and conversation-provoking, making it memorable." The bald professor caught Ted's unspoken objection and said disapprovingly, "Just wait and see. One day, buildings like this will become commonplace."
He then picked up his binoculars and peered outside again. Catching a glimpse of a figure, he smiled and said, "It's all about passion. Everyone has a side that's as talented as genius. Keep working hard, Ted. I've got things to do."
"Okay, Professor. Goodbye, Professor." On the other end of the line, Ted tactfully hung up. He reflected on the professor's words, watching his large, boisterous roommate who was shouting and laughing in the dorm next door, competing to see who could belch the loudest, and his lips twitched.
He simply couldn't understand what his roommate's interests were, and how much he could achieve through his passion. Could he become the Belch Champion?
On the other end of the line, the bald professor also put away his phone and gave the loose air conditioner another shake. He then leaned forward slightly to look down, glancing at his watch. As the figure he'd been watching approached, he pushed the air conditioner outward. The instant he did so, he pulled his head back and listened for the sound of the unit crashing down below under the weight of gravity.
"Huh, that's not right!" The bald professor listened intently, immediately noticing something was amiss. But he didn't turn back to observe, as someone would undoubtedly be looking up. His actions were all about creating the perfect "accident."
So, he immediately chose to leave.
Downstairs.
Chuck was walking when suddenly the sky darkened and a massive object came crashing down, aimed directly at his head.
Intelligence and perception are related. A high IQ gives people a completely different perspective on the world. According to Sheldon, the world appears in completely different, even more vivid colors.
Photographic memory, high-definition image-like recall, and speed reading—these are all abilities beyond the reach of the average human brain's processing power.
But for a genius, these are simply innate talents, as natural as breathing.
Chuck's IQ was already among the highest in the world, and with the comprehensive enhancement from the Water of Life, his martial arts training in the Himalayas had fortified not only his body but also his spirit.
Through talent, hard work, and even a bit of enhancement, Chuck's perception had long surpassed human limits, his danger awareness almost prescient.
This was one reason he had remained unfazed by the professional sniper rifle prepared by the buzz-cut assassin who knew him. If the other party dared to shoot, he'd bet there were no bullets in the gun.
Whether there were or weren't, it made no difference to Chuck.
Even a sniper rifle would seem slow to him, but a heavy object falling from the sky was incredibly slow by comparison. He sensed it the moment it was pushed and looked up. In the seconds it took to fall, Chuck had calculated its speed, trajectory, and point of origin. He calmly dodged and immediately rushed into the building, texting on his phone as he ran.
He then took the stairs up to the sixth floor, crossed the building's corridor, glanced at the elevator, and quickly ran to the other staircase. He looked up and down, as well as at the fire escape outside. He ascended one more floor, then ran back down the other staircase, repeating the process at breakneck speed.
In his room on the 12th floor, the bald professor didn't hear the expected sound of the air conditioning unit striking someone. He immediately sensed something was wrong, but without leaning forward to investigate, he chose to evacuate, moving quickly but calmly down the stairs.
This was his planned escape route, avoiding the monitored elevators and preventing his face from appearing in any possible crime scene footage.
Because his distinctive appearance attracted attention, his freelance elimination business had grown rapidly since he'd started killing for profit. Although he could always cover up his work as accidents so that the NYPD wouldn't pursue investigations, if his face kept appearing at scenes of accidental deaths, it would eventually arouse suspicion.
As methodical as he was, he wouldn't make such an amateur mistake.
He had originally planned to go down the stairs to the third floor, then exit through the fire escape and leave quietly.
Then he sensed something was wrong again. He heard heavy footsteps echoing from the stairwell below, disappearing and reappearing rapidly. The sound grew louder and closer. He carefully looked down and was met with a pair of eyes looking directly at him. The gaze was calm and penetrating.
(End of Chapter)
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