Seeing others strike it rich made Bella feel a bit envious. Her investment in Koenigsegg had drastically shrunk the money in her hands—she was almost at the point of not being able to afford cosmetics anymore!
She accelerated her writing pace. Two days later, carrying a manuscript she had proofread three times—a total of 420,000 words ofThe Da Vinci Code—she boarded a plane to New York.
Bella was heading to Random House to discuss publication matters.
Los Angeles also had publishers, but in terms of scale, they were far inferior to New York.
Quentin Beck's Zodiac Killer sold well in California because the local buzz was strong. On the East Coast, however, the book drew little attention. Bella's positioning for The Da Vinci Code was global—there was no way she could hand it to a Los Angeles publisher.
Random House, HarperCollins, and Simon & Schuster—the top three publishers in the United States—were all based in New York.
If she wanted her book to reach more readers, she had no choice but to come here.
Her trip to New York also carried a private motive unknown to others.
Bella was truly fed up with the endless stream of troublesome incidents. Wherever she went, something went wrong—who could endure that? Coming to New York alone this time, she wanted to find out whether the problem lay with her own constitution, or whether she was simply being dragged into trouble by others. The "other" she had in mind was that cheap sister of hers…
After getting off the plane, she didn't head straight to Random House. It would've been pointless—they didn't know her at all.
She used her old method instead: leveraging connections and getting introductions through acquaintances.
Bella called the chubby old man she had met during the Death incident—old Professor John Grey.
Although she never enrolled at Bard College, she had maintained email correspondence with the professor, and combined with their earlier interactions, they were hardly strangers.
The professor welcomed her visit and personally guided her around Bard College.
After hearing her purpose clearly, Professor John Grey suggested that she leave the manuscript with him. He was a rigorous man—he wouldn't risk his reputation just to sing her praises out of friendship. At the very least, he needed to read it himself. Only after recognizing its value would he recommend it to his former students who worked as editors at major publishing houses.
This was a perfectly normal process. Bella had no objections; she'd originally planned to stay in New York for several days anyway.
"Thank you for the trouble, Professor."
"You're welcome, you're welcome."
After exchanging pleasantries, Bella politely took her leave. Professor John Grey invited her to visit his home, but she hurriedly declined. Absolutely not—your daughter is Jean Grey, right? If the Dark Phoenix were to erupt on the spot, could she handle it?
Better to stay far away!
After tactfully declining the invitation, she checked into a hotel for the night, then headed straight to the New York Public Library the next day.
There were quite a few people in the library. At this point, Spider-Man hadn't started running around here yet, so the interior was very quiet. Looking at the sturdy bookshelves and rows upon rows of thick volumes, inspiration suddenly surged in Bella's heart. She took out the paper and pen she carried with her and once again began her grand endeavor of writing—copying—books.
The New York Public Library stirred her emotions, reminding her of a very famous film from her previous life: The Day After Tomorrow.
The film depicted how melting polar ice due to the greenhouse effect pushed the Earth into a second Ice Age.
Faced with extreme cold, the protagonists sealed themselves inside the New York Public Library and survived by continuously burning books.
After the exercise of writing The Da Vinci Code, Bella's writing skill had improved considerably. The story of The Day After Tomorrow wasn't complex at all—turning it into a short story posed no difficulty.
She wrote furiously, re-narrating the story in her mind through text. By the time the library was about to close, she had already completed one-third—roughly eight thousand words.
As she organized the manuscript, her gaze lifted unintentionally, and only then did she notice an elderly man sitting across from her.
How long he had been there, she had no idea. In her perception, he seemed not to exist at all—yet her eyes could clearly see him.
Bald, gentle-featured, immaculately dressed in a suit and tie—and seated in a wheelchair. At that moment, the old man was smiling at her.
This was the mentor of the X-Men, the lifelong friend and enemy of Magneto—Charles Xavier, also known as Professor X.
Bella didn't pretend ignorance—there was no need to.
She knew Professor John Grey and Storm. It wasn't strange for her to enter Charles Xavier's field of vision. They had mutual acquaintances; they simply hadn't met before.
Curious about his purpose, Bella asked, "Professor Charles? Do you need something from me?"
The old man didn't answer directly. Instead, he gestured toward her short story. "Why is Miss Swan so pessimistic? In your understanding, is our world—our civilization—truly this fragile? Have we already reached the moment of facing the end of the world?"
Bella lowered her gaze to the manuscript. Judging only from the first half of The Day After Tomorrow, it did create the sense that humanity was on the brink of extinction—the misery was overwhelming.
She didn't explain the latter half of her short story.
Though her path differed from Professor Charles's, both were elites in the manipulation of mental power. Magic and superpowers, to a certain extent, reached the same destination by different paths; once elevated high enough, the distinction blurred.
Bella reflected seriously, carefully dissecting her inner world. Why had she written this story?
After five minutes of silence, she was surprised to discover that Professor Charles was right. Viewed objectively, her heart was indeed filled with pessimism about the future—only deeply concealed.
That pessimism was for her family, for Charlie, for Samantha, and for Black Widow, who had jumped off a cliff in exchange for the Soul Stone.
Stark's sacrifice drew crowds to his funeral—but what about Black Widow? Nothing. She died, and that was it, trapped in the world of the Soul Stone, utterly beyond resurrection.
Bella had never realized Natasha's place in her heart was so profound. Grief gathered strand by strand, forming a stream that surged from her psychic world into the material one.
"Why do I suddenly feel so sad?"
"I thought of my deceased father!"
"I don't know why, but I just want to cry!"
Bella's sorrow spread throughout the entire library. Those with strong wills wore bitter expressions; those slightly weaker broke down in sobs. The vast space seemed to be engulfed in endless grief in an instant.
Professor Charles's voice remained as gentle as ever. "Please calm yourself, Miss Swan. Do not continue spreading your emotions."
As for mental breakdowns of this sort, the bald professor wasn't alarmed at all—he had seen far too many. The more powerful a psychic, the more fragile they could be on the mental front.