9 PM.
A pure white GMC van drove into New York's Chelsea District.
The dilapidated streetlights cast colorful, dazzling reflections on the polished and waxed body of the vehicle, as resplendent as the city itself in its prosperity.
The driver, Nathan, occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror inside the car, looking at the rustic fellow sitting in the backseat.
This van belonged to the Angel Art Center's guest reception fleet, typically transporting clients from all over the world from the airport to their hotels, or from their hotels to the art center and galleries.
The company's clientele were always impeccably dressed, eloquent, and charismatic magnates, or perhaps nobility and royalty from Europe, as well as princes and tycoons from Middle Eastern regions.
But a guest like Song Heping was a first for him.
A baseball cap, T-shirt, tactical cargo pants, LOWA combat boots, and a dirt-yellow backpack.
This guy looked like a bodyguard.
Nathan wondered if he could be a bodyguard hired by Miss Angel.
He certainly had enough of a killer vibe. Nathan had served — though he had never been deployed overseas — rely spending so ti in the National Guard.
But he could sense sothing about this man.
He didn't know how to describe it.
However, he had a friend in the Ranger Battalion who had been deployed in Afghan, and after returning one year, they t up. On his friend, Nathan had also sensed this aura.
Out of curiosity, Nathan asked his friend what that aura was, and his friend replied it was the scent of death.
And now, the Chinese man sitting in the back had an even stronger scent than his Ranger friend.
However, Nathan could also see Song Heping's discomfort.
He didn't like this car.
He probably had never been in a luxury vehicle before, not even knowing how to lower the privacy divider between the driver and the backseat, just sitting there naively looking at the scenery outside.
A simpleton who hasn't seen the world!
Nathan thought to himself.
New York, one of the global art centers, is ho to nurous world-class galleries and art institutions, with one of the most concentrated and renowned gallery districts being Chelsea.
This is the heart of New York's contemporary art scene, especially along Tenth and Eleventh Avenues between West 20th and 30th Streets, where many internationally known galleries are located.
The Angel Art Center and its affiliated galleries were all within this area, specifically at 1211 West 20th Street.
Usually, at this ti of night, the art center and galleries would be closed, but today was different.
Even though there were no more staff in the art center's first floor apart from the security personnel, the lights on the second floor office were still on.
As the van stopped in front of 1211, Nathan hurriedly got out to open the door for Song Heping.
"SIR, Miss Angel is waiting for you in the upstairs office. Please."
"Upstairs?"
Song Heping turned to glance at the row of buildings along the street with their slightly dirt-yellow hue.
These weren't tall buildings, just two stories, and they looked a bit historic, probably quite old.
The first floor wasn't much different from a regular store with a white door and floor-to-ceiling windows, but the shutters were down, and the inside was not visible.
Nathan led Song Heping up to the front door and pressed the doorbell.
As they waited for the door to open, Song Heping looked inside.
Past the entrance was a hall-like space that seed rather open, with paintings hanging on the walls and so odd sculptures placed in various corners.
Art wasn't sothing that Song Heping understood.
One of the sculptures looked like a giant ice cream cone, the material unknown, topped with a lemon-yellow color, the middle purple, and the bottom a kind of iron-gray.
Beside this sculpture, there was another that was roughly the sa shape but with different details; the top was blue, the middle red, and the bottom white.
The two sculptures paired together reminded Song Heping of the comical, fat and thin monks from "The Deer and the Cauldron."
Renting such a large exhibition hall and office space in this area must not be cheap.
Song Heping also knew that art transactions are incredibly profitable, with much trickery involved, too complex and murky for the average person to dare to engage in.
This indicated that Angel's family power was extraordinary.
After about less than half a minute, a black security guard appeared inside. He was dressed similarly to a police officer and had a silver Beretta pistol at his waist, looking imposing.
Noticing Nathan outside, the black guard relaxed, moved his hand away from the pistol grip, and pressed the buzzer to let the two n in.
"Nathan, is this Mr. Song?"
"Yes."
After replying, he turned to Song Heping and said, "SIR, Bernie will take you upstairs, please follow him."
"Thank you," Song Heping said with a nod and a smile.
Hearing that he was a distinguished guest of Miss Angel, the black guard certainly didn't dare to be negligent, leading the way politely ahead.
"Mr. Song, please follow ."
Stepping into the exhibition hall revealed a suddenly spacious area.
Song Heping realized he had underestimated the scale of the interior.
Perhaps it was an intentional design by the architect; from outside, the place didn't seem big to Song Heping, but upon entering, the space on both sides opened up.
Song Heping had thought art galleries would certainly resemble museums, but the design here was entirely a very trendy style.
Pure white.
That was the concept of this place.
So white it was almost ridiculous.
From floor to walls to ceiling, everything was immaculately white, so much so that apart from the paintings and sculptures, there was no second color in the entire hall.
When he entered the hall and looked again at the Thin and Fat Friars he had seen through the door, their colors beca extrely striking against the white backdrop, even creating a kind of inexplicably impactful sensation that made one unable to help but take several more glances.
Then he looked at the paintings on the walls.
Although Song Heping couldn't even count to three when it ca to painting techniques, it was clear that many of the paintings were from cutting-edge schools, sowhat different from the world-famous masterpieces he was familiar with. Many contained no figures or landscapes, just lines, colors, and squares.
But just when hung on these pure white walls, he had to admit, they really started growing on you the more you looked at them.
"This way."
The security guard was very professional, leading Song Heping deep into the exhibition hall to a corridor on the left, where after walking more than ten ters, they ca upon a staircase leading to the second floor.
The second floor was all office space.
He walked down the corridor and stopped in front of a large, white wooden door at the end.
The guard knocked on the door.
"Miss Angel, Mr. Song has arrived."
"Bernie, let him in."
Angel's familiar voice ca from inside.
"Please co in, Mr. Song."
The security guard gently turned the doorknob, and the door creaked open a crack.
He gestured for Song to enter and then turned and left.
After the guard had gone, Song Heping stood frozen in place for more than ten seconds before he pushed the door open and entered.
Like the decor below, Angel's office was also characterized by minimalism and white color.
Seeing Song Heping co in, Angel lifted her head from behind her computer at the desk and smiled at him.
"Sorry, my hero, it was too busy today, and I didn't have ti to pick you up from the airport."
As she spoke, she stood up and walked straight toward Song Heping, closing the distance between them from several ters to just a few centiters.
Too close...
Song Heping slled a fragrance.
It was very pleasant.
He was almost certain the perfu wasn't cheap.
But he still wasn't much of a connoisseur of perfus.
Pleasant—that was his highest praise.
"Miss Angel..."
Before he could even utter a greeting, Angel sniffed around his neck like a cute Chihuahua.
Song Heping felt sothing brush by his neck, ticklish, and couldn't help feeling his body temperature rise a degree.
"You sll of gunpowder,"
Angel said.
Song Heping laughed, "Not just gunpowder, but also sweat. I've just co out of the jungle. Do you believe ?"
Angel's smile blossod, and she chuckled, "And you have a scent of manliness as well."
After speaking, she lifted her head from Song Heping's neck and stared straight at him, unblinking.
Her enchanting eyes slightly glazed, like a vortex one couldn't escape once fallen into.
Song Heping suddenly felt a kind of cheapness, as if he was delivering himself on a silver platter.
He was here to ask for Angel's help, and rationally, he should play along with her.
But if he did, he would get the feeling of being a kept man.
"Shall we... sit down and talk?"
He wanted to dilute the ambiguous atmosphere and couldn't help but glance at the sofa nearby.
"No, you need to take a shower first."
Angel stretched out her hand and playfully tugged at the corner of Song Heping's T-shirt.
Song Heping's body temperature continued to climb, and he couldn't avoid becoming flushed.
"So soon..."
He suddenly asked a question that he himself found rather foolish.
If such things were to really happen, they would be as natural as a river flowing into its channel, as inevitable as the breach of a thousand miles of dike, as unstoppable as a cascade of stars falling from the galaxy.
Still asking?
To ask is to be foolish.
Angel chuckled again, "What are you thinking about?! I an, go take a shower and change your clothes. I'm taking you to et so people. You're in a rush to take care of business, aren't you?"
"Oh!"
Song Heping's face turned completely red, and he was so embarrassed he nearly carved out a three-bedroom, two-living-room floor plan with his toes on the floor.
"You need to change into sothing more appropriate," Angel said. "I've arranged for soone from the n's store to co; they're waiting for my call. Go take your shower, and they should be here by the ti you're finished."
"Where should I shower..." Song Heping couldn't help but ask, "Should we go to a hotel now?"
Angel kept smiling, finding him far too amusing—a stark contrast to the other n she usually dealt with.
"There's a shower room right here," Angel said. "I have bought you toiletries and towels."
As she was talking, she pushed open a door in the corner to the right of her work desk.
"Go on in yourself."
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