My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 16 Fishing for Sharks

Andrew Morgan was having a wonderful dream, with flashbulbs going off like stars and a champagne tower soaring into the clouds.

Suddenly, a tremendous force pulled him back from the clouds to the musty reality.

"Wake up, wake up!"

He groggily opened his eyes and saw Qin Han's face hovering above him, his eyes filled with excitement.

"Qin... what's wrong? Have the creditors come knocking?"

Andrew quickly reached for his briefcase hidden under his pillow—it was a professional habit of his, to always protect his most important documents.

Qin Han drew back the curtains, letting the blinding California sunlight stream into the room, finally waking the confused young man completely.

"How much operating funds did Mr. Zou leave you before he left?"

Andrew sat up, rubbing his neck which felt like it was about to break, and said while yawning:

"Not much, about three thousand US dollars. This is our food budget for the next month, plus any potential social obligations..."

"Three thousand?" Qin Han nodded thoughtfully. "That's enough. Quickly buy two round-trip tickets to New York!"

Andrew seemed frozen in place, taking a full five seconds to react before he managed to speak:

"New York? Qin, are you kidding me? Even the cheapest red-eye flight would cost at least two thousand US dollars!"

"And then what? Are we going to starve?"

As a competent assistant, Andrew felt obligated to stop this suicidal spending behavior.

Qin Han ignored his rebuttal and went straight to the telephone: "I'm going to make a call now. You hurry up and pack your things!"

Looking at the man in front of him, Andrew recalled the speech about "belief" from last night, and also the betting agreement.

In the end, reason prevailed over that damned desire for adventure.

This Chinese man always seems to have a strange quality that makes you want to believe him.

He sighed resignedly, "Fine, if I come back hungry, I swear I'll report you to Bruce for abusing international friends."

Qin Han gave an OK sign and dialed Luo Na's number at the newspaper office.

The phone was answered quickly: "Who is it? Speak quickly! I only have ten seconds!"

Her voice was sharp and urgent, clearly indicating that she was under some kind of high pressure.

"It is me, Qin Han."

"Qin? Good heavens, I don't have time for your lame jokes right now." Rona spoke rapidly, like a machine gun firing in rapid succession:

"The Rolling Stones! Their concert at the Forum in Los Angeles is in five days, and I'm so busy I have to count every second when I go to the bathroom!"

"Unless you have some major news like someone coming back from the dead, you'd better hang up immediately, or I'll blacklist you, and it won't matter how good your 'kung fu' is!"

"The 45th Annual Summit of the American Association of Newspaper Publishers." Qin Han had to raise his voice to interrupt the woman's incessant chatter.

The roaring on the other end of the phone stopped abruptly.

Lorna's voice dropped eight octaves, tinged with doubt: "How do you know this?"

"Nobody cares about these old-fashioned industry meetings except for bald editors-in-chief and politicians who want to run for office."

"Never mind how I found out, can you get a chance to attend the conference?" Qin Han tried to get to the point.

"Of course I could, but what would I do there? Listen to those old fogies discussing the boundaries of press freedom?" Rona scoffed.

"Listen, Rona," Qin Han's voice deepened, becoming magnetic and alluring, "Do you still remember that promise that would make you a legend in film history?"

"This opportunity lies in this boring meeting."

The crisp "click" of a lighter came from the other end of the phone; clearly, the woman was lighting a cigarette.

On one hand, there's the hottest rock band right now, a guarantee of viewership and a ready-made hot topic;

On the other hand, Qin Han was making empty promises, suggesting that they go to a boring conference thousands of kilometers away to find a so-called "historic opportunity."

Reason told her she should hang up immediately and continue serving the British rock star.

But her intuition—the very intuition that had once led her to uncover the Kennedy family scandal—was now screaming wildly.

Trust this man!

"Damn it..." Lorna cursed, seemingly complaining about her incurable curiosity.

Exhaling a puff of minty smoke, she said, "As the owner of the National Syndicate column, it wouldn't be difficult for me to get a few slots."

Seemingly making excuses for her impulsiveness, she explained to herself, "The conference is only three days long, and if everything goes well, we can get back to Los Angeles by Friday night."

"As long as the flight isn't delayed, I'll be able to make it to the backstage interview at the Rolling Stones concert."

"That's right, Ms. Rona, the time management master," Qin Han complimented.

"Stop flattering me, Qin. You'd better pray this trip to New York is really worthwhile."

"If I miss out on this Rolling Stone exclusive, I'll slice you into sashimi and feed you to the stray cats in Chinatown!"

……

Seven hours later, at an altitude of 10,000 meters.

The massive Boeing 707 pierced the clouds and sped toward the east coast.

Because of the limited budget, Lorna had to squeeze into economy class with the two men.

The cramped seat made her feel very uncomfortable.

She took off her sunglasses, adjusted her posture somewhat irritably, and with nowhere to put her beautiful legs in the cramped space, she finally simply stretched them out onto Qin Han's legs next to her.

"Tell me, Mr. Mystery," Rona said, her eyes burning with barely suppressed curiosity, "what are you going to find by tricking me onto this plane?"

Qin Han casually placed his hands on her legs, stroking them twice through her black stockings: "You should have heard of Peter Benchley, right?"

“Peter Benchley?” Lorna frowned. “Of course. A Harvard graduate who served as President Lyndon Johnson’s White House speechwriter for two years.”

"However, with Nixon taking office, these Democratic pens all lost their jobs."

She seemed to recall some recent gossip: "I heard he's not doing so well lately and is writing freelance articles for National Geographic and The New York Times to make ends meet."

"He will definitely be invited to these summits, but he usually attends as an 'industry consultant'."

"Don't tell me that the 'opportunity to make a name for ourselves in film history' we're looking for is this unemployed former presidential speechwriter?"

If they weren't on a plane, she would have loved to throw the coffee she just got in her hand at Qin Han's face.

"He's not some unemployed writer, he's a great white shark! My goal is to lure him in!"

"You'll know the specific details when you meet him in New York."

Qin Han leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and began to rest.

Seeing Qin Han's confident expression, Luo Na was so angry she gritted her teeth. She pinched his thigh hard and said resentfully:

"Qin Han, I swear, if you make me a laughingstock among my Hollywood colleagues..."

"Then I'll give myself to you and be your free bodyguard for life." Qin Han said with his eyes closed and a smile on his lips.

"Who cares!"