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 — merely spending some time in the National Guard.
But he could sense something 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 met 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 home to numerous 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 time 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 seemed rather open, with paintings hanging on the walls and some odd sculptures placed in various corners.
Art wasn't something 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 same 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 men 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 me."