My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 31 News of the Bombing Across America

Kissinger's voice traveled across the Atlantic Ocean and across the North American continent on radio waves, reaching the west coast of the United States.

"As you can see, although we have many differences and have experienced countless arguments and conflicts."

"However, the pursuit of peace remains a consensus between us and the North Vietnamese delegation that has never wavered..."

The broadcasting room fell silent instantly, with only the beeping of the equipment echoing in the background.

Mick Jagger, who had been casually twirling the skull ring on his finger, stopped and listened intently with wide eyes.

The sound from across the sea continues:

"Based on this common ground, both sides have reached an agreement on ending the war and restoring peace."

"We will formally sign the ceasefire agreement at this moment."

"Specific details and terms will be jointly announced by the White House and Hanoi at a later date."

"Click, click, click..."

The simultaneous clicking of hundreds of camera shutters created a noise storm.

The war is truly over.

The live stream room fell into a deathly silence. Rona and Mil, who were usually very talkative, were speechless.

"Cough." A soft cough.

Qin Han picked up the teacup beside him, smiled, raised it to Luo Na, and mouthed, "Congratulations."

The soft cough immediately snapped the female anchor out of her daze.

She completely abandoned the professional demeanor expected of a host, and excitedly shouted into the microphone:

"Listeners! Did you hear that? Just now! At this very moment! History has changed!"

"Mick! This is the prophecy I mentioned to you before! God, it really happened! Right here, in our witnesses!"

Mick Jagger grabbed the microphone, slammed his head on the table, and roared:

"This is fucking insane, Lorna! The Vietnam War is over? Damn it, I'm going to write a song! I'll write it tomorrow!"

The duo's wild voices bombarded the entire United States, leaving countless rock enthusiasts who stayed up all night to follow their idols stunned in front of the radio.

East Coast, New York.

The sound coming from the radio made Peter jump up from his chair as if he had been electrocuted.

"Really...really signed?"

"That Chinese man... Qin Han... is he a devil?"

He muttered to himself, the confusion in his eyes completely washed away by ecstasy, and rushed to the desk like a madman, grabbing the telephone receiver.

"Beep...beep...beep..."

Busy.

"Fuck! Answer the phone! Max, you idiot!"

Peter slammed the hook and dialed again.

Still busy.

"Fuck you! Answer it now!"

At this moment, in a luxury apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side, the party was over, and Max Frankel got out of bed with a splitting headache.

The phone rang incessantly like a death knell, forcibly dragging him out of his drunken slumber.

The blonde woman he had just met grumbled in dissatisfaction, turned over, covered her ears with a pillow, and revealed a towering, snow-white mound.

"Damn it, what's going on?" he cursed as he grabbed the receiver.

"Frankel! Turn on the radio immediately! Switch to the West Coast Lorna Syndicate channel!"

The person on the other end of the phone was the newspaper's editor-in-chief, and his voice sounded as if he had just witnessed aliens landing on Earth.

"The Vietnam War is over! Kissinger signed the treaty in Paris!"

"What?" Max's drunkenness vanished instantly, and he scrambled to the radio and pressed the switch.

The voice coming from the radio was so real that he was convinced he wasn't dreaming.

"Damn it...damn it!" Cold sweat instantly seeped from his palms.

As the editor-in-chief of the political section of the largest newspaper in the United States, it would be a serious dereliction of duty not to produce a substantial in-depth report at such a historic moment!

But it's already past midnight, where can I find a reliable manuscript?

Simply reprinting news agency reports? Does The New York Times have no shame?

Max paced anxiously in the room, when suddenly his gaze fell upon the fax machine.

On the tray, a few sheets of paper lay quietly.

He recalled what Peter had yelled on the phone—"Top secret, exclusive information about the Vietnam War."

Max's heart pounded, and he lunged forward.

As soon as he saw the headline, he knew he had hit the jackpot today!

This is a near-perfect in-depth feature article!

"My God... does Peter still have informants in the White House?"

Just as he was reflecting on this, the phone rang again, and he quickly picked up the receiver.

"Feed? Is that Peter?! Oh my god, it's me, Max!"

The editor-in-chief, who had been so aloof just moments before, now spoke with a voice as gentle as Peter's long-lost brother.

"Old pal, I just read your draft carefully. It's a masterpiece! Sharp writing, unique perspective, and it maintains the same level of quality you had in the White House!"

"What? I said I'd only commission an article next Monday? Impossible! I must be drunk. That's a huge misunderstanding!"

Max said urgently, "Listen, Peter. I need this article, for tomorrow's front page! You name the price, or come to the paper now and we'll talk in person!"

"No, it's not just about the payment for articles. I think we could talk about starting a column for you..."

After hanging up the phone, Peter walked to the window and looked at the snowflakes falling outside.

"call--"

He let out a long breath, feeling as if he were floating, and couldn't help but pump his fist and applaud himself.

The applause echoed crisply in the empty room.

On the radio, Lorna Barrett was still discussing peace with Mil.

Peter's gaze fell on the novel outline, and his eyes became incredibly determined.

I'll call Lorna after the show ends.

As a person, one must keep one's word.

……

The red "ON AIR" indicator light finally went out.

It was already four in the morning, but the broadcasting room was filled with an almost frenzied atmosphere.

No one felt tired. Even the staff who had stayed up all night were glowing with health, as if they had just received a shot of adrenaline.

They witnessed history!

The moment she took off her headphones, Rona jumped up excitedly and gave Mil a big hug.

Then, her gaze fell on the man sitting on the sofa, who was smiling faintly as he drank tea.

She blew me a big kiss!

Renée Russell sat beside Qin Han, her heart filled with turbulent emotions.

Just a few hours ago, he was just a friendly neighbor wearing a pink apron, with impressive skills and excellent cooking abilities.

Now, seeing these big shots who usually live in the clouds looking at him with admiration, Renee felt that he was more like an omnipotent superman.

He said he was going to take me to make a movie, and he really wasn't joking!

"Hey! My friend!"

With a strange cry, Mick Jagger jumped off the anchor desk and onto Qin Han's sofa in three quick steps.

The Rolling Stones' lead singer had absolutely no superstar airs; his face was almost touching Qin Han's nose, and his eyes were filled with childlike curiosity and enthusiasm.

"A prophet! Hmm? Or a wizard from the East?"

"Tell me quickly, how did you know?"