Chapter 358: Appearing!

As soon as Pinkman finished speaking, the conference room fell silent once again.

All their previous discussions, in the face of Pinkman's words, suddenly became like a castle made of sand; a single wave crashing over it, and it was gone.

After a long while, Liu Xuemin said in a low voice, "We truly cannot let our guard down. The related capture plan must also be made as perfect as possible. How about this: in a moment, we will split up. Hank and I will go to the scene to divert the target, while Director Henry and the captains of the Pursuit Team go to the scene to set up surveillance. If there are any loopholes or anything that needs to be added, we will contact each other in time."

No one had any objections.

The meeting adjourned.

Hank walked out of the monitoring room holding his phone, his voice echoing in the corridor as he spoke with someone from the New York Cultural Relics Protection Committee.

Chen Xiong and Zhou Yun walked out side by side; the two did not speak, but the rhythm of their footsteps was perfectly synchronized.

Chen Zijin and Lin Xu remained in front of the control console, a floor plan of the Metropolitan Museum spread out before them, and the two were using pencils to mark the drone's flight path on the map.

Shui Ge finished drawing the last spiral line in his notebook; that line extended from the center of the paper all the way to the edge, without a single break.

Li Changyu and Pinkman stood before the window.

The sky outside was already completely bright, and the Manhattan skyline looked like a row of lights being ignited in the morning glow.

Li Changyu had his hands behind his back, his spine slightly hunched.

Pinkman's cane was tucked under his arm, both hands shoved into his trouser pockets, watching the cluster of buildings outside the window illuminated by the morning light.

"Can he really successfully complete this theft plan?" Li Changyu lowered his voice significantly.

Pinkman smiled.

He took the cane from under his arm, braced his hands on the head of the cane, leaned his body slightly forward, and his gaze passed through the window glass, landing on a small patch of dark gray clouds at the furthest edge of the Manhattan skyline that had not yet been touched by the morning light.

"Dr. Li, I have been a magician for my entire life. I have seen the best Magic Sleight of Hand, the most exquisite props, and the most ingenious creativity. I have dismantled the works of countless magicians, from street swindlers to world champions, from card tricks to stage illusions. My job is to tell them—how you are cheating. I make my living by this, and I take pride in it."

His fingers tapped lightly on the head of the cane twice.

"But this young man is different. His magic is not some simple street trick. Every one of his performances is overturning the industry's understanding."

Pinkman turned his head and looked at Li Changyu.

The gazes of the two old men collided in the morning light.

"You ask me if he will succeed..." Pinkman continued, "Dr. Li, in our industry, magicians have a rule: you do not go on stage to perform unless you have one hundred percent certainty. It is not because of a fear of failure, but because the essence of magic is not 'trying.' The moment you step onto the stage, the audience has paid, sat down, the lights have dimmed, and the curtain has risen. You stand under the spotlight, holding your props, facing a thousand pairs of eyes. You cannot say 'I'll try.' You can only say, 'Ladies and gentlemen, I will now perform a trick for you.'"

Pinkman switched the cane to his left hand, took a pocket watch out of his pocket with his right hand, glanced at it, and put it back.

"In two more days, we will know the result."

Li Changyu was silent for a long time.

His gaze remained fixed on that cluster of buildings bathed in the morning light.

He did not press Pinkman further.

Outside the window, sunlight had already shot through the gaps between the buildings, golden pillars of light striking the streets of Manhattan, striking the buildings that were waking up, and striking the treetops of Central Park.

The morning light made every outline exceptionally clear, like a painting that had been re-framed.

At the same time!

In an inconspicuous coffee shop a few streets away from the Federal Bureau of Investigation Command Center!

A young man wearing a dark gray hoodie sat by the window!

In front of him sat a cup of Americano that had gone completely cold.

Because he was wearing the hood of his sweatshirt, he only revealed half of his face, which was illuminated by the morning light.

The next second, he slowly picked up the cold coffee and took a sip.

Then, he glanced slightly to the side.

His gaze passed through the coffee shop's glass window and landed on the gray-white building across the street.

As the camera slowly zoomed in, the viewers in the live stream finally recognized Chu Chen!

【Holy crap, Chu the God has finally appeared!】

【The missing person has returned!】

【Chu the God's face is the only reason I watch this stream! He's really too handsome!】

【Finally here!】

【This angle is too handsome!】

The barrage in the live stream exploded instantly!

It quickly reached a peak!

Immediately following, the heat on the internet also soared in a straight line!

The news of Chu Chen's reappearance was like a bomb thrown into stagnant water; what it blasted out was not a splash, but a tsunami!

The six words "the day after tomorrow at twelve noon" in that declaration of war had been repeatedly chewed over, forwarded, interpreted, and speculated upon by hundreds of millions of people around the world over the past few hours.

Every character had been broken down into its radicals, and every punctuation mark had been endowed with some mysterious meaning!

On Reddit, a post was pinned to the top!

The title was: "XX hours until the day after tomorrow at twelve noon — Countdown Live Thread." The poster was a user named "WaitingForChu," registered for less than a day, but their post was pushed to the front page within minutes of being published.

The content of the post was very simple—a countdown clock, ticking second by second.

Below the clock, it was empty; the poster had written no text, posted no comments, and provided no analysis.

But the countdown itself was the greatest content. Every second it ticked, it was one second closer to that moment.

So close that everyone was holding their breath.

The replies to the post had already broken six digits. Every single reply was doing the same thing—waiting.

"I have never looked forward to a Tuesday noon like this before."

"I'm in London. Twelve noon the day after tomorrow is New York time; it's five in the afternoon in London. I took a half-day off. My boss asked me why, and I said I was going to watch someone steal a painting. He asked if I was crazy. I said maybe."

"I'm in Tokyo. Twelve noon New York time is one in the morning. I set an alarm."

"I'm in Sydney. It's three in the morning. I don't even need to set an alarm; I can't sleep at all."

"I am in Kibera. At twelve noon the day after tomorrow, I will be standing on that earthen slope. He was here last time. He will come again."

This reply from Kibera was screenshotted and spread across all social media platforms. On the screenshot, that line "He will come again" was circled by countless people, with "He will," "He definitely will," and "He has never let anyone down" written all over the sides.