Powerful psychic abilities were not meant to be used lightly—but that didn't mean they were never used. The bald old man quietly used his powers once or twice, without anyone being the wiser. Peeking into the memories of a few mediocre mages posed no difficulty at all.
There was no hierarchy of superiority between superpowers and magic. Take Omega-level mutants, for example—Vulcan could forcibly absorb magic. He regarded it as just another form of energy, something he could absorb without any hindrance.
Besides, with Storm by his side, it wasn't surprising that the bald old man knew about the existence of magic.
Bella answered candidly, "I'm different from them—and different from Ororo as well. I am—"
Charles quickly raised a hand to stop her and said with a smile, "Ororo once explained the principles behind magic to me. To be honest, I didn't understand it, and I still don't understand the strange energies you people manipulate."
He didn't pursue the topic of magic any further, instead turning to the real reason for his visit.
"Miss Swan, I want to work with you."
"Work together?"
"Yes, cooperate. I can tell—you're a good person, and you don't harbor hostility toward mutants."
Bella continued pushing his wheelchair, remaining silent as she waited for him to go on.
"But mutant ideologies are still in their infancy. This world isn't prepared, and mutants themselves aren't prepared either. And so, conflicts erupted abruptly."
The old man sighed. "The longer one lives, the more one feels their own powerlessness. When I was young, I tried to correct those mistakes. But what happened afterward proved that I wasn't right. Of course, my enemies weren't right either. When survival is at stake, no one is truly right."
Bella was a little confused. What did all this have to do with her? Did he want her to write a book about peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans?
"I hope to work with you—to use your perspective to make relatively objective judgments, weigh the pros and cons, and correct certain wrongdoings, whether committed by mutants or by humans."
Charles spoke in a roundabout way, but Bella understood the core idea perfectly.
To put it bluntly, he wanted to hire her as an enforcer. Mutants or humans—whenever someone did something that violated his values, Bella would step in and deal with it. Meanwhile, he could pretend ignorance and continue maintaining his image as a benevolent elder, both publicly and behind the scenes.
The old man was clever. He called it cooperation, not employment.
In other words, it was a transaction.
You help me capture a mutant planning destruction, and I'll help you once in return. You take care of another problem, and I'll offer assistance in some other way.
Bella found the prospect troublesome. "I'm still in a learning phase. If the enemy is too powerful, then I definitely—"
Definitely what?
Definitely couldn't beat them!
What if Professor Charles asked her to go after Magneto? Without the right timing and environment, she really couldn't defeat him.
The bald old man gently patted the back of her hand. "No rush. There's no need to deliberately change anything. Just follow the plan and do what you've been doing."
"Alright. I promise." For this kind of verbal agreement, Bella really had no reason to refuse. She agreed on the spot.
That afternoon, she flew back to Stanford.
…
The Da Vinci Code was selling like wildfire across the United States. In less than a month, it climbed to third place on the national bestseller list, and Bella's reputation as a beautiful author gradually surfaced through the publicity.
A reporter from the Los Angeles Times came specifically to interview her.
Her public persona was still the same old tale—pitiful, weak, helpless, and seemingly easy to bully—but this time, the photos were much better!
After all, in the public eye, Bella was already wealthy and had enjoyed the benefits of capitalist overnight fame. If she still dressed in rags with messy hair, it wouldn't be inspirational enough. Not American Dream enough!
Once her glamorous photos were published, praise poured in nonstop—especially on the "spiritual" level.
There were definitely plenty of people harboring filthy thoughts, but compared to her growing strength, Bella felt she could tolerate it. Some crude fantasies were inevitable. Let them indulge.
On Stanford's campus, Bella's fame rose another notch. Still, Stanford wasn't short on prodigies who made waves while still students. Her achievement was respectable, but compared to those who casually developed a program or algorithm and earned millions, she was still a step behind.
Stanford was too deeply influenced by Silicon Valley. Literary work wasn't exactly despised, but to top students, only talents in IT, economics, or medicine were considered real heavyweights. Everything else was just average.
"Oh ho ho ho—"
Inside her dorm room, Bella calculated her royalty income and couldn't help letting out a pig-like squeal of laughter…
At this point, The Da Vinci Code had already sold nearly seven hundred thousand copies. The hardcover edition was in production, and she had finished writing the Spanish and French versions, which she had emailed to Random House.
Her current royalty income alone exceeded one million dollars—and this was only the beginning. In her memory, The Da Vinci Code eventually sold 7.5 million copies in the U.S. alone. It hadn't even reached one-tenth of that yet.
Of course, taxes still had to be paid, and Random House wouldn't settle royalties until the end of the year. In other words, she still wasn't truly rich… yet.
…
The Zodiac Killer case had gradually faded from public memory in California, and the Paris human trafficking incident also seemed to have reached a satisfactory conclusion. Bella's family decided it was time for a family trip.
This new family had been together for nearly a year. Charlie and Samantha had gone to Spain for their honeymoon, and Bella and Natasha had gone to Paris to "sightsee," but the four of them had never traveled together—not even once. That was very un-American.
On Friday, Charlie called Bella—who was still at Stanford writing her new book—back to Los Angeles. The family of four was preparing to go on vacation.
"The Hunger Games? This is your new book? Oh—female protagonist!" Natasha flipped through Bella's manuscript and gradually became interested.
"Panem? A future utopian setting? I always thought you only wrote religious stories."
She read eagerly, clearly trying to find flaws so she could mock Bella.
But as the story progressed and she reached the part where the heroine volunteered to take her sister's place in the deadly Hunger Games, Natasha's eyes flickered several times.
The sisterly devotion—willingness to die for family—moved her. Still, she pointed at the passage and asked,
"Is this based on me? I'm the frail, blonde, blue-eyed little sister, and you're the heroic, dashing older sister?"
"Ah? Haha—"
Bella threw her head back and laughed. Her bargain-bin little sister had clearly misunderstood something. The Hunger Games was originally written that way—she was just copying a book. Where would she get the chance to insert her own real emotions?
But that was hard to explain. A misunderstanding was a misunderstanding—she let it be.