Chapter 2010 - 1452: Expert, Huh? (2)

Angel blinked, then said seriously, "Because I told them, I'm gay. Hahaha!"

Song Heping was truly stunned this time.

"What?"

"Really." Angel laughed heartily, "Three years ago, my parents and Aunt Nancy arranged a blind date for me. The other party was the son of a senator from Massachusetts, good-looking and from a great family. I really didn't want to go, so I told my mom, 'Mom, I like women.'

Song Heping looked at her, eyes filled with disbelief.

"Did your mom believe it?"

"Of course not." Angel said with a smile, "But I said it so seriously, I even made up a girlfriend and told them we'd been together for two years. My mom almost fainted from anger and didn't speak to me for three months."

Song Heping couldn't help but laugh.

"And then?"

"Then?" Angel shrugged, "Then they gave up. Anyway, I still have two brothers and one younger brother."

She paused, looking at Song Heping, her gaze becoming tender.

"Besides, once you've tasted the finer things, you can't go back to the coarse."

Song Heping looked at her without speaking.

Angel reached out, gently smoothing the creases on his shirt.

"Men like you," she said, "Once I've met you, I can't look at anyone else."

The room was quiet, only the sunlight coming through the curtains, casting mottled shadows on the floor.

Song Heping lowered his head and kissed her forehead.

"Angel."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

Angel smiled and nestled into his arms.

"Thank me for what?"

"Thank you," Song Heping said, "For supporting me all these years. Rest assured... One day, I'll marry you."

Angel didn't speak, just buried her face in his chest, letting out a gentle sigh.

The sunlight outside slowly slanted west, casting a long shadow on the floor.

At 8 p.m., Song Heping and Angel had dinner at the hotel restaurant.

The restaurant wasn't large, only a dozen tables, dimly lit, with a candle on each table.

There weren't many guests, besides the two of them, there were only three other tables, all occupied by elderly couples, quietly conversing.

Angel ordered a steak, Song Heping chose grilled salmon.

The two opened a bottle of red wine, drinking and chatting as they ate.

"So." Angel poked at the vegetables on her plate with a fork, "Who are you really here to meet this time in Washington?"

Song Heping cut the salmon without immediately answering.

"Can't say?" Angel raised an eyebrow.

"It's not that I can't say," Song Heping drank a sip of wine, "It's just that you wouldn't believe it even if I did."

"Try me."

"Obama."

Angel's fork stopped mid-air, pausing for a moment, "Which Obama?"

"Which else?"

Angel stared at him for five seconds, then put down her fork and took a deep sip from her wine glass.

"Dear," she lowered her voice, "Are you serious?"

"Serious," Song Heping said, "Very serious."

Angel was curious, "Why? When did you get involved with him?"

Song Heping cut a piece of salmon, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

"As for him and me... Haha... Let's say it started with a little misunderstanding." He said, "As for why he called me here for a meeting, I don't know for now. But I think, since Mr. President wants to meet, I'd better show some respect, right?"

Angel was silent for a while, then nodded.

"Okay, I won't ask anymore." It seemed she realized some things couldn't be asked, so she raised her wine glass, clinking it against Song Heping's, "I wish you success."

"Thank you."

They continued eating, chatting off and on.

Angel talked about things in New York, about her troublesome painter, and some recent company troubles.

Song Heping listened, occasionally inserting a few words, his expression much gentler than usual.

In the corner of the restaurant, a man in a dark suit sat alone, a glass of whiskey in front of him, holding a newspaper. But his eyes occasionally glanced over to Song Heping's table.

Song Heping had long noticed him.

Since the moment they entered the restaurant, he had been sitting there.

For the past thirty minutes, he had only drunk less than half of that whiskey, flipping through the newspaper three times.

Another tail.

But this time, Song Heping felt something different.

The man's posture, the way he read the newspaper, the way he picked up his glass, everything was too natural.

Too natural, it seemed unnatural.

Song Heping put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said to Angel, "I'm going to the restroom."

Angel nodded, continuing to eat her steak.

Song Heping stood up, not heading to the restroom but directly towards the corner.

He stopped at the man's table, looking down at him.

The man looked up, a polite smile on his face, not showing any panic, "Sir, is there something you need?"

Song Heping didn't speak, just stared into his eyes.

Three seconds, five seconds, ten seconds.

The man continued to maintain his polite smile, his eyes calm like still water.

"Sir?" he asked, "Do you need help?"

Suddenly, Song Heping reached out, grabbing for his wrist.

The man's reaction was astonishingly quick.

As soon as Song Heping's fingers brushed against his skin, his wrist slid away like an eel.

At the same time, his other hand raised from under the table, somehow holding a table knife, its tip aimed straight at Song Heping's abdomen.

But Song Heping was faster.

He sidestepped, avoiding the knife's tip, simultaneously forming a fist with his left hand, punching at the man's ribs.

The man twisted his body, dodging the punch, effortlessly bouncing from the chair and stepping back, standing off against Song Heping.