Andrew shook his head. “Although the Maya civilization can be traced back as early as 2000 BC, their true glory was after 600 AD. The prehistoric civilization I’m talking about predates the Maya, and its splendor far surpasses anything the Maya could compare to.”

“Earlier than the Maya civilization—could it be the legendary...?”

Andrew hurriedly reached out to stop Brian Carter from continuing, nodding solemnly. “There are too many people around here. Let’s talk about this later.”

……

Brian Carter locked himself in the bathroom, took out the Mohr stone necklace from his neck, and whispered, “Shadow, are you dead or not?”

Shadow poked his head out from the necklace, rather displeased, and asked, “What is it? I’m studying that poem you gave me.”

Brian Carter was exasperated. “I almost died just now, and you still have the leisure to read poetry?”

Shadow sighed and said, “If you can’t even handle such a small matter, you’re not qualified to be a shadow assassin. Some things you have to solve on your own. My physical body has already become formless—even if I wanted to help you, I couldn’t.”

“By the way, you did really well just now. When you saw blood, your heart contracted suddenly, hormones surged, and your brain started working faster. This shows that fighting and blood excite you. It’s an innate reflex—a talent of yours.”

Brian Carter frowned. “I get excited when I see blood? Doesn’t that make me a homicidal maniac?”

Shadow laughed. “There’s no use resisting. Even though your mind dislikes fighting and blood, your body reacts completely differently. I advise you to slowly learn to adapt. That day, I saw you endure the frenzied impact from the seventh brain region after taking the gene optimization fluid, and you didn’t give up. Even when your life was about to end irreversibly, you kept fighting. That indomitable will moved me, which is why I helped you.”

“Bloodthirsty instinct and unyielding will—these are the talents of an excellent warrior. You’re destined never to live an ordinary life. Alright, enough talk. I’m going back to study my poetry. ‘The bodhi tree is not a tree, the bright mirror is not a stand’—what a wonderful saying! I’m considering whether to study Buddhism.”

Brian Carter was speechless at Shadow. “You’re a super assassin—why are you studying Buddhism? Isn’t that a bit off track?”

Shadow replied indifferently, “I’m not like you. I became an assassin purely by accident. If I hadn’t met my master, I would have become a romantic poet. Both my mind and body are naturally averse to fighting, while you’re a born warrior. Our genetic talents are completely different. How could you understand my pain?”

Shadow, as if possessed, ran back to his own little world to study Buddhism before Brian Carter could finish speaking.

What a huge joke—a killer who terrifies the entire universe is, at heart, a romantic poet, while an ordinary bicycle courier is, deep down, a warrior longing for battle.

Could it be that everyone has an inescapable genetic talent hidden within them, just waiting to be discovered?

……

After such a major incident as a hijacking, the federal government took it very seriously. All passengers on the plane were summoned by the Federal Bureau of Investigation for questioning. Brian Carter, Andrew, and Logan Wright, the three directly involved, naturally underwent even more detailed interrogation.

After spending a day in Hawaii, Brian Carter finally boarded a plane to New York again. This time, however, it was a private jet sent by the Rothschild family.

The space on this private jet was much smaller than a giant like the A380, but it was far more comfortable. The leather seats exuded a faint scent of fur, the walnut table had clear, elegant grain—low-key yet luxurious.

“How did you figure out on the plane that the detonator was actually on that young man?” The big bald Logan Wright took a sip of vodka and asked.

The three of them had been questioned separately at the bureau and hadn’t had a chance to talk together, so as soon as they met, Logan Wright couldn’t help but ask about what happened on the plane.

“It was obvious. That young man was the mastermind behind the hijacking, because the burly man wearing the bomb was very respectful to him—one was the boss, the other the subordinate. Think about it: as the boss, how could he let his own life be controlled by his subordinate? So I concluded that if the bomb was real, the detonator had to be in the young man’s hand. There’s no way he’d let that clearly not-so-bright brute hold the detonator—it’s too dangerous. No one would do that.”

“Then I observed the young man carefully. There was still a trace of blood seeping through the bandage on his right hand, and his movements were unnatural—he was deliberately protecting his hand. This meant his right hand was really injured. To detonate a bomb, you need to use your hand. Since his right hand was hurt, he could only use his left.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but he kept unconsciously touching his pocket with his left hand. From the time he stood up to when he finally put his hand in his pocket, he touched it four times. And his pocket was bulging a bit—clearly, he was carrying something.”