bioinnovel Chapter 739 They are all right
Chapter 739 They are all right
Her question was both so natural and so precise.
If an ordinary person were to become interested in the conversation at the next table, they would likely use more vague terms—like "those special people," "those guys in the news," or "those kinds of superpower incidents." But she didn't. She used words that still carried a clear connotation in that social context and were prone to causing disagreements. And she didn't just talk in generalities; she asked—"Have you ever come across those kinds of cases?"
This is no longer just about being curious.
This is a tentative exploration with a clear direction.
Lynn went through all of this in half a second, but his expression remained perfectly calm. He picked up his wine glass, his tone even more relaxed than before.
Why are you suddenly interested in this?
Victoria shrugged. "Curious. Or rather, curious about how people in your system view it."
"Is the academic perspective starting to gather material now?"
“Maybe,” she smiled. “After all, from a literary perspective, ‘outcasts’ has always been a classic theme. Being feared, exaggerated, stigmatized, and mystified… Big cities like New York are masters at creating these modern myths.”
That's a very good point.
That's great, so great that it covers up the problem.
Victoria always knew how to cloak her questions in a harmless guise. Instead of directly questioning the system, department, or handling methods, she circled around "literature," "outliers," and "modern mythology," making it easy for one to mistake her for a genuine scholarly interest.
But Lynn couldn't help but be alert at this point.
He looked at her, his smile still lingering: "If you asked this question in class, it would probably get three papers written by the students."
“So I’ll practice on you first,” Victoria said. “Is that not allowed?”
“It’s not impossible.” Lynn put down his glass, his tone flat. “It’s just that this kind of topic isn’t as relevant to my work as you think. Most of the time, so-called special cases are just ordinary people’s greed, hatred, or fear in a different guise.”
The answer provided almost nothing.
They neither admitted to contact nor explicitly denied it, but simply shifted the focus to general human nature.
Victoria didn't seem surprised. She looked at him, the probing in her eyes not fading quickly, and continued, "So you're the kind of person who doesn't really believe that 'being born different' determines everything?"
“I believe that choices determine everything,” Lynn said.
"Even for mutants?"
When she asked the second question, it was so soft it was almost casual.
But it was this sentence that made Lynn completely certain: she hadn't acted on a whim.
The first instance could be attributed to a connection triggered by the person at the next table, but the second time she followed him in, it was no longer just curiosity. She was confirming his stance, or rather, confirming whether he was truly involved in this matter.
Lynn had already formed a judgment in her mind, but on the surface she only raised an eyebrow slightly: "You used this word twice today."
Victoria paused for a moment, then laughed, as if she had been caught red-handed about a small obsession: "Because I noticed you were avoiding it."
"I avoid many meaningless categories."
“But society doesn’t shy away from it,” she said slowly. “Some people are forced to live within categories, aren’t they?”
This statement goes a little deeper than the previous one.
It's no longer just something to talk about casually; it carries a certain clear value orientation.
Lynn stared at her for two seconds, then suddenly laughed: "Victoria, are you here tonight for a date, or to test my political ethics?"
Victoria looked at him, paused briefly, and then raised her hands in surrender: "Okay, I crossed the line."
"You've been researching this lately?"
“It’s not research.” She took a sip of her drink, her expression quickly returning to normal. “It’s just that one of my students was involved in a really bad campus conflict a while ago. A few self-righteous kids, because they suspected another person of having ‘mutant tendencies,’ doxxed and harassed him on an anonymous forum for a long time. In the end, things got really ugly. I guess I’ve been influenced by these kinds of things, so I tend to overthink things when I hear anything related to it.”
This argument seems reasonable at first glance.
It was even reasonable enough for someone who didn't want to ruin the atmosphere to take the step she offered.
Lynn did just that.
His expression relaxed slightly, as if he accepted the explanation: "What the campus has in abundance is people who disguise prejudice as justice."
"So you also dislike this kind of thing?"
“I’m disgusted by anything that uses labels to replace judgment,” Lynn replied.
Victoria looked at him, as if finally relaxing, and said softly, "That's alright. I was really afraid you would think I was offending you."
"now what?"
"Now I think you just don't want to discuss topics that might make people lose their appetite while eating."
Lynn smiled politely: "You're finally half right."
The atmosphere was then brought back to normal.
At least that's how it appears on the surface.
For the next twenty minutes, they chatted about books, exhibitions, and weekend plans, with Victoria not bringing up any related topics again. She even seemed more natural than before, as if she genuinely realized her earlier probing had been somewhat off-putting and was trying to salvage the situation. She told a joke about a student mistakenly including a Keats poem in a complaint email, and Lynn asked a couple of questions in response, then mentioned a small photography exhibition he had recently stumbled upon in Brooklyn. As they left the restaurant, the wind outside was cooler. Victoria stood at the door, pulled her trench coat tighter, and looked up at him, saying:
"I hope I didn't mess up this meal."
“It’s not bad yet,” Lynn said.
"Does that mean I still have a chance to salvage the situation?"
"We'll see how you perform after that."
Victoria smiled, her expression carrying just the right amount of ease and a hint of ambiguity: "That sounds like an invitation for me to keep trying."
Lynn didn't take it too seriously, only saying, "It's late, I'll see you to your car."
She did not refuse.
While waiting for a taxi, she stood by the roadside, her shoe tip lightly touching the edge of a puddle. As if suddenly remembering something, she turned her head and said, "By the way, there's a small public lecture at Columbia University next Wednesday about New York City myths and modern fears. The content is quite varied, but you might find it interesting. Do you want to come?"
Again.
It still revolves around the same core, just in a more tactful way.
Lynn showed no emotion on his face, only saying, "If I have time, I'll consider it."
“Then I’ll save a seat for you,” she said.
The car arrived. Before Victoria got in, she gave him a gentle hug.
The hug was short and measured, as if every advance and retreat was perfectly timed. She had a faint fragrance about her, and the moment she fell into my arms was enough to create a tender illusion. But in that instant, Lynn wasn't thinking about intimacy; instead, she was thinking—what did she want from me? The car door closed, and the taxi drove into the night.
Lynn stood by the roadside, the smile on her face gradually fading.
A gust of wind blew from the street corner, ruffling the hair on his forehead. He didn't leave immediately, but stood there for more than ten seconds, going over every detail of the evening from beginning to end: the timing of Victoria's questions, her choice of words, the angle of her follow-up questions, the speed at which she withdrew, and her explanation of the "student incident."
Everything went too smoothly.
It flows like a prepared substitute answer.
This implies two possibilities: either she is exceptionally skilled at improvising her lines, or she knew from the beginning what excuse she should use to back down once Lynn became suspicious.
Either way, it shows that she is not simple.
Lynn flagged down another car, and the first thing she did after getting in was not to reply to messages or close her eyes to rest, but to take out her phone and dial an internal encrypted number.
The call was answered quickly.
The voice on the other end was that of a young man, still sleepy from just getting off work and being dragged back to his desk: "You'd better really have something important to say, Lynn."
“Yes, there is.” Lynn looked at the streetlights receding outside the car window, her voice flat. “Open a private investigation line for me. The target is named Victoria—that’s the name for now. Columbia University faculty, specializing in literary history, blonde, in her early thirties. I need all her public and private records from the past ten years, the sooner the better.”
The person on the other end seemed to sober up a bit: "Your date?"
"From now on, she is not."
"Understood." There was a pause on the other end, and the tone turned serious. "What do you suspect?"
“She just probed me about mutants,” Lynn said. “It wasn’t a casual question; it was a prepared one. She used precise words and withdrew quickly. I need to know who she is, who she’s been in contact with, and who put her in front of me.”
A very soft whistle came from the other end of the phone: "This is interesting. How far do you want to investigate?"
“Dig everything you can.” Lynn paused, then added, “Don’t alert any of the departments with overt connections. Especially avoid the office’s public systems; I don’t want the people behind her to get wind of it beforehand.”
"Got it. What about Marjorie?"
Lynn's eyes turned slightly cold.
Yes, and Marjorie too.
If this "arranged date" was not accidental, then whether Marjorie was merely being used or was part of the chain needs to be investigated.
“Include the matchmaker as well,” he said. “I need to know who she’s been in contact with in the past month, who gave her advice, and who mentioned this woman.”
"Received. What time do you need the results?"
“Give me a quick test first, tonight,” Lynn said. “A deeper one, tomorrow morning.”
"You're going to have to work really hard."
“Since she dared to touch this line, it means the people behind her aren’t just here for idle chatter.” Lynn leaned back in her chair, her gaze falling on her blurry reflection in the window. “I don’t plan to dismantle her alone.”
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, then the young man's tone changed, and he was fully engaged in his work: "Understood. You want to let her continue to get close, and then feed her the signal in reverse?"
“If she really has a problem, then the people behind her will definitely keep her going,” Lynn said. “And as long as she keeps getting closer, she will always have to pass on messages, contact her superiors, or receive the next instructions. What I want is the big fish behind that line, not bait that I myself may not even know the whole story of.”
"So, will you continue to see her?"
"Yes," Lynn answered without hesitation.
The car stopped at a red light, and the cold light from an electronic billboard on the roadside briefly shone in, making half of his face appear sharp and calm.
“And it has to be even more natural than it is now,” he said. “She has to believe that what happened tonight only made me slightly uncomfortable, but it’s far from enough to make me lose my temper. Only then will she and the people behind her continue to think that they are still in control.”
"Use their plan against them."
“Yes.” Lynn looked at the green light ahead, his voice low and steady. “This time, I’ll set the pace.”
After the phone call ended, the carriage fell silent again.
Lynn didn't immediately message anyone; she simply held her phone in her hand, quietly recalling Victoria's last embrace that evening. That sense of proportion, that tenderness, that undeniable realism—and that's precisely what made it all the more dangerous.
A woman who is smart enough, good at reading people, and knows how to disguise her interests and stance is precisely placed in front of him, and he asks her about mutants indirectly.
If this is merely a matter of personal curiosity, then it's far too extravagant.
Therefore, it could never be just personal curiosity.
As the car turned into Midtown, Lynn's phone vibrated.
It was a message from Gwen.
How did your 'normal social interaction' go today?
Lynn stared at the line of text for two seconds, then replied:
"It might be more complicated than I thought."
Gwen replied almost instantly:
“I knew it. Once you say ‘not bad,’ trouble usually follows.”
Lynn looked at that sentence and actually smiled.
Then he replied:
"You might be right this time."
After sending the message, he looked up at the layers of night and lights in front of him, his eyes completely downcast.
After driving two blocks, Lynn glanced at her phone again.
Gwen didn't send any new messages.
The message "You might be right this time" was still hanging on the screen, like a leaky faucet, dripping slowly. He wanted to reply, but after typing two lines, he deleted them and finally just locked the screen, placing his phone face down on his lap.
The Midtown night view outside the car window receded inch by inch. Neon lights, brass lampshades on hotel porches, 24-hour pharmacy signs—the lights mingled together, staining the damp pavement with a kaleidoscope of colors. The taxi driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, probably thinking the passenger's silence was a bit unusual, but didn't say anything, only turning the radio volume down a notch.
Lynn leaned back in the back seat and closed his eyes.
He was still going over every word Victoria had said that evening, every pause, and the length of her gaze. He laid them out on the table like photographs of evidence, arranging them in a row, trying to find which one was taken at the wrong angle.
The problem is—they're all right.
The problem lies in the act of putting them out there.
He opened his eyes, watching the streetlights flash by outside the car window, and suddenly felt a little absurd. Three hours ago, he was standing in front of that restaurant waiting for a woman, thinking, "Maybe I should try a normal relationship." Now, sitting in the same car, all he could think about was "who she is" and "what she's going to do next."
The drop was so huge, it felt like falling from the second floor to the third basement level. (End of Chapter)