Chapter 15-16

Chapter 15: Hidden Arrows

Without any pause, Bruce delivered a heartfelt and passionate speech. As he and Samson Bell bowed in gratitude together, the entire audience of guests and committee members stood up to applaud, forcing the two to express their thanks several times before the applause subsided.

Even those who doubted his qualifications and age, or suspected the legitimacy of his award, couldn't help but applaud Bruce's brilliant acceptance speech and his confident demeanor. His speech, seemingly simple but carefully worded, cleverly shifted everyone's focus to his youth, humility, and future, effectively blocking most avenues of criticism. Any further attempts to trouble him would only expose their lack of grace and reasonableness.

After the applause died down, the two didn't leave the stage, as there was a Q&A session to follow. Normally, if it were just Samson Bell, the attendees would likely be from more serious media and mainstream newspapers and magazines. However, with Bruce, a rarely interviewed but highly sought-after figure, present, reporters from both major and minor newspapers, including the entertainment section, swarmed in.

—"Bruce, you've told us to look forward to your future. Can you share what your next research direction will be?"

—"Thank you. Solar Corona is currently researching several projects, one of which is a collaboration with New York University, led by my mentor, Dr. Bell, focusing on enhancing place cells and grid cells to tackle the issue of spatial memory loss, such as early symptoms of Alzheimer's disease."

—"Bruce, has this research made any breakthroughs, and when do you expect to produce results or even apply them clinically?"

—"I'm sorry, but it's not convenient to disclose that at this time. We'll announce our progress when appropriate, thank you."

—"Bruce, there's been media speculation about you being seen in an intimate manner with supermodel Nasstya. What is your relationship with her?"

—"Nasstya and I are good friends, and this is irrelevant to today's topic. Please, no more questions on this. Next, thank you."

The larger media outlets would symbolically inquire about Samson Bell, but most of the microphones were passed to Bruce.

If they were merely ordinary mentor and student, Samson would probably kick Bruce off his student list the next day. However, with Samson having undergone a physical transformation, he appeared rather pleased instead.

Judson Moore, from The New York Times, was squeezed among the crowd, his body jostled back and forth, his face filled with hesitation.

Unlike the others, he came with a mission. The editor had communicated clearly with him to publicly ask Bruce a question that would embarrass him. However, the plan was nearly ruined before it even began—the moment Bruce modestly said he didn't deserve the award, attacking him became almost impossible.

No! I must make this kid look foolish!

As the Q&A session was about to end, Judson Moore gritted his teeth, pushed forward, and handed over the microphone: "Bruce, based on what you said, it seems that you were only named as a co-author of the report because Dr. Bell added your name. Does this mean you didn't actually participate in the project?"

"This... Oh, Mr. Moore, I guess you were asleep just now?" Bruce, seeing his name on the press badge, had anticipated such a question and responded without hesitation.

"As I mentioned earlier, I feel ashamed that I haven't done enough, but that doesn't mean I didn't participate in the research. I can also tell you that Dr. Bell and I have already communicated with the Lasker Foundation in advance, and we will donate the entire $250,000 prize to the National Foundation of Cancer Research for more research projects to help more people."

The selection of Lasker Award winners is considered a model of fairness, foreknowledge, and integrity, conducted by a committee of outstanding scientists from around the world.

Candidates are nominated by professional organizations from the U.S. and internationally without needing to apply themselves, ensuring a broad search for qualified nominees.

The selection process is confidential, systematic, detailed, and fair. If candidates do not meet the award standards, the committee may even decide to withhold the award for that year.

Therefore, as Bruce shrugged helplessly at the other reporters, they laughed knowingly, casting disdainful glances at Judson Moore for asking such a low-level question.

Crap!

I don't believe you didn't want to ask this question, you bandwagoners! Just wait and see how formidable I am! Ignoring the shoves from his colleagues, Judson Moore hastily continued: "There are rumors that many researchers at Ochsner Laboratory have objections because you're seldom seen in the lab. Is this true?"

If the previous question was somewhat normal, this one blatantly exposed Judson's intent. His relentless pursuit, armed with vague information, was clearly premeditated. Most people were surprised at Judson, feeling as refreshed as chugging a cold beer on a hot day:

thinking I'm like you, with no substance? Not looking down on me now, are you?

Even reporters who were initially annoyed and wanted to push this persistent questioner aside temporarily quieted down, eager to hear Bruce's response.

"I'm not sure where you're getting your information, but I'll address your question directly. As you know, my company, Solar Corona, was recently established and involves a lot of integration and operational tasks. It's also conducting research on several projects, so I can't be present for every single project all the time. We often communicate via email and phone, and everyone is very busy, so it's possible that some people see me less often."

Although Bruce remained smiling, his eyes flashed coldly, aware of the unusual targeting lurking in the shadows.

"I can attest that both previous and current projects at Ochsner Laboratory were proposed by Bruce. During the development process, we've been communicating about the progress and some key points, so the many objections mentioned by this gentleman are unclear to us. Would you mind giving us a few examples of who these many researchers are?" Samson Bell added timely, glaring angrily at Judson.

"But..." Judson hadn't expected such unity from them, nearly faltering under Bruce's icy stare, suddenly feeling a chill run through him, struggling to formulate a rebuttal.

Other reporters thought Judson was at a loss for words, quickly pushing him aside again. By the time he wanted to counter, it was too late, and he was pushed to the edge of the crowd. Especially when Bruce mentioned that due to time constraints, only one more question could be answered, people started muttering complaints about Judson making trouble, preventing them from asking explosive questions.

"Trying to be smart, wasting time."

"Idiot, I wonder which media he's from. The Lasker Foundation probably won't invite them next time."

"I've seen this guy, seems like a rookie from The New York Times."

"Who cares about those boring studies? Gossip about Bruce Lee is the hottest material!"

They had completely forgotten that they, too, were relying on this "rookie" to spill some juicy news about Bruce, quickly blaming him for everything.

As the Q&A session ended, the reporters dispersed under the staff's direction, and Judson became the scapegoat for those without any scoop, nearly being openly cursed at. This frustration was almost too much for him, but knowing he had incited everyone's anger, he lacked the courage to retaliate and could only leave dejectedly.

Facing his editor's wrath was inevitable; today was indeed a dark day...

Chapter 16: Approaching Death

"Crack!"

A sophisticated remote control crashed heavily onto the exquisitely patterned tile floor, its back cover and batteries flying several meters away.

A nurse clad in pristine white scrubs picked it up in a panic, her face a mask of shock. Surprisingly, it wasn't damaged—a testament to the remote's quality. Or perhaps, the person who threw it simply didn't have much strength left.

"Useless!"

Lowell Lockheed's face flushed with an unhealthy rosiness, the aged wrinkles on his face twitching as he struggled to sit up, gasping for air. The oxygen tube connected to his nostrils barely helped him breathe.

Compared to just half a month ago, this once top-ten power player had become significantly weaker. The doctors had just informed him, with evident trepidation, that his other kidney had been invaded by cancer cells. Despite the risk to his weakened body, a kidney transplant seemed to be the only option now.

"Sir, please take care of yourself," urged Charles Campbell, his loyal subordinate, with a face full of worry. He hurried forward to assist him back down, while the 24-hour medical staff crowded around, diligently caring for the aging powerhouse.

Several minutes passed before Lowell's labored breathing gradually eased. Despite the attentive care from the beautiful nurses, akin to serving an emperor, his eyes were filled with a mix of despair and madness. He could feel his body deteriorating day by day, everything beautiful moving further out of reach.

"Tell them, the original plan stands. Try to get more media on board, portray Bruce Lee as a fraud and a hypocrite," Lowell suddenly said after a long silence.

"Yes, sir. But it seems Bruce was prepared. His speech today almost entirely disrupted our plan, and his responses to the questions were flawless. It might be difficult to achieve the effect we initially hoped for," Charles Campbell replied, his face grave, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"That's because you haven't put enough pressure on him! No one is immune to mistakes; it's just that some people naturally handle pressure better, but they too have their limits," Lowell said, gasping for breath after just a few sentences. After a moment, he continued with difficulty.

"I told you to find some solid evidence, something that doesn't show any flaws, that can stand up to scrutiny. That's the only way to catch him off guard and make him panic. Look at that clown of a journalist! His efforts were as ineffective as tickling, only serving to put Bruce Lee on alert without any real impact!"

Charles Campbell, facing the criticism, remained silent, clearly frustrated as well.

The vast office, spanning thousands of square meters, fell into a brief silence. The young female nurses, as if under a spell, all bowed their heads, daring not to make a sound.

After a moment, Lowell sighed, his tone carrying a hint of a cold laugh, "I appreciate your efforts, Charles. But I don't have much time left. No matter how troublesome this young man might be, we must hit him where it hurts. Bruce Lee? It seems he has many secrets; we just haven't dug deep enough."

Bruce proved to be more challenging than expected. He appeared flamboyant and promiscuous, but that was just a facade. When you actually try to strike, you find he's like a hedgehog, covered in spines with nowhere to grab.

Solar Corona? A newly established company, its labs buried in research, focused on security, without even a single product on the market yet. There's no angle to attack from.

And Bruce himself? Flamboyant and high-profile? A young bachelor, never even claimed to have a girlfriend, which, in itself, isn't really a problem.

Only as a last resort did Lowell choose to attack his reputation, though he vaguely knew it wouldn't be very effective. But, for lack of a better option, it was all he had. Unfortunately, it seemed this approach wasn't very promising either.

The real issue was that Lowell no longer had the time to play this game. His illness, like an incurable pestilence, was relentlessly devouring his cells, his body visibly weakening day by day.

For someone like him, who clung to power, the more he felt his life force ebbing away, the more he became almost madly impatient. How could a hasty attack truly strike the opponent?

"Should we have Black Nest step in, take control of him directly?" Charles Campbell's eyes glinted coldly, his expression sharp as a blade, chilling to the bone.

"Given the caliber of people around him, I doubt they'd succeed," Lowell Lockheed said, silent for a moment. He had always disliked resorting to such measures, for breaking the rules of the game could lead to outright warfare, too extreme. But now, time was something he didn't have, and in desperate times, even the most extreme measures

, if they held a glimmer of success, had to be tried.

"I'll have them send their best," Charles understood his thoughts perfectly. After a moment of contemplation, he added.

"Keep it under control, choose a secluded place. The people involved must be reliable, can't lead back to us," Lowell compromised. He knew he was afraid, not of failure, but of the unknown death, an unstoppable demise no one could resist.

"Go ahead, I need to rest," the old man said, his voice drained of strength, slowly closing his eyes. He seemed like a tree rotting from within, devoid of any sign of life.

...

"The youngest Lasker Award winner: I don't deserve this award."

"Bruce Lee pays tribute to the Lasker Medical Research Awards: A great, magnanimous, and inspiring award."

"Samson and Bruce jointly win the Lasker Clinical Medical Research Award."

"Next target: Alzheimer's disease?"

"The hypocrite Bruce Lee—he's hardly ever in the lab!"

"Why does Samson cover for Bruce Lee?"

"Lasker Medical Research Awards under scrutiny: Bruce Lee sparks controversy."

Though they stood on opposing sides, Bruce and Lowell shared a certain hero's insight, their predictions about media coverage aligning closely. With both sides engaging in extensive PR, Lowell might have had substantial power, but Bruce handled the situation with finesse, leaving few media outlets daring to attack him with baseless theories. Aside from a few media determined to tarnish his image, most opted for compromise, not every outlet dared to sensationalize speculative judgments, especially given Bruce's exceptional speech at the award ceremony.

After all, praising this handsome young man seemed to sell better. Why did the public love watching this lucky guy? The media couldn't quite figure it out.

This was the stance of traditional mainstream media like newspapers, magazines, radio, and television. The online media was unanimously supportive.

Yahoo!-ABC: Bruce Lee—the American Dream of a new era!

Google: The youngest winner of the Lasker Medical Research Awards announced!

YouTube: Lasker Award winner Bruce Lee: Nasstya and I are good friends.

Facebook: The other side of genius Bruce Lee—a young man passionate about biomedical science.

AOL Media Work: The future of Solar Corona.

Twitter: Genius, charming, talented, and most importantly, incredibly handsome!

Look at that! The topic has clearly shifted. While Bruce's handsome appearance made him popular among the youth, more importantly, it was his close relationships with tech companies through Sheila.

Charles Campbell read through the compiled news one by one, Lowell lying on the bed with his eyes closed, but the twitching of his arms and the veins exposed betrayed his mood.

"Stop reading," Lowell said, letting go of the phone beside him. Such lukewarm public opinion, whether for threats or favors, was just a joke, utterly meaningless. "Is everything set with Black Nest?"

"They're on it, arranging everything as we speak. They'll act as soon as possible," Charles clearly knew what mattered to him.

"Hmm." In Lowell Lockheed's life, there had never been a moment as exhausting as this. It seemed even his illness sensed his weakness, laughing wickedly as it intensified its onslaught, leaving him without the strength to utter another word.

At this time, the sun was nearly setting, its last rays filtering through the open glass dome of Lockheed's top-floor office, casting a twilight glow over the room.