Crow

The night wind in March was like a blade, cold and stinging.

Darnell rode that old-fashioned road bike with the intensity of a Harley.

The chain emitted a rhythmic clicking sound in the night, and as the two wheels rolled over the potholed asphalt of Queens, the frame shook incessantly like a rocking chair.

Yet Darnell's spine remained rigid; he had adjusted the seat to its lowest setting, his backside barely touching the cushion, his entire body hunched like a crouching leopard, legs pumping in alternation, each stroke accompanied by the groan of the chain.

"Bro, let me tell you..."

Even while sprinting at high speed, Darnell continued to shout, not at all worried about losing his breath.

"Today I rode this bike into Queens, and a bunch of Ni Ge on motorcycles were riding alongside me. I outpaced them for three blocks, for real, the one on the Yamaha asked me, 'Brother, do you have an engine in your legs?'... I really am just that amazing..."

Lin An sat on the back rack, one hand gripping Darnell's shoulder, the other pressing down on the strap of his backpack.

He was currently dressed in the standard attire of a Chinese College Student... a dark gray hoodie, faded jeans, and white sneakers. A pair of non-prescription black-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, making his eyes look gentle and harmless behind the lenses.

His backpack was stuffed with a few second-hand textbooks gifted by his online followers, including Volume I and II of Financial Stochastic Analysis, as well as a copy of Options, Futures, and Other Derivatives.

"Bro, you look exactly like a top-tier college student!"

Darnell glanced back, then turned his head forward again.

"Are you really not one?"

"Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not."

Lin An's voice drifted in the wind.

"I don't know either."

"That's damn unfortunate. God must have been jealous of your brain, which is why He took your memories away."

Mid-conversation, Darnell accelerated. The bike moved so fast that the streetlights blurred into streaks of orange light, forming a flowing river. The tires of the road bike emitted a faint hum against the asphalt, like some high-speed piece of machinery.

At 11:50 PM, they had already passed Jamaica Avenue.

As the bicycle passed Queens Central Prison, the gray concrete walls loomed in the night like a slumbering beast.

The barbed wire atop the walls glinted coldly under the moonlight, and a searchlight swept slowly across the street, its beam lingering on them for a second.

Darnell subconsciously hunched his body lower.

"Don't be nervous."

Lin An said.

"I'm not nervous." Darnell's voice was half an octave higher than before.

"I just feel that a place like a prison isn't worthy of a good person like me."

"That pair of Nike shoes you 'borrowed' from the neighboring community a while back—have you worn them?"

"...That was a donation, from the rich to the poor. I was just assisting with logistics."

The beam of the searchlight swept past, and Darnell straightened his back, his speed not faltering.

As they turned onto Queens Boulevard, two headlights appeared ahead.

A police car was parked on the side of the road, its hood still radiating heat. Two officers leaned against the car door, holding coffee cups.

One of them saw the rapidly approaching bicycle, set down his cup, and raised a hand to signal them to stop.

Darnell slammed on the brakes, the tires of the road bike letting out a sharp screech against the asphalt.

"Bro..."

Lin An lowered his voice, his lips barely moving.

"Don't panic, let me handle it."

As he spoke, he had already hopped off the back of the bike.

"Good evening, officer."

Lin An's voice was steady and polite, carrying a distinct Chinese accent, yet every word was enunciated clearly and formally, as if he were reading from a textbook.

Both officers were white, in their thirties, their badges reflecting the streetlights. The one speaking had a bit of a gut, his name tag reading "Costello," and his hand rested on his belt.

The other leaned against the car door, his coffee cup steaming, his eyes lingering on Darnell for two seconds.

"What are you doing out this late?"

Costello's gaze shifted from Lin An to Darnell, then back again.

Darnell opened his mouth.

Lin An had already taken a half-step forward. He took off his backpack and pulled out a copy of Financial Stochastic Analysis from the side pocket, cover facing outward, the Columbia University Press logo clearly visible under the streetlight.

"Officer, we are students from Columbia University."

Lin An smiled, his eyes behind the lenses gentle and harmless.

"I just came out of a study room in the Mathematics Building, and my friend came to pick me up. We were discussing..."

He looked down at the book in his hand, flipping to a page filled with dense, complex formulas.

"...the application of stochastic differential equations in the Black-Scholes model. It is a very meaningful academic exchange activity, you know?"

Costello stared at the page of formulas for two seconds, then looked up at Lin An's face.

That refined, non-threatening Asian face, paired with black-rimmed glasses and a clean hoodie, looked like a nerd who had just stepped out of the library under the streetlights.

"Are you from Columbia?"

"Yes, Officer. Department of Mathematical Finance, doctoral student." Lin An's tone was as sincere as if he were reporting to a professor.

"This is my student ID."

He pulled a card from his hoodie pocket and handed it over.

It was a gift from the barrage master, a genuine Columbia student ID, except Lin An had replaced the photo with his own and resealed the plastic laminate; even under close inspection, there were no flaws to be found.

Costello took the student ID and checked it under the streetlight; the person in the photo was indeed the face before him. The name read "Lin An," followed by a long string of student ID numbers, with an expiration date of 2010.

The other officer, the one holding a coffee cup, leaned in to take a look, then let his gaze fall on Darnell.

"Is he from Columbia too?"

Darnell stood up straight, hands on his hips, trying his best to look like a college student.

But his 38-year-old face and his street-style hoodie and cargo pants were separated from the words "Columbia student" by the entire Hudson River.

"No, Officer."

Lin An spoke for him.

"This is a guide I hired."

He shrugged.

"Taxis in New York aren't exactly cheap, so I had him bike me back."

Costello returned the student ID and glanced at Darnell again.

"Fine."

He switched the coffee cup to his left hand and waved his right hand toward the bicycle.

"Stay safe, and don't ride so fast that you drop the kid."

"Thank you, Officer."

Lin An bowed slightly.

"Have a pleasant shift tonight."

Costello had already turned and walked toward the police car.

Darnell hopped onto the bike, Lin An sat back on the rear rack, and the tires of the old roadster crunched back onto the asphalt, accelerating from zero to full speed in an instant.

It was a minor, harmless episode; thanks to Lin An's face, the police on the road let Darnell, who had the face of a mob boss, off the hook.

In 2009, New York was at a time most unfriendly to people of color, as the New York police were enforcing a stop-and-frisk policy signed by the governor of New York State and vigorously promoted by the mayor of New York City.

During this period, a Ni Ge out alone was at the highest risk; if New York police saw one, they would likely make him stop and then conduct a search.

In this process, if the Ni Ge cooperated, the police would simply humiliate him a bit, and after confirming that his documents were in order and he had no criminal record, they would let him go.

If the Ni Ge showed resistance or non-cooperation during this process, or even had a criminal record, then at best he would get a brutal beating, and at worst, he would suffer from heavy metal poisoning—dying for nothing.

In the United States at this time, due to the rise of Obama and some other special reasons, political correctness regarding Black people had already emerged, but its influence was not yet significant, and the concept of white supremacy remained as solid as a rock.

Therefore, if the families of people of color who were beaten to death wanted compensation, it was basically an impossible task.

Thus, without Lin An's company, Darnell would never have dared to go out at night.

The bicycle rode across the Queensboro Bridge, and the Manhattan skyline unfolded before their eyes.

The spire of the Empire State Building glowed with white light, the silver spire of the Chrysler Building reflected the streetlights in the night, and further south, the site of the World Trade Center remained in darkness; that gap looked like someone had gouged out a piece, and it hadn't healed even after three years.

But Broadway didn't care about such things.

Just past midnight, this main artery running through Manhattan was still awake.

The neon lights of the Theater District were still flashing, and massive posters for Broadway musicals hung from the buildings: Chicago, The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera... those golden fonts and glamorous stills shone in the night like the entrance to another world.

The electronic screens of Times Square illuminated the entire street like daylight.

Coca-Cola advertisements, Samsung screens, NASDAQ stock indices—red, blue, and green, layered one after another, splashing light onto everyone who passed by.

Several flamboyantly dressed street performers were still working... a woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty stood on the steps, her green robe glowing with an eerie fluorescence under the lights; a young Black man was using his gloves to mimic Michael Jackson's dance moves, his hat extended, waiting for tourists to toss in money.

Taxis drove by one after another, their yellow bodies reflecting the light of the advertisements like flowing amber. Men and women in suits emerged from the theaters, women in high heels, men with loosened ties, standing in twos and threes by the roadside waiting for cars, still discussing the plot they had just seen.

A line was still forming at the entrance of an Italian restaurant, where white tablecloths and red candles could be seen behind the glass windows, and waiters in black vests moved between the tables with trays.

Next door, a bald, muscular man in a leather jacket stood at the entrance of a bar with his arms crossed over his chest, the muffled sound of electronic music and indistinct laughter leaking through the door crack.

Further north, past Times Square, the lights dimmed slightly, but there were still plenty of pedestrians on the street.

A Starbucks was still open, with a few people sitting inside facing their laptops, their cups holding who knows which refill of coffee.

A homeless man was curled up on the ventilation grate outside the Starbucks, wrapped in a dirty blanket, with cardboard underneath him, and a few scattered coins lying in a paper cup beside him.

Lin An's gaze lingered on him for a second.

The live comments scrolled before his eyes.

[Broadway, a world of glitz and glamour.]

[What's the difference between the homeless over there and the ones in the Jamaica Community?]

[The homeless in Jamaica don't even have vents to sleep on.]

[That's New York for you; heaven and hell are separated by a single street.]

[That homeless guy won't be sleeping for long. Look, the police are coming; they're going to chase him off.]

Lin An withdrew his gaze.

He thought of the Jamaica Community. Those people lining up at church doors for food, those faces so thin their cheekbones protruded, those shadows wrapped in tattered blankets sleeping in front of abandoned storefronts.

Old Joe, the old man in the basement who smiled at the hope of the future, and those even younger, even more desperate, whose eyes held no light at all.

The lights of Broadway could not reach Jamaica.

The darkness of Jamaica could not swallow the light of Broadway.

They shared the same city, yet lived as if in two parallel worlds.

Darnell slowed down.

"Bro."

Darnell's voice suddenly dropped, no longer shouting or rambling.

"You still haven't told me what we're actually here to do."

He parked the bike under a streetlamp, braced his feet on the ground, and looked back at Lin An.

Lin An didn't rush to answer. He hopped off the back seat, unzipped his backpack, and rummaged through it.

First, he pulled out a neatly folded, bright white T-shirt... the front printed with the Statue of Liberty and the bold red letters "I NY," the back featuring a silhouette of the Empire State Building.

A typical tourist souvenir shirt, the kind that costs twenty-nine ninety-nine.

"Put it on."

Lin An tossed the T-shirt to Darnell.

Darnell caught it, unfolded it, and his brow furrowed into a knot.

"Bro, this thing is for white tourists. I'm a Black guy; if I wear this, people will think I'm the one selling the shirts."

"Put it on."

Lin An repeated himself, his tone unchanged.

Darnell glanced at him, then at the glaringly bright T-shirt, sighed, took off his hoodie, and pulled on the souvenir shirt.

The white fabric looked so bright against his dark skin it seemed to glow.

"What do I look like now?"

"Like a happy tourist."

Lin An pulled something else from his backpack... a silver Canon digital camera, PowerShot series, palm-sized, with a wrist strap.

"When did you buy that?"

Darnell asked.

"Idiot, I'm a wizard!"

"I forgot."

Darnell took the camera, turning it over in his hands.

"I know how to use it. My sister's is even more expensive than this. She makes me take photos for her, and if they're bad, she yells at me."

"Perfect, then you're my personal photographer now."

Before Darnell could retort, Lin An had already pulled a second souvenir shirt from the bag... deep blue, with the white words "Columbia University" printed on the chest, and the Columbia lion crest below.

He pulled it on himself and stuffed his gray hoodie into the backpack.

The deep blue T-shirt, paired with his black-rimmed glasses and that refined Asian face, made him look exactly like a College Student who had just finished shopping at the campus souvenir store.

"You're fucking prepared for everything."

Darnell muttered.

"It's called tactics."

Lin An zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulders.

"Let's go, eat first."

Broadway had a few shops still open near 112th Street.

A pizza shop's lights were still on, and slices of pizza in the glass display case glistened under the heat lamps.

Next door was a Turkish kebab shop, the rotating spit of meat sizzling on the iron plate, the air filled with the scent of cumin and onions.

A few steps further was a small deli—Deli & Go, with a green awning that read "Open 24 Hours."

Lin An pushed the door open and walked in.

The deli wasn't large; the shelves were stocked with potato chips, candy, and energy bars, while the refrigerated cabinets against the wall held an assortment of drinks. In the very back was a small hot food section, where an electric stove held two stainless steel vats—one filled with coffee, the other with hot water.

Next to them was a warming cabinet containing a few hot dogs and chicken wraps.

The owner was a middle-aged man with South Asian features, wearing a plaid apron and watching a cricket match on a small television. When he saw Lin An enter, he gave a slight nod of his chin.

"What do you need?"

"Two chicken wraps, two coffees."

Lin An pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

The owner moved with practiced efficiency, using tongs to pull two chicken wraps from the warmer, wrapping them in foil, and placing two paper cups under the coffee machine before pressing the button. Dark brown liquid flowed out, steam rising with a bitter, roasted aroma.

"Seven-fifty."

The owner counted out the change.

Lin An stuffed the change into his pocket and picked up the two cups of coffee.

Darnell picked up a chicken wrap and took a bite, mumbling something indistinctly—it sounded like "it's edible."

The two of them sat down on plastic stools by the deli window.

Outside the window was the night on Broadway. The light from the streetlamps spilled onto the damp asphalt... a street sweeper must have passed by at some point, leaving the ground looking like a black mirror, reflecting the neon lights and headlights.

Lin An pulled his camera over, hung it around his neck, and then picked up his coffee cup, taking small sips.

He didn't particularly like the bitterness of American coffee, but at this moment, the bitterness helped keep him alert.

The chat was scrolling.

[Is the streamer pretending to be a tourist?]

[Darnell wearing that I NY shirt looks like a bodyguard for the Statue of Liberty.]

[The camera is a prop, the coffee cup is a prop too.]

[Does having a coffee cup stop the police from questioning you?]

[Having food and drink in your hands is basically telling the police, "I'm just a normal person."]

[The wonders of social engineering.]

Lin An finished his chicken wrap, crumpled the wrapper into a ball, and tossed it into the trash can. Darnell had eaten faster than him and was already licking his fingers.

"Your chicken wrap tastes better than mine."

Darnell said.

"They're the same."

"They aren't. Yours has more chicken."

"That's because yours had a bite taken out of it by me."

"...Damn it."

Lin An stood up, picked up his coffee cup, and adjusted the camera around his neck. He walked to the door and pushed it open; the night wind rushed against his face once more.

Darnell followed him out, also carrying his coffee cup.

"Now what?"

"Follow me, don't look around, and keep holding your cup like a normal tourist."

"What's a 'normal tourist'?"

"It means walking while drinking coffee and occasionally stopping to take a photo."

Darnell raised his camera, aimed it at the fire escape of an old building across the street, and clicked the shutter. The flash went off, looking exceptionally glaring in the night.

"What are you doing?" Lin An frowned.

"Taking a picture. Didn't you say to act like a normal tourist? Tourists are supposed to take pictures."

Lin An glanced at him but didn't say anything else.

The two of them walked south along Broadway.

The coffee cups in their hands steamed, the vapor turning into white mist in the cold air. A police patrol car drove past them; the officers inside took one look and kept driving without stopping.

Coffee cups, souvenir shirts, and an Asian face—when police eyes swept over pedestrians like these, they automatically lowered their threat assessment.

This was something Lin An had learned from the chat.

They reached the intersection of 110th Street.

Lin An stopped.

Darnell stopped as well.

"Is this the place?"

Darnell asked.

Lin An didn't answer; he was observing his surroundings. To the north were the iron railings of Columbia University, to the south was the fading stretch of Broadway, to the west was Amsterdam Avenue, and to the east was the entrance to Morningside Park.

A taxi drove past them, its taillights dragging two red lines across the wet pavement.

A woman walking a dog approached from the opposite side, bundled in a thick down jacket; the dog, a small brown breed, wore an equally thick coat.

The woman glanced at Darnell and quickened her pace.

"She thinks I'm a mugger."

Darnell said in a low voice.

"You're wearing an 'I NY' t-shirt and holding a coffee cup. What kind of mugger dresses like that?"

"You don't get it. In Manhattan, if a Black guy wears an 'I NY' shirt, people think I'm being sarcastic."

Lin An didn't respond; he raised his camera and pressed the shutter, aiming toward the southeast.

The flash flickered once.

The photo captured the intersection of Broadway and 110th Street: the streetlights, the traffic signals, the zebra crossing, and the sign of a bookstore that had already closed for the night.

[The streamer is scouting the location.]

[Is this intersection on the professor's route home from Columbia?]

[Not necessarily the only route, but there's a high probability he passes through.]

[Broadway and 110th Street, head west and you hit Amsterdam Avenue, that's where the professor's apartment is.]

[It's about a seven or eight-minute walk from the Mathematics Building to this intersection.]

[The streamer is calculating the timing.]

Darnell took a sip of his coffee, but it had already gone cold. He crushed the paper cup, intending to toss it into a nearby trash can, but then he glanced at Lin An and didn't move.

"Bro, how much longer are you going to stand here?"

"Wait a little longer."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for someone."

Darnell looked around.

The street was empty, not even a homeless person in sight. The Starbucks across the way was closed, its lights extinguished, leaving only the ventilation grate and a newspaper fluttering in the wind by the entrance.

"There's nobody here."

"There will be."

Lin An raised his camera and took a few more shots toward the direction of Columbia University. The photos captured the iron fence, the lawn, the brightly lit Mathematics Building in the distance, and a black car parked across the street.

He lowered the camera and checked the time on his phone.

Twelve-forty.

"Caw..."

At that moment, a crow perched on a streetlight let out a forceful cry, its voice low and hoarse, filled with an ominous tone.