My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 172 Las Vegas

The pen tip glided across the somewhat white letter paper, making a soft rustling sound.

With his wrist suspended in the air, Qin Han wrote a draft of an agreement with swift, flowing strokes, and then handed the pen to the three men.

The three researchers opposite them—these top minds who will change the entire world of computer graphics in the future—looked as serious as students who had just received their exam papers.

They exchanged glances, then picked up the pens on the table one by one and neatly signed their names below Qin Han's signature.

Looking at the four signatures on the paper, the ink still wet, Qin Han reached out and took it back, carefully folded it in half, and placed it securely inside the pocket of his suit jacket.

His gaze lowered, a hint of a smile hidden in his eyes.

Only he himself knew that this memorandum, which seems somewhat rudimentary today, would become a priceless historical artifact in the global history of science and technology decades from now.

It is the true "origin contract" of the Hollywood special effects industry and the global 3D game industry.

"This is just a gentleman's agreement," Qin Han raised his head, meeting the gazes of the three, his tone amiable. "Once I return to Los Angeles, Han's legal team will immediately draft a formal business contract and mail it directly to you all."

"At the same time, the first installment of R&D expenses will be deposited in full into a joint account established by Hans Pictures and your laboratory."

Upon hearing these words, the last trace of worry that had been lingering in the hearts of the three completely vanished.

The laboratory not only overcame its funding crisis, but also gained a generous and extremely tolerant investor.

Once the tension is released, the researchers' unique curiosity cannot be suppressed.

Jim stared intently at Qin Han, as if trying to extract something from his mind: "Mr. Qin, if I may be frank—were those descriptions you just gave about the application prospects of 3D graphics in the film industry really your own ideas? Where did those strange ideas come from?"

The two people next to him echoed him, their eyes filled with incomprehension and shock.

They considered themselves to be among the most outstanding individuals in the field of computer imaging technology in the United States and even the world. However, even these pioneers would never have dared to imagine that computer graphics could reach the astonishing level of "deceptive realism" and "reshaping the world" that Qin Han had just described.

Facing the scorching light from the three people, Qin Han pulled out the chair behind him and walked to the huge computer that almost occupied half of the wall.

"It's not just wishful thinking on my part." His fingers tapped lightly on the metal chassis, producing a crisp echo.

"The reason I dare to propose these ideas is not because I understand code, but because I trust you."

Seeing the astonishment in the three men's eyes, Qin Han waved his hand and added, "Of course, I'm not just referring to the three of you, but to all the scientific research talents in the world like you who are willing to dedicate their lives to computer research."

"Think back to what the world's first computer looked like. It filled a huge room, consumed an astonishing amount of electricity, and could only perform the most basic calculations. But what about now?"

Qin Han pointed to the equipment terminal next to him: "In just over twenty years, you have shrunk the steel behemoth that was the size of a room to the size that can be placed on a workbench, and the computing power has increased by tens of thousands of times."

The laboratory was extremely quiet, with only the hum of the fans echoing through the room.

The three leading scholars held their breath, following Qin Han's train of thought, as if they were seeing a magnificent panorama of technological evolution.

"Since the speed of hardware evolution is so terrifying, why should we limit ourselves in terms of imagination?" Qin Han walked to the blackboard next to him, picked up a piece of chalk, and drew a basic triangle on the blackboard.

"What's the secret to your ability to create a rough teapot model using the system? Polygons."

As he spoke, he quickly drew more triangles next to the first one, piecing them together: "A single polygon seems meaningless, and ten polygons can only create a rough outline. But what will happen in the future, when computing power grows and systems can process tens of thousands, or even hundreds of millions, of polygons simultaneously?"

He tossed aside the chalk, dusted off his hands, turned around, and looked directly into the eyes of the three: "As long as you have enough polygons, what kind of shape can't you create?"

"Whether it's strands of hair fluttering in the wind, the shimmering surface of water under the sunlight, or ancient behemoths that don't even exist in reality—as long as the computing power allows, you can act as God on the screen!"

This is the core logic at the very bottom of 3D modeling—the number of polygons determines the accuracy of the model.

For the Qin and Han dynasties of the future, this was just common sense, but for this group of pioneers in the early 70s, it was like a divine revelation.

The way they looked at Qin Han completely changed.

If just a few minutes ago they only saw Qin Han as a wealthy nouveau riche boss, now they realize that this well-dressed Asian youth, although technically a complete novice, has an almost religious faith in the evolution of technology and his fantasies about the future.

This belief transcended the gap between laymen and experts, deeply touching the souls of these three research fanatics.

"Mr. Qin—" John rubbed his slightly reddened eyes. "You're right. We've been limited by the hardware bottlenecks we're facing, forgetting that technology is meant to break conventions."

He put his glasses back on, his expression becoming incredibly solemn, as if making a solemn vow: "Please rest assured. Every penny you invest in the lab will be used wisely. One day, we will truly present the 'canvas of God' that you speak of before your eyes."

When I left the laboratory, it was already dark outside.

A cold wind swept up a few fallen leaves in Utah, and the air was dry and chilly.

Qin Han glanced at his watch and decided not to travel overnight. He then instructed his driver to take him to a high-end hotel in downtown Salt Lake City.

Having washed away his fatigue and the static smell of the server room, Qin Han, wearing a loose bathrobe and holding a glass of soda, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

My gaze inadvertently swept over a map of the American West hanging on the wall.

My gaze lingered on the color blocks of Utah for two seconds, then naturally shifted to the left, landing on the vast desert region closely connected to it—Nevada.

Nevada — Qin Han stared at the city marked with an asterisk on the map.

Right in the heart of this desert, in that city of desire, submerged in neon lights and money, there are still some of his "old friends" there.

If you count the time, it's been two months since that unpleasant mid-air ordeal.

Those powerful figures who issue orders from the shadows must have had a very difficult few months.

Qin Han walked to the landline by the bed, picked up the receiver, and skillfully dialed the Los Angeles number.

The phone was answered after two rings, and Zhou Ruofei's capable voice came through the receiver: "Master?"

"If not, put aside what you're doing, take a few of Han's core security personnel, and fly to Las Vegas tomorrow morning."

"Las Vegas?" Zhou Ruofei's voice tightened instantly. "Is there a big operation that needs to be planned? I'll arrange for people to come immediately—"

"No need to be so nervous." Qin Han chuckled, looking out the window at the quiet Utah nightscape. "Just think of it as a vacation for you guys, a holiday in the desert. We'll meet at the airport tomorrow morning."

After hanging up the phone, Qin Han drank the remaining half glass of soda water in one gulp.

A vacation? Yes, just a vacation. Whether the Mafia godfathers were in the mood for a vacation was not his concern.

The following day at noon, the dazzling sun scorched the Mojave Desert.

A Gulfstream business jet lands smoothly on the runway at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas.

As the hatch opened, a wave of heat, characteristic of the desert, rushed out.

Qin Han, wearing sunglasses, walked down the gangway. Not far away on the tarmac, Zhou Ruofei had been waiting for a long time with several burly Han family security personnel.

Three black Cadillac armored sedans lined up in a row, their engines emitting a deep roar.

"Master," Zhou Ruofei stepped forward, opened the car door, and reported in a low voice, "Where are we going?"

Qin Han bent down and sat in the back seat, took off his sunglasses and tossed them aside: "Let's go, Caesar's Palace, don't keep our hosts waiting."

The convoy drove out of the airport and plunged into the gambling city, which seemed somewhat languid during the day.

Through the car windows, which were covered with dark explosion-proof film, the extravagantly designed casino hotels on both sides rushed past.

No matter how sluggish the outside world's economy may be, this desert city is always absorbing astonishing wealth.

Less than twenty minutes later, the convoy slowly came to a stop in front of the magnificent Roman-style fountain gate of Caesars Palace.

"Mr. Qin, the Godfather is already waiting for you in the top-floor reception room. Please follow me." A burly man bowed slightly, his attitude impeccably respectful.

Qin Han did not step directly up the stairs. Instead, the group passed through the magnificent lobby, and after a slight feeling of weightlessness, the private elevator came to a smooth stop on the top floor.

With a crisp "ding," the brass-carved elevator doors slid open to both sides.

The door led not to a spacious corridor, but to an extremely luxurious reception hall.

Several old men stood up almost reflexively, led by Carmen, the most powerful Mafia godfather in Las Vegas.

Completely different from her arrogant demeanor a few months ago, Carmen now seemed to have had her sharp edge worn down by an invisible file.

His Italian suit was still impeccably tailored, but the muscles in his face were slightly stiff, and the weariness and vigilance in his eyes betrayed his recent mental exhaustion.

No one knew better than him how terrifying the power this seemingly young Chinese man held in his hands was.

During this period, several of their important venues were targeted by the FBI with great precision, their financial chains were cut off, and several key executives were inexplicably asked to cooperate with the investigation.

This approach left these seasoned gangsters, who were used to solving problems with bullets and concrete, feeling a profound sense of powerlessness.

"Mr. Qin, welcome to Las Vegas." Carmen stepped forward and extended her right hand, her posture extremely humble.

Qin Han glanced at him but did not immediately shake hands.

"Mr. Carmen's coffee smells good. It seems everyone's self-cultivation has improved lately."

The gang leaders exchanged glances, none of them daring to show the slightest dissatisfaction.

Carmen walked to the bar counter, picked up the bone china coffee pot, poured a cup of black coffee, and placed it on the coffee table in front of Qin Han with both hands.

The way the Godfather was served coffee would probably shock outsiders if they saw it.

"These past few months have seen many regrettable misunderstandings." Carmen sat down on the sofa opposite Qin Han, trying to appear more sincere: "We really hope to have an opportunity to sit down and, like true friends, completely clear up these misunderstandings."

"A misunderstanding?" Qin Han leaned back in his wide chair, his gaze piercing Carmen like a blade. "A few months ago, my plane almost crashed into the sea after takeoff. That's not a trivial matter that can be covered up with the word 'misunderstanding.'"

Meanwhile, the mafia bosses opposite him were already sweating profusely.

Carmen took a deep breath. He knew that if he didn't cut himself hard today, he would definitely not get through this ordeal.

"Regarding that disaster—we sympathize with you and deeply regret it." Carmen swallowed, her voice a little dry. "It was entirely the personal act of a heartless madman and absolutely did not represent the will of the family. To compensate Mr. Qin for the emotional distress caused by this accident, we are willing to offer the most substantial compensation."

As she spoke, Carmen tilted her head toward one of her subordinates.

His subordinate immediately came forward with a black metal combination lock case, placed it on the coffee table, and, in front of Qin Han, pressed the latch and lifted the lid.

Inside the box, stacks of brand-new Franklin were neatly arranged.

"One million US dollars in cash." Carmen stared intently into Qin Han's eyes, observing his reaction. "This is a small token of our family's appreciation, without any strings attached. We only ask that Mr. Qin allow us to turn the page on this matter."

The Mafia went to great lengths to appease Qin Han's anger.

Qin Han looked at the box of money, but his expression remained unchanged. To him, money was just a number.

What he truly cared about was the other party's complete submission.

"I'll accept this money."

Upon hearing this, Carmen and the others felt as if they had been granted a pardon; their tense shoulders visibly relaxed, and they let out a long sigh of relief.

As long as they're willing to accept money, there's room for negotiation.

"but----"

"Money can solve past problems, but the rules for the future need to be re-established."

"I know you've always wanted Elvis to come back to Las Vegas to perform. I can let him come, but only if he's willing. All the proceeds from the performance will belong to him. Don't try to negotiate. The crowds his popularity brings you will be enough to make you rich."

"From this day forward, in this desert, anyone who dares to use those underhanded methods to coerce, threaten, or try to control him—"

"You guys don't need to work in Las Vegas anymore. Understand?"

Carmen's expression shifted several times before she finally gritted her teeth and nodded heavily: "Mr. Qin's rules are the rules of Las Vegas. We will not interfere."

"Very good." Qin Han leaned back on the sofa with satisfaction, and the tense atmosphere finally began to dissipate.

Seeing this, Carmen quickly wiped the sweat from her brow and, as if to ingratiate herself, added, "Mr. Qin, in addition to this cash, we have also prepared a special little gift for you."