Chapter 17: The True Name of the King
Robbie sighed for the eighteenth time.
He truly wanted to smash this junk of a vehicle to pieces!
All four tires were nearly worn down, each patched more than once. Who would dare drive such a car at 120 miles per hour? Not afraid of a blowout?
And the brake pads—who knows what state they’re in. Are you even sure this thing can stop?
Regular maintenance? Probably never done.
At least wash the car once in a while!
Turning a perfectly good truck into this… It’s just too much!
How do road hazards come about?
Exactly like this!
Of course, sighing aside, he still had to fix it.
As for money?
He was honestly embarrassed to ask.
The man’s words had been harsh, but on reflection, they made sense.
That rocket—wasn’t it aimed right at him?
No matter how scary the guy was, at least he looked human. Unlike Robbie, who, once excited, turned into a blazing monster. Everyone feared him. There was no question who the rocket was meant for. Looks didn’t matter; what mattered was existence.
Robbie considered himself responsible.
Though not wealthy, he could afford the repair.
“By the way, I don’t know how to address you yet,” Robbie said, fixing the car as he chatted with Skye, who sat cross-legged atop the hood of a Porsche, absorbed in her laptop.
He rather liked this beautiful woman who appeared about his age.
A blend of East and West, golden hair, black eyes, an estimated height of 168 centimeters—the standard for a movie star. Attractive, graceful, gentle, perceptive, combining the best of two races. She was appealing to both Eastern and Western men, and simply talking to her was delightful.
Still, Robbie only made casual conversation; he didn’t dare pursue her.
The two were clearly close—most likely a couple.
What if her boyfriend got angry and decided to thrash him?
Even as the blazing spirit, could he win?
Probably not.
That guy’s stare was too intense, his aura intimidating—truly frightening.
“Call me ‘Skye’,” she replied, never taking her eyes off her laptop, “and he’s Wang…”
“Jingze Wang,” Old Wang walked over, casually tossing a bottle of water each to Skye and Robbie, his face calm and unruffled.
Spring water—pure but not natural, healthy and thirst-quenching, and most importantly, cheap.
“Jingze Wang,” Robbie echoed.
He hadn’t a clue what it meant, but it sounded pleasant enough.
Skye paused, then her lips twitched. She kept her head down, struggling not to laugh, her face flushed red.
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh—otherwise tomorrow’s training will surely double!
“Pfft!”
She couldn’t hold it any longer.
Wang, you’re obviously not called that. Is it really so amusing to trick people…?
Three years ago, after you beat those guys up, they asked your name. You told them “Wang Aotian.”
When I begged you to teach me kung fu, you said you were “Wang Yanglu,” and I actually believed it, until a year ago when I started learning Tang poetry…
I asked your real name, and you told me “Wang Zhe Rongyao”—surname Wang, given name Zhe, courtesy name Rongyao.
How many names have you given yourself in this life?
How many more do you plan to invent?
“Just call me ‘Wang’, the way you Americans do,” Old Wang smiled.
He’d slipped and spoken too smoothly; he actually wanted to say his name was “Wang Buliuxing,” though he wasn’t an herb, nor a magician, and his gaze was pretty sharp…
But his favorite title was always “Old Wang from next door”—friendly and enduring.
Of course, “Wang” worked too—it fit Western custom, sounded strong and imposing, and, most importantly, was advantageous.
“Wang,” Robbie nodded, resuming his repairs.
With her boyfriend present, it was best not to flirt.
As an experienced driver, two-legged creatures were boring; four wheels were true love.
Old Wang sidled up beside Skye, staring at her laptop, though his gaze wandered to more impressive places: “How’s it looking?”
“Romanoff left L.A. jail, probably to contact S.H.I.E.L.D. and investigate Eli. Their phones are custom-made, impossible to hack.”
Skye’s smile faded, her brows furrowed—her skills weren’t quite there yet.
Though she’d joined Rising Tide and become a top hacker, she was still a novice compared to the organization’s real experts.
Most importantly, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cyber security was among the best in the world, staffed by legions of hackers. Even Rising Tide couldn’t breach their core database—neither could she.
Wang had said S.H.I.E.L.D. held information related to him, tied to his origins. That was one of two reasons she’d started studying computers and became a hacker three years ago.
The other was to earn a living.
“Forget her.”
Old Wang forced his eyes up, locking on the laptop screen: “What about Coulson?”
“He’s meeting Eli.”
Skye opened a live feed.
…
…
Ten minutes later.
Outside Los Angeles jail.
Coulson reunited with Natasha.
“Faster than I expected. Your expression tells me you hit a wall—hard,” Natasha glanced at Coulson.
“Is it that obvious?” Coulson’s face drooped, dejected: “He won’t talk, even when I promised him freedom.”
“Clearly, he’s hiding something—a secret more important than liberty. My experience tells me he’s the key to the whole affair.”
Natasha’s bright eyes flickered, eager: “Need me to handle it? I’m proficient in 137 interrogation techniques. Give me an hour, and he’ll confess even when he started using his hands.”
“…I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Coulson stared at Natasha for two seconds: “Your expression tells me you’ve learned a lot.”
Natasha’s face grew serious. She opened her phone and handed it to Coulson: “Level 7 access doesn’t grant much. Director Fury gave me a classified document—level 10.”
The file was lengthy; Coulson read for three minutes.
“The Darkhold, also called the Book of Sin, the Book of Spells—possessing infinite knowledge, knowledge that can turn a man into a god.”
“Red Skull sought it, a man named Daniel Whitehall sought it, even Director Fury is searching for it, but it’s never been found.”
“Rumor has it, the Darkhold is linked to zero matter and dark matter, and as early as the 1940s, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s founders, Peggy Carter, and her Howling Commandos encountered a company researching dark matter.”
“That company was later acquired by Roxxon, and the lab Eli works for is on land owned by Roxxon.”
Coulson rubbed his temples, headache mounting: “This circle is a mess.”
“In short, the Darkhold is connected to that lab,” Natasha concluded, then asked, “What’s your plan? Head to the lab?”
Coulson decided: “Right now!”
…
…
Repair shop.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s efficiency is impressive. Looks like we can’t rest either,” Old Wang chuckled, stretching lazily. “Let’s go to the lab.”
“But the car’s not fixed yet,” Skye pointed to Robbie… and the battered truck he was working on.
“There’s another vehicle,” Old Wang nodded toward the Dodge Charger and strode over.
Skye hurried after him.
That’s my car, you know… Robbie sighed, tossed aside the wrench, and brushed the dust from his clothes.