Chapter 47: Old Wang Goes Fishing—The Willing Take the Bait

Sister Hong’s full name was Ruan Qinghong. She was three years older than Old Wang and came from a line of wealth spanning three generations. The single apartment Old Wang rented? The whole building belonged to her. In fact, a dozen more nearby buildings were hers as well. All across Chinatown, and perhaps even New York, countless shops were in her name. She might not have made it onto the Forbes rich list, but her assets certainly placed her among the top hundred Chinese in America. The true magnate, though, was her grandfather.

Old Wang and Ruan Qinghong’s grandparents had been quite close. In fact, Old Wang got along well with many of the elderly folks in Chinatown, earning his reputation as a true “friend of the middle-aged and elderly.”

The business card he’d handed Melinda earlier, though crudely printed at a corner copy shop and reading like some scammer’s pitch, held more truth than fiction—Old Wang genuinely was a well-known street doctor in Chinatown, unafraid of even a S.H.I.E.L.D. investigation. He had never studied medicine formally, had no diploma or license, and so couldn’t open a clinic. But that hardly meant he was unable to heal. Martial and medical arts were intertwined; even without harnessing true energy, Old Wang was a competent physician. Pediatrics and gynecology were difficult and sensitive, and few would risk letting him treat those, but when it came to bone-setting, massage, or muscle relaxation, Old Wang was an expert—elderly patients all sang his praises. His reputation spread that way, slowly but surely. He never charged money, earning instead goodwill and connections. With enough friends, he never lacked for work.

Sister Hong was still studying at Caltech. When Old Wang called, she didn’t ask many questions; a modest shop was soon arranged for him, the rent fair and market-priced. No special favors, but freeing up a shop at all was already a sign of great respect for Old Wang.

The space was small, the rent deferred. Money meant little to Sister Hong. The place had been a grocery store, so there was no need for renovations—just a new sign, a few formalities, and it was open for business.

Old Wang didn’t, as some novels would have it, refuse to sell ordinary items and offer only rare and outrageously priced goods from Azeroth. True, there was one high-priced item: the “Signature Essence Wine,” so expensive no one would dream of buying it. The rest of the inventory was bought at cost and continued to be sold as before.

The money came from Skye. To Old Wang’s surprise, she actually had savings he didn’t know about—a truly thrifty woman! Half the street knew Old Wang, so business went on as usual. Skye watched the shop, Robbie handled purchasing and deliveries, and Old Wang lounged outside in a deck chair, basking in the sun while using his energy to help Gabe absorb the essence of the Well of Eternity and teaching him to stand and meditate.

This handsome, clever high school student was a top student at school and now practiced martial arts with Old Wang diligently—a model pupil, if there ever was one. But Old Wang wasn’t so fond of him, as Gabe’s endless questions interfered with his sunbathing.

Robbie, envious, began training as well under the goading of the Spirit of Vengeance, leaving Skye to handle most of the shop work alone.

For ordinary people, such a life would be fine—work for a few years, save up, marry, and enjoy a happy family. But Old Wang was anything but ordinary!

One day, Robbie came over and handed his phone to Old Wang. “Boss, my uncle wants to talk to you.” Old Wang took the phone and paused, suddenly remembering the “Dark Grimoire Laboratory”—that group of ravenous scientists waiting to be fed?

As he answered, Eli’s cautious voice came through: “Boss, of the thousand dollars you left us, we only have two-fifty left. We don’t even dare buy burgers now. Hugo says life is too painful, maybe he’d rather be a ghost and not have to eat. Lucy suggested buying a sack of rice to make porridge—maybe we could stretch that for a week…”

Old Wang was stunned. “Is rice in Puerto Rico really that expensive? Or are you all just bottomless pits? Two-fifty can’t last a week?”

Robbie, standing nearby, nearly burst into hellfire. Boss, you’re focused on the wrong thing!

“We need something besides rice…” Gabe, holding his stance, couldn’t help but speak up for Eli.

Skye, busy haggling with an elderly customer in halting Chinese, heard none of this.

On the other end, Eli was exhausted and didn’t want to say more. Boss, I’ve lived over forty years and have never encountered a boss or a lab so destitute. A thousand dollars in startup funds? Most people start with millions, even tens or hundreds of millions!

“Alright, I get it,” Old Wang said, flushing with embarrassment. These weren’t the old days; even nuclear scientists earned less than tea-egg vendors now. It was the 21st century—how could he let scientists suffer?

“Gabe’s right. Besides rice, eat some vegetables, have some meat. Don’t go hungry… The money will be there soon,” Old Wang promised, patting Robbie on the chest.

Eli, about to ask for a precise date, could only sigh. No money, too scared to buy burgers; as wanted fugitives, they didn’t dare go near the police station and had to be careful every time they went out; the equipment they’d brought was limited and they still needed millions more to get everything running, even with the strictest economy. High-end gear was out of the question—tens of millions would vanish in a flash. Not to mention the electricity bills—if the lab ran at full capacity, they couldn’t afford the power. When would these hard days end?

Old Wang hung up, waved his hand, and lay back down, calculating with his fingers.

Yes.

It had been several days now. The real customers ought to start arriving soon!

He beckoned Skye over. “Skye, come here. I’ll tell you a story today.”

“Huh? It’s not lesson time, is it?” Skye trotted over and, as was their custom, began massaging Old Wang’s shoulders. “Wang, I’ve heard your superhero stories—Havoc in Heaven, Nezha Conquers the Sea, the Calabash Brothers. Which one today?”

“‘The Fishing of Jiang Taigong,’” Old Wang replied, squinting, sipping his liquor, his voice distant and wistful. “Those who wish to take the bait will.”

…

Natasha had been busy of late. Orders from the Director had to be obeyed, and she herself was eager to find the “Iron Fist of Kunlun.” That mysterious Eastern power—“qi”—had an irresistible pull on her. If she could master it, her abilities would reach a whole new level, a significant asset both for her missions and her own safety.

She had spent the past few days investigating the Hand. This mysterious organization seemed linked to Kunlun, with members from across the globe and influence in dozens of countries—Japan, Russia, the United States, and more. Its leadership, known as the Five Fingers, was shrouded in secrecy, so much so that even S.H.I.E.L.D. had no idea who they truly were. Of course, that was largely because the Hand had never directly antagonized S.H.I.E.L.D., so little in-depth investigation had been done. Only now did Natasha realize just how deep these waters ran.

Members—especially those from the East—were all formidable fighters, versed in Muay Thai, Taekwondo, Karate, Judo, and Chinese martial arts. Their skills were exceptional. Several dojos and martial arts schools in New York seemed to have ties to the Hand. But very few had mastered “qi.” According to limited records, one was “Madame Gao.” Unfortunately, Madame Gao was Chinese, with her primary operations in China. Though she had influence in New York and tenuous connections to the famous Rand Corporation, she was not in the city at present.

Natasha resolved to pursue another lead: the Chinese community. Chinese lived all over New York, but Chinatown had the largest concentration. The business card Melinda had given her—Mr. Wang’s—listed an address in Chinatown.