Chapter 48: The Black Widow’s Investigation

Natasha did not confront him directly; instead, she began with an investigation.

She spent three whole days wandering Chinatown.

Through various means, she uncovered the life story of Mr. Wang.

He grew up in an orphanage;
Inspired by Hong Kong martial arts films, he developed a passion for kung fu, practicing on his own whenever he could, and became the subject of ridicule among the other orphans;
At twelve, he scraped together $13.51 and bought several books by weight from an old man’s street stall;
At fourteen, he left the orphanage and made a living through massage and bone-setting, his skills so exceptional that he was beloved by middle-aged and elderly men and women alike;
He did not charge for his services, and accumulated a host of nicknames: Old Wang (his own moniker), Little Wang (most people’s name for him), Big Wang (his peers), Master Wang (his patients), Lightning-Born Wang the Strong (used exclusively by the orphanage director), Chubby Wang (other orphans), and Mr. Wang (rarely);
He had a history of brawling, and had never lost;
He had challenged every martial arts school across nineteen streets in Chinatown and beyond, undefeated;
Three years ago, he met Skye, who was a year older, and they became close; Skye often invited him to long, overnight conversations in her truck, or to her apartment to discuss life and ideals;
The business card Melinda gave her—almost every elderly person in Chinatown over sixty possessed one.

This “Master Wang” was, astonishingly, a local celebrity!

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s investigation soon yielded results.

Robbie Reyes had seen Skye’s online ad for “Master Wang the Cure-All,” and called—likely out of desperation, hoping for any remedy—so Master Wang was summoned to treat his brother Gabe’s broken leg (unaware that Skye had fabricated the online and phone records).

Afterwards, Master Wang and Skye traveled to Los Angeles.

Their car broke down, so they brought it to a repair shop before heading to Robbie’s home.

A transfer followed—not too large, not too small—probably payment for the consultation.

A few days ago, Robbie and Gabe moved, following Master Wang to New York.

Master Wang suddenly opened a specialty shop, apparently using the fee Robbie had paid him.

Robbie became his clerk; Gabe began learning kung fu from him.

“Interesting.” Natasha’s eyes sparkled with growing intrigue.

His massage and bone-setting skills were truly masterful; indeed, he was a “master.”
His fighting prowess was formidable, worthy of the same title.

A boy not yet eighteen, possessing such talents—master of two arts?

His life seemed entirely free of suspicion.

The true turning point was when he bought those books from the street vendor.

Self-taught genius?

No.

Geniuses abound, but “Master Wang” was beyond mere genius!

Either a reincarnated sage, or he had a secret mentor.

“That street vendor must be the true master!” Natasha let her imagination run wild:

Perhaps the old man, seeing young Wang’s passion and diligence—maybe even recognizing him as a once-in-a-century prodigy—secretly took him as his disciple, entrusting him with the world-saving mission…

Ahem, in short, he chose Master Wang, privately instructed him in martial arts and traditional medicine.

Just as Agent Carter had spotted Melinda’s potential, leading to today’s “Iron Rider.”

But who was the street vendor?

“The real Iron Fist!” Natasha clenched her fist.

Though it was speculation, she was confident: she was probably right.

Why did Iron Fist train Master Wang?

Perhaps he admired Wang’s diligence and talent, or perhaps wished to cultivate the next generation for Kunlun.

If Master Wang was fortunate, he might one day become Kunlun’s next Iron Fist, soaring to greatness.

“To find Iron Fist, Master Wang is the key!”

Natasha no longer hesitated.

Iron Fist had interacted with her, Coulson and Melinda had met Master Wang; as long as Wang wasn’t foolish, he’d know he was under observation and would be cautious.

Coulson and Melinda spoke highly of “Master Wang.”

Surveillance would be pointless; he would not slip up.

Force was unwise, for S.H.I.E.L.D. sought Iron Fist, not Wang himself.

Frankly, S.H.I.E.L.D. had plenty of skilled fighters and martial arts masters—no matter how formidable, a martial artist could not withstand bullets and grenades.

With proper preparation, a single trained and well-equipped S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could take down any so-called master.

But at Iron Fist’s level, things changed.

Limited intelligence suggested that those who wielded “chi” enhanced all their physical attributes—strength, speed, constitution, reflexes, senses—beyond ordinary humans; such people, even weaponless, were beyond the reach of ordinary agents.

By the time you drew your gun, they would have already noticed—and neutralized you.

Though her contact with Iron Fist had lasted only minutes, Natasha was certain:

Iron Fist was not just a martial arts master, but a grandmaster, a legend.

His strength surpassed what was recorded in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s level-seven secret files, including Lady Gao.

Most importantly, judging by the Director’s tone, he wished to recruit Iron Fist for the Avengers.

Iron Fist seemed to harbor no animosity toward S.H.I.E.L.D.

Under such circumstances, she needed a softer touch.

They might be teammates one day.

Natasha resolved to pay a visit.

On that day, she arrived at “Azeroth Specialty Shop.”

…

…

As she reached the door, Natasha was stunned.

This was outrageous!

Three men were basking in the sun at the entrance… well, one was lounging on a chair, the other two were squatting in horse stance.

There were few customers inside; only a young woman seemed to be busy, which looked wrong—where was the gentlemanly conduct?

As the “Black Widow,” trained to the most rigorous standards, Natasha had never believed in “gentlemanly conduct and caring for women.” On missions, more often than not, she had to look after those pitifully weak men—

Eventually, she simply stopped working with others, preferring solitude.

Still, she was a woman, and found this scene hard to accept.

She didn’t expect preferential treatment for women.

But at the very least, there should be gender equality.

Natasha took a deep breath, calmed herself, and subtly surveyed the small shop and its surroundings.

The shop was modest, but to rent it so quickly was not just a matter of money—it spoke to Wang’s connections and reputation, earned through four years of free treatment for the elderly.

People passing by greeted Wang warmly; he responded casually, which was a sign of close relationships.

Clearly, force was out of the question; it would only cause trouble.

Whether in China or America, the elderly are not to be trifled with—especially when they gather in numbers.

If hundreds or thousands of elders protested at New York City Hall or danced in the squares, what then?

Robbie and Gabe’s horse stance looked like mere posturing, but their physical stamina was exceptional—their legs didn’t even tremble. How was this possible?

Even more astonishing, Gabe’s leg had supposedly been broken, yet he seemed perfectly recovered—was this thanks to some miraculous Eastern therapy or the aid of “chi”?

Her gaze drifted to “Master Wang.” At first, Natasha felt disappointed, then suddenly alarmed.

This “Master Wang” gave her the impression of a typical, sedentary young man.

Elsewhere, she might have thought him ordinary, but clearly he wasn’t.

He lacked any signs of being a martial arts master.

His hands were not rough, his legs not thick, his backside not unusually large—his entire demeanor was lazy, not alert like Agents Grant Ward or Brock Rumlow.

Such a person was a born “disguiser.”

What most women would envy was Master Wang’s skin: not particularly fair, but healthy and delicate—how could a man possess such skin?

Additionally, most martial arts masters had ideal height and weight ratios.

But Master Wang seemed slightly plump, his belly especially prominent.

Not a beer belly, for it was round and not sagging—perhaps a matter of genetics…

Was he truly a master of both medicine and kung fu?

He looked more like a charlatan!

Of course, Natasha would not dismiss her prior investigation and conclusions.

It simply meant that Master Wang was not quite as she had imagined—perhaps Iron Fist’s disciples were meant to be like this…

Her observation complete, Natasha composed herself and entered the shop as any ordinary customer would.

The shop was small, with few shelves; she could see almost everything at a glance.

Tiger bone medicinal wine, $66 a bottle;
Tiger penis medicinal wine, $88 a bottle;
Tiger tooth pendant, $99 each;
Tiger head slippers, $11 a pair;
Tiger skin hat, $22 each…

Natasha was speechless, scarcely able to mock.

Master Wang, since when were tigers so cheap?

The tiger skin hats and tiger head slippers were obviously fabric, not remotely related to real tigers…

Natasha concealed her amusement, inwardly scoffing.

But she couldn’t accuse Master Wang of trickery—for these prices, anyone could tell the items were fake; people came to such shops for the fun of buying fakes!

Suddenly, a beautiful hand reached out from behind, holding a golden glass vial containing a liquid of utmost importance to men, inscribed in bold English:

Indian Magic Oil!

“No need, thank you. I’m just browsing…” Natasha habitually declined.

But before she finished, she became acutely alert.

Something was wrong!

She, the “Black Widow,” one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most formidable agents, had not even noticed someone approaching her from behind?

She had been completely unaware!

Was there another hidden expert in this shop besides Master Wang?

Natasha’s first impulse was to react.

Then she saw the hand move aside, placing the “Indian Magic Oil” on the shelf, and casually picking up a box of Durex.

“Perhaps this is what you need, Agent Romanoff?”