Chapter 50: You Are Sick, I Have the Cure

Natasha tidied her scattered clothes, rolling her eyes in exasperation:
Are you implying that the Iron Fist of Kunlun has already lived for over a hundred years? That he's seen the era of Captain America?
And from your exaggerated performance, it's obvious you know Iron Fist—probably his disciple—why bother pretending?
Moreover, the way you praise your master is shameless beyond words!
Skye pressed harder on her shoulders.
Heh.
Old Wang, the way you keep finding new ways to praise yourself is truly shameless!
But what you said is true, because I feel the same way.

"Unfortunately, that grandmaster saved me and then left. My external injuries have healed, but internal wounds—heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—are far from recovered. Without that grandmaster's help, even the best hospital would need at least a month to treat me, and there would be sequelae."
Natasha gazed at Old Wang, eyes brimming with tears, as pitiable as could be: "Master Wang, there can't be many such grandmasters. Do you know him? Could you introduce me? Don't worry, money is no object."
"I don’t know him... Besides, do you think grandmasters are greedy for money? Their aspirations are far beyond that!"
Old Wang wore a look of longing, spreading his hands helplessly: "A grandmaster is like the Eastern legendary dragon—appearing and vanishing, vast or small—not just anyone can meet him. But I can ask around; our group...circle, keeps well-informed. Maybe we’ll find him."
Natasha blinked.

Master Wang, are you hinting that even for you, meeting Iron Fist isn’t easy?
And you have a group—which must be Kunlun.
Though you can’t see Iron Fist at will, you can contact others from Kunlun—is that it?
Kunlun... it must be formidable!
And it has many members!
Also, if you want to meet Iron Fist, money won’t do—you need something money can’t buy!

Natasha pondered for two seconds, biting her lip: "But I’m afraid I can’t wait. Master Wang, can you heal my injuries?"
She wanted to test Master Wang further.
Hints in his words suggested he wished to cooperate with S.H.I.E.L.D.—likely at Iron Fist or Kunlun’s direction.
But for what purpose?
There are no unprovoked substitutes, no baseless gestures of goodwill in this world.
A mysterious organization possibly hundreds or thousands of years old suddenly acting this way—what could it be for?
S.H.I.E.L.D. knows too little about Kunlun.
Perhaps by observing Master Wang, she could pierce the veil around Kunlun.
Whether enemy or ally, she needed sufficient intelligence first.
Unequal information leads to losses!

"Your injuries are severe. I could heal them, but the effect might not surpass a top hospital," Old Wang shrugged.
Natasha mused.
So he wouldn’t reveal his true abilities?
If he spoke honestly, then Master Wang truly knows 'Qi', though much less than Iron Fist.
That’s still frightening.
How many such people does Kunlun have?
A handful, dozens, or hundreds?
Natasha felt a tinge of disappointment.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tech division couldn’t possibly heal her in a few days, and she wasn’t Captain America—no super healing.
The Director had decided to confront Hydra.
At such a crucial moment, her diminished abilities from injury were unacceptable.
Just then, Old Wang spoke.

"Though I can't, medicine can. You’re injured, I have the cure. It’ll heal you, but it’s a bit expensive."
Old Wang snapped his fingers: "Skye, bring over that jar of ‘Azeroth Signature Essence Wine’ aged seventy-two years."
"Ah? Okay!"
Skye stopped massaging, walked to the back, and fetched a jar from the top shelf.
It looked antique, elegant, and high-end.
"Drink as much as you like, no limit. Once you finish, your injuries should be healed."
Old Wang glanced at the label: "The price..."
"One million."
Skye hugged the jar like a golden ingot, wary of Natasha trying to snatch it: "Pay first, goods after; small business, no bargaining!"

...

Natasha glanced at the label.
It clearly read a single "1" followed by five zeros.
Beauty, you can’t count, can you? It’s obviously one hundred thousand!
Is a million too much?
Too much!
Though she’s a legendary agent, her monthly salary isn’t outrageous. Benefits are based on rank, not legend; she’s not the Director, with no means to embezzle. Years at S.H.I.E.L.D., and her savings didn’t reach a million.
Of course, for S.H.I.E.L.D., a million isn’t much.
The Director would approve, surely.
Their resources are vast!

But the question remained...

Could this truly heal her injuries?
If it could, then it’d be worth it—her current state was critical; the difference between healed and injured could impact the next operation far more than ten times the price.
And such miraculous medicinal wine, if brought back, could be shared with the tech division for analysis; perhaps they could decipher its chemical makeup and brewing secrets. If mass-produced, its value would be a hundredfold, even a thousandfold greater.
That was the key.
But if it didn’t work...
Even S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t afford to be fooled and become Hydra’s laughingstock!

At this moment, Natasha hesitated.

But after some thought, she decided it wasn’t a big deal. Most operations cost more than a million, or at least that much in damages. Iron Fist was too important—would the Director care about a mere million?
If they could recruit Iron Fist into S.H.I.E.L.D. or the soon-to-be-formed Avengers, even ten million would be gladly paid!

"I’ll make a call, and transfer within ten minutes." Natasha didn’t haggle, unwilling to sour relations with Master Wang over a trivial sum and leave a bad impression.
After all, it wasn’t her money.
She didn’t even ask for Master Wang’s account—if S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t figure that out, they’d have been shut down long ago!

Old Wang was quite satisfied, casting a glance at Skye.
What seventy-two years aged?
It was really just cheap liquor diluted with water, the ratio rather impressive.
Then a drop of 'Essence Wine'—or rather, a tenth of a drop—was added.
Yes, a tenth.
Old Wang had dropped one full drop into a bottle of cheap liquor, shaken it, and poured it into ten jars, filling them with water.
He wasn’t a schemer; he wasn’t after the money, just using this as a method to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D.
He hadn’t expected Skye’s blink to turn a hundred thousand into a million—a tenfold markup!
That was outrageous...

Old Wang quickly jumped from his lounge chair, beaming as he pointed at the stacked jars: "Come back for more after you finish, but act fast—they’ll be gone soon. Limited edition, only ten jars."
Ten jars...

Natasha was reporting to the Egghead, and upon hearing this, felt something was off.
A medicinal wine marked at a hundred thousand, sold for a million, yet casually available in ten jars—wasn’t this more like bulk beer for wholesale than high-end medicine?
Could it really be a scam?

Unexpectedly, Old Wang’s voice carried across, and the Egghead’s sharp ears caught it, his deep magnetic voice following: "Buy them all, and tell him to give a fifty percent discount!"
Five hundred thousand at once—the Director really was rich, perhaps he’d won the lottery...

Natasha didn’t ask why, turning to Old Wang: "Master Wang, if you can give a forty percent discount, I’ll take all your essence wine."
"And the other ten percent—you plan to pocket it for cosmetics?" Old Wang wondered.
Natasha: "..."
The Director had deliberately lowered his voice; Natasha had pressed her ear to the phone to barely hear it—how did Old Wang catch it?
Is he wearing a hearing aid at his age?

"Alright, fifty percent," Old Wang agreed.
Natasha had hoped to save S.H.I.E.L.D. a hundred thousand; some of it might become her year-end bonus.
Even Black Widow had daily expenses—Coulson had said there was new scarless healing tech; she needed to save up, for her bikini.
But now, recruiting Iron Fist took priority.

Skye wanted to raise the price, but Old Wang extended his left hand: "Deal."
No need for greed; moderation was key.
Long-term strategy catches bigger fish.
There’d be plenty of business opportunities; don’t let petty profit harm greater deals.
Old Wang didn’t care about money.
A few million—meaningless!