Chapter 63 New Identity
Walking the streets at three in the morning, a man carrying a heavy bag of cash didn't feel particularly good.
The bag was heavy, and the banknotes inside exuded a turbid smell mixed with tobacco, alcohol, and cheap perfume, with a faint hint of blood.
This money was his first asset since arriving in this World, and also his first trouble.
Chu Hang didn't return to the cheap motel.
He knew that a local boss like Butcher, who had been in the underground World for many years, couldn't possibly have only two useless thugs under him.
Last night's decisive action might deter them for a while, but no one could guarantee that the other party wouldn't, in their rage, use more unsavory connections to get even.
The simplest thing would be to call the Police.
An Asian youth carrying tens of thousands in cash and with no identification, in the eyes of the Police, was no different from a walking piece of fat, and one with a criminal record at that.
He had to find another place, a safer and more secluded hiding spot.
He bought some simple disguise items at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy: a pair of plain glasses and a baseball cap.
Then, he called a taxi and drove straight across half the city, arriving at a completely different area.
Here, trees lined the streets, which were clean and tidy, and beautiful detached houses were visible everywhere—a typical middle-class community.
He found a chain hotel that looked more reputable and, of course, more expensive, and checked in.
When he paid for the room in cash, the sleepy blonde girl at the front desk just looked at him twice and didn't ask anything else.
In this money-driven country, as long as you can pay, no one truly cares who you are or where you come from.
Upon entering the room, the first thing Chu Hang did was lock the door and draw the curtains.
Then, he poured the entire bag of cash onto the soft king-sized bed.
Green Franklins piled up into a small mountain, emanating a sinful yet alluring glow under the dim bedroom light.
Chu Hang sat by the bed, picked up the notepad and pen from the nightstand, and began counting the money, bill by bill.
This was a tedious but necessary process.
His fingers were steady and strong, his movements mechanical and precise, and his brain operated like a high-speed computer, automatically categorizing and adding.
Ultimately, the number settled at one hundred fifty-six thousand three hundred U.S. dollars.
It was a bit more than he had anticipated.
It seemed the fat man named Butcher was doing quite well in his business.
Chu Hang looked at the pile of money, but felt little joy.
He knew better than anyone that until this money could be converted into legitimate capital, it was just a pile of waste paper that could bring trouble at any moment.
He needed an identity, a real, legal identity that could withstand scrutiny from any institution.
An identity that would allow him to open a bank account, register a company, and openly walk into a stock exchange.
This was much harder to acquire than money.
He lay on the bed, hands behind his head, and began to formulate his next plan in his mind.
Time was pressing; he clearly remembered that Yahoo's IPO was next year.
If he missed this opportunity, he would have to wait several more years to find such a low-risk, high-return investment opportunity in initial public offerings.
He needed some people to help him handle miscellaneous tasks.
Chu Hang thought of the fat man at the bar who had taken twenty U.S. dollars from him.
Such well-informed local bosses, who mingled in the lower strata of society, were like nodes in a complex network, always able to uncover more and deeper connections.
The next day, Chu Hang woke up naturally.
He went to a mall near the hotel and bought himself several decent, well-fitting outfits with cash.
When he changed into a simple White T-shirt, a pair of khaki trousers, and brand-new sneakers, and put on those plain glasses, he looked like a clean-cut, somewhat scholarly university graduate, completely different from the murderous figure of last night.
Disguise is the first lesson in survival.
This holds true whether on a battlefield ravaged by war or in a city glittering with neon lights.
In the evening, he returned to the community bar named "Screaming Skull."
This time, he didn't look for the fat man.
He walked straight to the bar counter, placed a crisp one-hundred U.S. dollar bill under a coaster, and gently pushed it towards the bartender.
The bartender was a thin young man with a snake tattooed on his arm, its tongue flicking.
When he saw the hundred-dollar bill, the wariness and impatience in his eyes instantly melted into enthusiasm.
"Sir, what can I get you?"
"I'm looking for someone." Chu Hang lowered his voice, leaning slightly forward, "I need a document forger, the best kind.
The kind that can make a dead person alive, and turn an undocumented vagrant into a citizen."
The smile on the bartender's face froze.
He subconsciously wiped the already clean bar counter, his gaze starting to wander.
"Sir, I'm not sure I understand what you mean." He began to play dumb.
Chu Hang was not in a hurry; he lightly tapped the hundred-dollar bill with his finger and calmly said, "I'll only ask once.
If you don't know, I'll ask someone else.
This money is on me for your drinks."
His tone was flat, but the unquestionable composure and the fleeting coldness in the depths of his eyes sent an inexplicable shiver down the bartender's spine.
He remembered the bruised and battered fat man from last night, who had come back with a long face, asking about a mysterious Asian youth, and had stammered that the Butcher of "Queen of Spades" had his hand crippled, and his place was taken down by one person.
The bartender's Adam's apple bobbed, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He quickly scanned his surroundings, then spoke in a near whisper, "There's only one place.
West Side, Ivy Road, there's an old bookstore called 'Books of Yesterday.'
The owner is Elias, a very eccentric old man.
Go find him and tell him you want to buy an 'Impossible Journey.'"
After speaking, he snatched the hundred-dollar bill as if it were a hot potato, quickly stuffed it into his pocket, then turned to mix drinks for other customers, no longer looking at Chu Hang.
Chu Hang got the information he wanted and then got up and left the bar.
The Books of Yesterday old bookstore was located on a quiet street corner, out of place with the bustling commercial atmosphere around it.
The storefront was small, with a thin layer of dust on the display window, filled with various yellowed old books.
Chu Hang pushed open the wooden door with a wind chime, and a unique scent of old paper, dust, and leather wafted out.
The shop was quiet, with only an elderly man with White hair and reading glasses sitting behind a large oak desk, meticulously repairing a thick, heavy book with a quill pen.
He was Elias.
Hearing the wind chime, he didn't even raise his head, only asking faintly, "Looking for something?"
"I'm here to buy a book." Chu Hang walked to the desk and said calmly, "An Impossible Journey."
Elias's hand, repairing the book page, paused for one-tenth of a second.
He slowly raised his head, scrutinizing the young man before him through his thick reading glasses.
His gaze was as sharp as a scalpel, as if it could pierce through one's soul.
"I only sell histories that truly existed here," he said unhurriedly, his voice hoarse, like two dry leaves rubbing together.
"History is also written by people." Chu Hang met his gaze without backing down, "If it can be written, it can be changed.
If it can be changed, it can be created."
Elias fell silent.
He stared at Chu Hang for a full thirty seconds, his eyes as if evaluating the authenticity of an antique.
Finally, he lowered his head again, continued repairing the book in his hand, and said indifferently, "The alley behind the Grand Theater, tonight at midnight.
Bring a first edition of 'Moby Dick' and place it on the trash can at the alley entrance.
If the book is taken, stay put and wait.
If it's not taken, leave and never come back."
After speaking, he no longer paid attention to Chu Hang, as if he were just an ordinary passerby asking for directions.
Chu Hang knew this was the first test.
A test of his sincerity, financial resources, and patience.
He turned and left the bookstore.
Finding a first edition of "Moby Dick" wasn't difficult; the challenge was finding it in such a short amount of time.
He spent an entire afternoon, scouring antique bookstores and private collections across the city, and finally, with three thousand dollars in cash, he acquired a relatively well-preserved first edition of "Moby Dick" from the early nineteenth century from a Collector who was eager to sell it.
Midnight, the alley behind the Grand Theater.
It was pitch black here, the air thick with the sour stench of rotting garbage, with only the faint light from the distant street barely outlining the piles of trash cans and debris in the alley.
Chu Hang, following Elias's instructions, carefully placed the three-thousand-dollar rare book on the most conspicuous green trash can lid at the alley's entrance.
Then, he retreated into the Shadow of the alley, leaning against the cold brick wall, waiting quietly.
Time passed, minute by minute.
The alley was deathly silent, with only the rustling of plastic bags when the wind blew.
Chu Hang closed his eyes, his hearing amplified to the extreme at this moment.
He could hear a stray cat's claws scraping against a cardboard box as it rummaged for food a hundred meters away.
He could hear a couple arguing in hushed tones in a car fifty meters away.
Then, he heard several deliberately suppressed breaths that didn't belong here.
Four.
They were ambushed on both sides of the alley, and in the second-floor window of the building behind him.
Their heartbeats were fast, filled with tension and a hint of bloodthirsty excitement.
Two of them also carried the faint scent of gunpowder and gun oil.
This was a trap. Or rather, the second test.
A cold arc formed at the corner of Chu Hang's mouth.
Far from being nervous, he felt a bit bored.
Such a small scene, compared to the hail of bullets he had experienced, was like child's play.
About five more minutes passed, and the book still lay quietly on the trash can, untouched.
Finally, the ambushed individuals lost patience.
A Shadow, like a civet cat, silently glided out from the Shadow on one side of the alley, gripping a gleaming steel pipe, aiming it fiercely at the back of Chu Hang's head.
Almost simultaneously, two burly men wielding daggers rushed out from the other side, one on the left and one on the right, blocking all his escape routes.
Their coordination was excellent; they were clearly veterans.
Any ordinary person, caught in such a sudden and deadly pincer attack, would have no chance of survival.
But Chu Hang was no ordinary person.
Just as the steel pipe was about to strike the back of his head, he moved.
His body didn't even turn; his head merely tilted to the side at an angle impossible for a normal person to achieve, and the steel pipe, whistling through the air, grazed his hair and slammed violently into the brick wall, sending out a shower of sparks.
The attacker, having missed, showed a look of astonishment.
But he no longer had the chance to show a second expression.
Chu Hang's right elbow, like a venomous snake striking, shot backward with lightning speed.
Bang!
A dull thud.
The attacker's chest, as if struck head-on by a battering ram, had its ribs instantly fractured, and the man flew backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily to the ground, spitting out blood mixed with fragments of internal organs, dying on the spot.
Having dealt with the first one, Chu Hang's body turned smoothly, facing the two burly men with knives.
His eyes were devoid of any emotion, as if looking at two inanimate objects.
The burly man on the left roared, his dagger turning into a cold gleam, stabbing directly at Chu Hang's heart.
Chu Hang neither dodged nor avoided, his left hand shot out like lightning, arriving first, grabbing the opponent's knife-wielding wrist.
The burly man felt as if his wrist was clamped by hydraulic pliers, unable to move an inch no matter how much he struggled.
Chu Hang didn't even look at him, his gaze falling on the burly man rushing over from the right.
He grabbed the left burly man's arm and pushed it forward sharply.
Pfft!
The dagger in the left burly man's hand, beyond his own control, plunged fiercely into the abdomen of his companion on the right.
The burly man on the right lowered his head in disbelief, looking at the familiar dagger in his stomach, then slowly knelt to the ground.
Chu Hang then released his hand and kicked the left burly man, who was already terrified, in the knee.
Crack!
With a crisp sound of bone breaking, the burly man screamed and fell to the ground.
There was one last one, the one in the second-floor window.
Chu Hang raised his head, his gaze like electricity, precisely locking onto the figure hiding behind the curtain.
He casually picked up a broken brick from the ground, his arm muscles instantly bulged, and then he swung it fiercely!
Whoosh!
The broken brick, with a whistling sound, like a cannonball fired from a barrel, accurately smashed the second-floor window glass, hitting the sniper squarely on the forehead.
A dull thud of a body falling was heard from the window, and then there was no more sound.
From beginning to end, it took less than ten seconds.
Four professional thugs were completely dealt with by him in a nearly crushing, most direct, and most violent manner.
Chu Hang clapped his hands, as if dusting off non-existent dust, and adjusted his collar, as if he had only done a trivial matter.
Deep in the alley, an inconspicuous iron door creaked open.
Elias, leaning on a cane, walked out of the door.
He was still dressed in his old-fashioned attire, but at this moment, his gaze towards Chu Hang had completely changed.
It was no longer scrutiny, but filled with intense interest and a hint of imperceptible wariness.
"Good skills," he said hoarsely, "cleaner and more decisive than any soldier I've ever seen."
"Just to survive," Chu Hang replied indifferently.
"Come with me," Elias turned and walked back inside the door, "It seems you really need an 'An Existing Journey'."
Chu Hang followed him in.
Beyond the iron door, there was a hidden World.
This was not some dark Underground Room, but a studio filled with a sense of future technology.
More than a dozen computer screens of different models flickered with a faint blue light, and various precision printers, scanners, and laminating machines, whose names Chu Hang couldn't even recall, were neatly arranged.
The walls were covered with blank passport, driver's license, and ID card templates from all over the World.
This was a factory dedicated to creating identities.
"Sit," Elias pointed to a chair, then poured himself a glass of whiskey, "Tell me, what kind of past do you need?"
"I don't need a past," Chu Hang sat down and went straight to the point, "I need a future. A clean identity, a U.S. citizen, with a complete Social Security number, birth certificate, and driver's license.
I need a matching bank account, preferably with several years of good credit history.
In short, I need to become a truly existing person, an ordinary person who can deposit tens of thousands in cash into a bank without arousing anyone's suspicion."
Elias took a sip of his drink and remained silent for a moment.
"This is your highest-tier package," he said slowly, "I can do it. But the price is very expensive."
"Name your price," Chu Hang said concisely.
"One hundred thousand dollars," Elias held up a finger, "And I'm very curious, what do you need such a perfect identity for? I've seen many people like you, mostly to escape enemies or go into hiding.
But you are different; there is no fear in your eyes, only ambition."
Chu Hang smiled.
He leaned back in the chair, looked at the document dealer who controlled the pasts of countless people, and said something that would make him unforgettable for the rest of his life.
"This is a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit."
"I will use this identity to buy the future."
Elias was stunned.
He looked at the mysterious and powerful young man in front of him and suddenly felt that one hundred thousand dollars might be too cheap.
"Deal," he finally nodded, "Come back here in a week to pick up your new life. By the way, have you thought of your new name?"
Chu Hang thought for a moment, Howard Stark's smug face flashed through his mind, and then he thought of the Iron Man who would soon usher in an era.
He smiled faintly.
"Let's call him... Anthony Chen."
Chapter 64 Spatial Abilities
A week's time, neither long nor short.
For ordinary people, it was just seven regular days and nights. But for Chu Hang, these seven days were a critical period of transformation from a ghost of one era to a newborn of a brand new era. He wasted almost not a single minute or second.
He found a hotel that didn't require an ID, and paid a thousand U.S. dollars to book a room for a week.
During the day, he was like a dry sponge thrown into the ocean, greedily absorbing everything of this era. The municipal library became his second home, from the World pattern after the Cold War, emerging economic theories, to the burgeoning computer science, he buried himself in a sea of books, desperately filling the knowledge gap of fifty years. He even clutched a few banknotes and walked into an internet café, which was still a relatively new thing at the time. Amidst the maddeningly slow 'cat' calls and dial-up tones, he witnessed for the first time the embryonic form of the internet—the giant wave that was about to sweep the World, starting from such simple and crude web pages.
When night fell, the hotel room became his dojo. He no longer needed to squeeze every bit of potential from his body with high-intensity physical training like he did during World War II; the super soldier serum had already honed his physique to the peak of human ability. What he had to do now was a deeper level of work: control.
Control that new power, a fusion of the Tesseract, Healing Factor, and super soldier serum.
He closed his eyes, and his consciousness slowly sank into his body. That power no longer surged wildly and chaotically as it did when it first awakened; instead, it was like a deep, tranquil sea of stars, flowing gently through his veins. He no longer tried to command it, but learned to guide it. With his 'Super Will,' tempered by ice and years, he gently combed through the once untamed energy particles like a patient shepherd.
Progress was evident. From initially only being able to make a coin tremble slightly at his fingertips, to later being able to make all objects in the entire room, from the bed to the desk lamp, silently float in mid-air; from only being able to slightly bend a fragile toothpick, to being able to twist a hard steel spoon into a knot like a pretzel. His control, almost on a daily basis, underwent a qualitative leap.
He gradually realized that the essence of this power seemed to be interference with space itself. On a small scale, it could distort light, making him visually disappear into thin air; on a larger scale, it could even compress space, achieving short-distance 'blink' jumps. Theoretically, these were not impossible. But this required extremely terrifying computational and mental power to support, and at his current level, he could at most make a flying bullet take a small turn, or complete a rapid jump within three to five meters. Each such attempt would bring a huge mental fatigue, as if a piece of his soul had been drained.
This became his deepest trump card, a card that could turn the tide in life-or-death situations, but must never be easily revealed.
A week later, at midnight, he followed his memory and came to Elias's studio again.
It was still the old bookstore with wind chimes, and through the narrow aisle between the bookshelves, it was still that heavy iron door leading to another World.
Elias looked much more tired than last time, with sunken eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days and nights. But his eyes were unusually bright, sparkling with an almost fanatical light, like an artist who had just completed a masterpiece, examining his painstaking work. He didn't exchange pleasantries, but directly pushed a thick kraft paper file bag from one end of the table to Chu Hang.
"Your new life." His voice was hoarse, but filled with pride.
Chu Hang unlatched the metal clasp of the file bag and took out the contents one by one, examining them carefully.
A brand new Social Security card, with the name "Anthony Chen," clear number, and indistinguishable from the real thing in terms of material hardness and anti-counterfeiting patterns.
A seemingly old birth certificate, the paper slightly yellowed, with the unique smell of old paper. The printed font and Doctor's seal perfectly replicated the unique marks of that era. The document recorded that Anthony Chen was born in 1973 in a public hospital in San Francisco, to Chinese immigrant parents who died in an accident early on. A flawless orphan background.
A California driver's license, with a photo of Chu Hangtaken here a few days ago, with a natural expression, calm eyes, and a standard light blue background.
In addition, there were several credit cards and savings cards from different banks, accompanied by a well-forged bank credit report, showing that this "Anthony Chen" had maintained a good repayment record and excellent credit score in the past few years.
Elias even thoughtfully forged a community college diploma for him, with a major in business management.
Everything was astonishingly perfect. This man, with his miraculous skill, had created a living person out of thin air, weaving a twenty-two-year life history for him. From this moment on, Chu Hang disappeared, replaced by Anthony Chen.
"The remaining money." Chu Hang placed a backpack containing fifty thousand U.S. dollars in cash on the table.
Elias didn't even check, just nodded casually and put the backpack under the table. He poured himself a glass of amber whiskey and pushed one to Chu Hang.
"This is the most perfect 'work' I've ever done." Elias took a sip of whiskey, his Adam's apple bobbing, and said hoarsely, "I used some old connections I hadn't touched in many years to insert a real orphan file for you that had long been officially canceled. From a system level, you, Anthony Chen, have existed since the moment of your birth. Even if the Federal Bureau of Investigation turns your file upside down, they won't find any flaws."
"Thank you." Chu Hang raised his glass, the ice clinking against the glass, but he didn't drink.
"One last piece of advice." Elias gazed at him, his eyes becoming somewhat complex, with both admiration and a hint of pity, "Anthony, this set of things in your hand is a ticket to high society, and also an invitation to hell. It can give you everything, and it can also shatter you in an inadvertent moment. How you use it is up to you. Good luck."
Chu Hang nodded, put down the glass, picked up the file bag containing his new life, and turned to leave the dim studio.
He did not look back.
The next morning, Anthony Chen, dressed in a brand new casual suit, his hair meticulously combed, walked into the largest Citibank in the city center.
He was composed, his steps unhurried, no different from the hurried white-collar workers around him. He took a number, waited in line, and then sat down at an available counter.
"Hello, I'd like to make a cash deposit." He smiled, handing his savings card and the canvas backpack containing over fifty thousand U.S. dollars in cash to the seemingly capable Black woman at the counter.
The woman's eyes flashed with a hint of imperceptible surprise when she saw such a large bag of cash, but her good professional ethics kept her from asking further questions. She took the bank card and skillfully tapped on the keyboard.
This was the most crucial step. If there were any flaws in the identity forged by Elias, the bank's system would issue an alert immediately, and endless trouble would await him.
Chu Hang's expression remained unchanged, but his heart involuntarily quickened a beat. His fingers, resting on his knees, unconsciously tapped lightly against his pant seam.
Time seemed to stretch at this moment.
He could clearly hear the crisp sound of the teller typing on the keyboard, the rustling of the cash counting machine at the next window, and even the subtle friction sound of the security guard in the corner of the lobby quietly shifting his heel because he had been standing for too long.
"Mr. Chen, is that right?" The teller looked up, a professional smile on her face.
"Yes." Chu Hang's heart instantly leaped to his throat.
"Your account information has been confirmed to be correct." The teller said, then began to put the cash stack by stack into the cash counting machine, which sang merrily. "Please sign here."
It worked!
When Chu Hang fluently signed the name "Anthony Chen" on the deposit slip, he knew that he finally had an identity in this era that could stand in the sunlight. From this moment on, he was no longer the ghost hiding in the Shadow, unable to see the light.
The deposit process was exceptionally smooth. Fifty-five thousand three hundred U.S. dollars, not a cent less, was deposited into his new account. Looking at the string of new numbers in his bank card, Chu Hang truly felt for the first time that he had grasped the pulse of this era.
He politely thanked the teller, put away his bank card and receipt, and turned to walk towards the bank's main entrance.
He was in a good mood, even a little lighthearted. The next step was to open a stock account at a brokerage firm, and then quietly wait for Yahoo to go public, turning this hundred thousand U.S. dollars into a million, or even ten million. A brand new future was beckoning to him.
Just as he pushed open the heavy glass door of the bank, and the dazzling sunlight fell on his face, his footsteps suddenly halted.
His pupils instantly contracted to the size of a pinprick.
Across the street from the bank entrance, beside a black Chevrolet sedan, stood two people he least wanted to see at this moment.
One was a tall, serious-looking Black man in a sharp black suit. His iconic bald head and the single eye covered by a black eye patch were so conspicuous in the bustling crowd.
Nick Fury.
The other was the young agent beside him, who looked a bit green but had equally sharp, clever eyes.
Phil Coulson.
They seemed to be talking to someone, their gaze occasionally sweeping over the people entering and exiting the bank entrance, as if searching for something.
S.H.I.E.L.D.! They haven't given up yet! And they actually found this place!
Chu Hang's brain instantly raced. How did they find this place? Was it a coincidence, or had they already obtained clues he didn't know about? Were they looking for him?
A cold chill shot up his spine to his brain. The freedom and new life he had just gained, at this moment, seemed to turn into a colorful soap bubble under the sun, which could be popped at any time by those sharp eyes.
He forced himself to calm down.
Don't panic. Panic is the biggest enemy.
He immediately turned around, without any hesitation, and walked back into the bank lobby, naturally heading towards an ATM machine, pretending to check his balance. With his back to the door, he used the corner of his eye, through the reflection of the clean glass door, to intently watch Fury and Coulson's every move.
He saw Fury end his conversation, his single eye, like an eagle, sweeping over the bank entrance again. His gaze even lingered on Chu Hang's back for a few tenths of a second.
At that moment, Chu Hang felt as if a cold needle had pricked his back. He could clearly feel that Fury's gaze was full of scrutiny and suspicion.
But in the end, Fury still shifted his gaze. He didn't seem to find any flaws in this well-dressed, refined-looking "ordinary white-collar worker." Perhaps he just found the back a little familiar, but couldn't remember where he had seen it before.
After all, the current Anthony Chen, whether in temperament or appearance, was completely different from Chu Hang, the Soldier who fought in World War IIfifty years ago, or the "frozen man" in a prison uniform, looking haggard, at the Project Pegasus Base.
Fury and Coulson got into the car, and the black Chevrolet quickly merged into the traffic, disappearing at the end of the street.
It wasn't until the car completely vanished from sight that Chu Hang slowly breathed a sigh of relief. He then realized that his back was already soaked with a layer of cold sweat.
He didn't leave immediately. He stayed in the bank for another ten minutes, confirming that no suspicious people were watching him, before quietly leaving through another side door, quickly disappearing into the crisscrossing streets and alleys.
Walking among the bustling crowd, Chu Hang's expression returned to calm.
But in his heart, the ease and comfort he had felt earlier were gone.
Chapter 65 Cat and Mouse Game
He didn't return to the hotel.
He walked into an old public phone booth, the cold receiver pressed to his ear.
Dropping a few coins in, he dialed the hotel's number and, in the most concise manner, informed the front desk that he had an urgent matter requiring an early check-out and that all personal belongings left in the room could be discarded.
The crisp click of the hung-up phone was his farewell to a brief, past tranquility. He didn't look back, walking straight towards the other end of the city, towards an unknown hiding place.
He needed a new lair, a more inconspicuous and harder-to-find place.
This time, temporary lodging like a hotel was clearly out of the question.
He scoured the dense rental advertisements in the newspaper, finally settling his gaze on an old industrial district in the city, a place of mixed inhabitants and high turnover.
There, he found an apartment for rent. The landlord who greeted him was a middle-aged man with a beer belly and an oily face, whose eyes held only a craving for money, completely indifferent to the tenant's background or origins—exactly what Chu Hang needed.
Chu Hang presented his brand-new identity—"Anthony Chen." He signed a one-year lease with this name and, very straightforwardly, paid six months' rent in cash upfront. This almost ostentatious, generous payment method made the greasy landlord's face wrinkle into a smile, and he immediately shoved the keys into Chu Hang's hand, skipping any extra questioning, fearing that this fat sheep delivered to his door might fly away.
The apartment was small, a standard one-bedroom with a living room, the furniture as old as relics from a bygone era, and the wallpaper peeling slightly, revealing the mottled wall beneath. But thankfully, everything was still relatively clean, and more importantly, the apartment's window faced a chaotic, noisy alley, where there was more than one escape route for a quick getaway. For Chu Hang at this moment, this hidden layout gave him a sense of security far greater than any luxurious suite in a five-star hotel.
The first thing he did after settling in was to spend money. This money "borrowed" from the casino had to be laundered quickly and converted into useful tools for him.
He went to a large electronics store and, using his newly opened credit card, bought himself a top-of-the-line personal computer and a printer, both considered cutting-edge in the 1990s. Back in the apartment, he drew the curtains, cutting off all external prying eyes. In this new, absolutely secure lair, he began his true first step of his plan in this era.
Opening a securities account.
In the 1990s, online brokerages were a nascent novelty, unheard of by most. Leveraging his decades-ahead financial knowledge, Chu Hang effortlessly found a fledgling online securities company that was destined to become an industry giant. He meticulously filled out the tedious, headache-inducing online application forms using all the legal information of "Anthony Chen."
Throughout the entire process, his nerves remained taut like a bowstring. He couldn't be sure how extensive S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance network was, or whether every online operation, every data transmission, would silently leave a line of cold code on a server in some secret Base. It was like dancing on a cliff's edge, every step fraught with unknown risks.
Three days later, a letter bearing the securities company's emblem lay quietly in his new mailbox. Opening the envelope, he found the notification of successful account opening.
Chu Hang didn't hesitate for a moment, immediately transferring the remaining 50,000-plus U.S. dollars from his bank account into the newly opened securities account. Only when the screen displayed "transfer successful" did he let out a long sigh of relief, his tense body relaxing.
The money had completed its metamorphosis. From a pile of easily traceable cash, it became a bank deposit, and from a bank deposit, it transformed into a string of numbers flickering in a securities account. After these two crucial conversions, the difficulty of tracing it increased exponentially. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. was all-powerful, connecting this money to the mysteriously vanished Asian young man from the "Queen of Spades" casino would be an almost impossible task.
He was temporarily safe... Meanwhile, a black Chevrolet sedan was driving smoothly through the city streets.
Phil Coulson handed a document to Nick Fury in the back seat, his voice tinged with unconcealed frustration: "Officer, we lost him. The Asian man who caused trouble at the 'Queen of Spades' has vanished as if into thin air. We checked all nearby surveillance footage, but found no trace of him."
Fury didn't speak immediately, simply taking the document and carefully flipping through it page by page with his intact, eagle-sharp single eye. The air in the car felt heavy due to his silence.
"What about the bank?" he asked in a deep voice, no emotion discernible.
"We checked," Coulson replied immediately, "There was indeed only one large cash deposit of fifty-five thousand three hundred U.S. dollars that day. The depositor's name is Anthony Chen. We've pulled all his records."
Coulson paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts, then continued to report: "His background is exceptionally clean. A Chinese orphan, born in San Francisco, with complete social security records and credit reports. Community college graduate, no prior criminal record. To ensure thoroughness, we even contacted California to verify his birth certificate, and everything matched up. He's like the most ordinary U.S. citizen, so ordinary that if you threw him into a crowd, you'd never find him again."
"Ordinary citizen?" Fury scoffed, tossing the document onto the adjacent seat, "An ordinary community college graduate would immediately become aware of our surveillance across the street the moment he walked out of the bank after depositing money?"
Coulson fell silent. He also felt that the entire matter had an unexplainable strangeness to it. That day at the bank entrance, he had clearly seen through binoculars that the young man named Anthony Chen, the moment he walked out of the bank's main door, paused for a very subtle, almost imperceptible moment, and then immediately turned back into the bank. That Beast-like reaction speed and extraordinary alertness were certainly not something an ordinary person should possess.
"This 'Anthony Chen' identity is too perfect," Fury tapped rhythmically on the car window with his finger, his deep gaze fixed on the rapidly receding streetscape outside, "So perfect it seems meticulously forged. However, we can't find any traces of forgery. This leaves only two possibilities. Either our luck is extremely bad, and we just happened to encounter an extraordinary ordinary person who coincidentally had a large sum of cash he was eager to deposit into the bank. Or..."
He paused, a cold glint flashing in his single eye, as if piercing through the night outside the car window.
"So... what do we do now? Do we need to put him under twenty-four-hour surveillance?" Coulson asked for instructions.
"It's useless," Fury shook his head, rejecting the suggestion, "He's already alert, like a startled deer. Following him further will only tip him off and make him hide deeper. Besides, we have more important, more pressing matters to deal with now."
He turned to Coulson, his tone becoming exceptionally serious: "Has the energy residue analysis report from the Project Pegasus Base come out yet?"
Coulson immediately straightened up and said, "Yes, it has. According to the analysis of the residual energy fluctuations at the scene, in addition to the energy characteristics produced by the Kree's light-speed engine explosion, we also detected a third anomalous energy source. Its nature is completely homologous with the energy within the 'Frozen Man,' Chu Hang, which is sealed in our archives. However, its intensity and activity are several orders of magnitude higher than the data we recorded."
Fury's pupils suddenly contracted; the shock brought by this news far surpassed everything before.
"You mean, Chu Hang... was at the explosion site?"
"Not sure," Coulson shook his head cautiously. "But what's certain is that explosion was either directly related to him, or it created another energy being like him, or even one far stronger than him. Officer, we may have inadvertently opened Pandora's Box."
Aliens, mysterious energy beings, ghosts with unknown backgrounds... This World was becoming increasingly dangerous and unfamiliar at a speed he couldn't have predicted.
"Classify Anthony Chen's file as 'potential threat,' with a temporary yellow level. Suspend all proactive investigations and switch to passive observation mode," Fury finally ordered, his voice decisive. "Focus all resources on finding the missing Air Force pilot, Carol Danvers, and that 'frozen person' named Chu Hang. I want to know exactly what happened at the Project Pegasus Base that day!"
"Yes, Officer!"
...
Fury's decision inadvertently gave Chu Hang a valuable reprieve.
For the next few months, he lived a disciplined life, almost like an ascetic monk. He completely isolated himself, absorbing everything from this era like a sponge.
Every morning, he would spend two hours, without fail, browsing the latest financial news and various industry reports, analyzing stock market trends and future economic Veins. Yahoo's listing date had already been announced; like a countdown, he just needed to fire all his bullets precisely at the most opportune moment.
Then, an hour of physical maintenance training. Although the super soldier serum had pushed his physical fitness to the human limit, long-term, targeted training allowed him to better control this powerful and unfamiliar body, making every ounce of strength his own.
He devoted almost all his remaining time to training his control over the vast and mysterious spatial energy within him.
His progress was unbelievably fast. From barely being able to move small objects at first, he could now silently hover a coin around the room and, from several meters away, precisely unscrew a soda bottle cap with his mind. He even began to attempt more advanced applications, distorting the light around his body. While still far from the complete invisibility seen in sci-fi movies, he could already make his figure blurry on surveillance cameras, like a flickering, distorted ghost.
This sense of control over his power, accumulated little by little, gave him an unprecedented sense of security. This was his greatest asset for surviving in this dangerous World.
During the long wait for Yahoo's IPO, Chu Hang began to think about longer-term issues.
He couldn't always passively wait for the plot to unfold, like a leaf drifting with the current. He needed to take the initiative to seek out "resources" that could make him stronger.
Although the system was still in hibernation, the core function of the superpower copier had not disappeared. He firmly believed that once the system awakened, he would be able to replicate those coveted abilities again. Therefore, he had to find those powerful ability users in advance and make all the preliminary preparations.
He turned on his computer, connected to the infuriatingly slow dial-up network, the sharp dial tone like a call from ancient times. He began to search through the vast early information of the internet.
His keywords were strange and seemingly unrelated to ordinary people: "gene mutation," "special abilities," "unexplained miracles," "super healing ability"... Most of the search results were boring urban legends, sensational charlatan tricks, and unsubstantiated rumors. But with the super memory and analytical ability brought by the super soldier serum, he was like the most efficient gold prospector, accurately sifting out truly valuable clues from the massive amount of information junk.
For example, a paper published in an extremely obscure medical journal detailed a very rare case: a girl born with the ability to pass through walls, but because she couldn't control it effectively, it eventually led to severe physical complications. Shadowcat, Kitty Pryde.
Another example was a local tabloid news report about a private school in Westchester County, New York, called the "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." The school's slogan was that it specifically recruited students with "special talents" and helped them integrate into society.
Seeing this, Chu Hang's lips involuntarily curved into a slight smile.
Professor X. He found him.
Then, he changed his search direction. He began to search for clues related to his vague and distant memories.
"Canada," "bar," "brawl," "bone claws"... Finally, among a pile of messy search results, he found an inconspicuous news record. It was a short message from a local news website in a remote Canadian town a few years ago, buried among countless community trivialities.
The news headline was: "Bar Brawl Leads to Riot, Mysterious Man Overturns Truck with Bare Hands."
The news content was simple and somewhat exaggerated, describing a truck driver and a local logger clashing in a bar over an argument, which then escalated into a large brawl. The logger, after being beaten by several people and even shot with a hunting rifle, not only didn't fall but, like a completely enraged Beast, extended strange bone claws from his fists, smashing the entire bar to pieces. Finally, in plain sight, he overturned an eighteen-wheel heavy truck with his bare hands and then disappeared into the vast forest.
At the end of the news, there was also an extremely blurry black and White photo. In the photo, a man in a plaid shirt, with a cigar in his mouth, was looking back coldly at the camera. That well-defined face, those rebellious eyes, as if against the whole World, even across nearly fifty years and blurry pixels, Chu Hangrecognized him at a glance.
Logan.
He found him.
Chu Hang leaned back in the cold chair, silently looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar face on the screen, his heart filled with mixed emotions.
He remembered the comrade who fought alongside him in the muddy trenches of World War II, pretending to be shot and playing dead amidst the hail of bullets. He remembered that bastard who always cursed but would always silently block a fatal bullet for him from behind.
Should he go see him?
Chu Hang's fingers tapped lightly and unconsciously on the desktop, making a 'tap, tap, tap' sound.
Go tell him they were comrades? Tell him he was frozen for fifty years, and he himself had just woken up?
No. Chu Hang quickly dismissed this impulsive idea. He could clearly tell from the news description that the current Logan had likely already gone through the inhumane Weapon X program and lost most of his memories. His sudden appearance would not only fail to awaken his memories but would very likely make him mistake him for another Stryker lackey coming to cause him trouble.
But this clue must not be abandoned.
Chu Hang saved the URL of that news article, along with the address of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, in a heavily encrypted document. This was his future treasure map.
He turned off the computer, walked to the window, and pushed it open a crack, letting the cool outside air flow in. He looked at the gray sky outside, and at the city below, complex like an anthill.
A whole new World was slowly unfolding its magnificent yet perilous scroll before him. And he, Anthony Chen, would no longer be a passive observer, a survivor hiding in the Shadows.
He wanted to be a hunter.
A hunter of "superpowers."
Chapter 66 System Restart
On the day Yahoo went public, Chu Hang sat in his cheap apartment, like the most ordinary stock investor, staring at the computer screen. The Nasdaq index on the screen flickered wildly; each flash meant astronomical wealth circulating in the World. He was calm, neither excited nor nervous. For him, this was never a gamble, just a math problem whose answer he already knew.
When the stock price climbed to the peak he remembered, he gently pressed the Enter key.
Sell.
The operation was complete, and the familiar six-digit string in his securities account transformed into a new eight-digit line. Twelve million U.S. dollars. This amount of money was enough to drive any ordinary person in the World into a frenzy, but Chu Hang just turned off his computer and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of cold water. Money, for him, was always just a tool, a tool that allowed him to more freely accomplish another task.
He didn't move, didn't buy a sports car, and still lived in the dilapidated apartment where he could hear his neighbors arguing. He split the money into several portions and quietly invested it in several small internet companies that were just starting out, still operating in their home garages. One was called Amazon, another Google. He knew what kind of towering trees these inconspicuous seeds would grow into in the future, becoming a massive number he was too lazy to calculate himself. But that was no longer important.
He needed something else. The hunting season had arrived.
His first stop was New York. He didn't go to the bustling Manhattan but rented an inconspicuous Ford and drove straight to Westchester County in the north. Deep in that vast forest, he found the legendary "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." He didn't approach rashly. Even from dozens of kilometers away, he could feel a vast psychic power, like an invisible dome, gently and firmly enveloping the estate. He knew that any lie would be exposed before that power.
He needed a perfect opportunity, a moment that wouldn't arouse suspicion.
He found a motel in a nearby small town and stayed there, his daily routine consisting of driving to the mountain roads near the school to observe. He used the telepathy he had just mastered, like a clumsy thief, cautiously 'listening' to the fragmented psychic noises that occasionally leaked from the estate. The children's laughter, the teachers' lessons, and some deeper, more complex thoughts. Finally, he got an opportunity. The school organized an outing for the students, and several yellow school buses drove out of the estate gate in a line.
Chu Hang started his car and followed the end of the convoy unhurriedly. At a perfectly timed curve, he lightly pressed the accelerator, causing an unimpeachable minor rear-end collision, his bumper precisely kissing the rear of the last school bus.
No one was injured; even the jolt was minimal. He immediately got out of the car, his face showing the alarm and apology expected of an ordinary driver, apologizing profusely and offering full compensation. The door opened, and an extraordinary Black woman got off the school bus to handle it—it was Storm, Ororo. Just as she approached, concernedly asking if he was hurt, Chu Hang's body naturally made a brief, almost imperceptible contact with her.
Now!
Copy.
[Copy successful. Ability acquired: Elementary Atmospheric Control.]
At that time, Ororo was unconsciously maintaining the clear weather around them, making this power the easiest target to be 'copied.'
He pulled a few hundred U.S. dollars in cash from his wallet as compensation, handed it to her, then drove away from New York in the Ford with its crooked front bumper, without looking back.
His steps did not stop.
Next, he went to the swamps of Louisiana to find the legendary Gypsy who could turn playing cards into deadly bombs. He changed into a hiker's outfit, disguised himself as a lost tourist, and by a campfire, exchanged a bottle of good whiskey for the opportunity to drink with him. At the moment two glass cups clinked crisply, the copy was silently completed.
[Copy successful. Ability acquired: Kinetic Infusion.]
He then went to Chicago. In a dim, damp, sweat- and hormone-filled underground boxing arena, he saw the 'Beast,' covered in blue fur, as agile as an ape. He didn't choose to clumsily find an excuse to hug him backstage; that would be too deliberate. He simply bought the cheapest standing ticket, and after the boxing match, mingled with the noisy, chaotic crowd, completing a perfectly natural brush past the figure dragging his tired body towards the backstage.
[Copy successful. Ability acquired: Superhuman Senses and Physique (Beast Version).]
He became more and more skilled, like a top hunter lurking in the city's shadows. He no longer fixated on the most cutting-edge, core strategic abilities but began to collect abilities that would make him more well-rounded, harder to track, and better at hiding, like piecing together a giant puzzle, bit by bit.
The most crucial hunt during this period took place in Baltimore. He spent a full three months tracking a legend that had long circulated in the Mutant underground — a 'Ghost' who could transform into anyone. Finally, in an abandoned port warehouse, he cornered the blue-skinned, red-haired woman with eyes as wary as a wildcat.
Mystique, Raven.
It was a true, no-frills fight. Raven's combat skills far exceeded Chu Hang's imagination; her every strike aimed for a vital point, and her body's flexibility and agility were simply inhuman. Chu Hang almost used all the combat instincts he had honed on the battlefield to finally, in a dangerous close-quarters struggle, firmly grasp her wrist.
[Copy successful. Ability acquired: Form Mimicry.]
This was the most valuable ability he had gained in the years since his awakening. He didn't hesitate for a moment; right there, under Raven's astonished and twisted gaze, he transformed into her, then calmly turned and disappeared into the warehouse's shadows. From that day on, he truly possessed the capital to perfectly hide himself in this World. He could be a homeless person on a street corner, a hurried Wall Street white-collar worker, or even a blonde, blue-eyed, curvaceous beauty. Even if Nick Fury turned S.H.I.E.L.D. upside down, he wouldn't find a single hair of him.
Time quietly passed for six years in such hunts, one after another.
In six years, he had been to many places, met many strange people, and collected a large number of peculiar abilities. For example, a girl who could talk to squirrels, a man whose fingernails could grow visibly fast. These abilities seemed useless, but Chu Hang accepted them all. He had a faint premonition that the accumulation of quantity would sooner or later lead to a qualitative transformation.
His system remained dormant. The panel that read 'superpower copier' was always gray in the depths of his consciousness. However, the weekly copy ability seemed to be etched into his soul, becoming an irresistible instinct. He didn't need the system to remind him; every seven days, a 'hunger' from the depths of his soul would arrive on time, driving him to find the next target.
He became stronger and stronger, and also lonelier and lonelier.
Until that late night in 2001.
Los Angeles, his cheap apartment he had never moved from.
Chu Hang sat cross-legged on the cold floor, his eyes closed. He wasn't meditating; he was just emptying his mind. In these six years, he had collected too many abilities; his body was like an overcrowded warehouse, filled with all sorts of tools. He needed time to organize and familiarize himself with the use and characteristics of each tool.
Suddenly, he sharply opened his eyes.
He didn't hear anything, nor did he see anything. It was an undeniable resonance from the deepest part of his bloodline. The cosmic energy within him, which had been dormant for six years and which he had already neatly organized, completely boiled over at this moment without warning.
Like a pot of water instantly brought to a boil, violent energy surged through his blood vessels, bringing a burning and familiar stinging sensation. This feeling, he would never forget. Six years ago, in the hangar of the Project Pegasus Base, the moment the light-speed engine exploded, it was this exact feeling.
He immediately stood up and walked quickly to the window. He didn't look at the deserted street below; instead, he raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the apartment's ceiling, through the thick atmosphere, directly to the endless starry sky.
His energy perception was pushed to an unprecedented limit at this moment.
He 'saw' it.
Against the ink-black cosmic background, a dazzling golden point of light was forcefully crashing into Earth's gravitational field in an extremely wild, unreasonable manner. It wasn't a conventional spacecraft at all; it was a pure, violent energy aggregate filled with anger and confusion.
The fluctuation frequency of that energy was identical to the power within him.
Carol Danvers.
She was back.
Chu Hang's face was expressionless. Six years of solitude and sedimentation were enough to smooth out many things. He just quietly 'watched' that golden meteor carve a brilliant and deadly trajectory across the night sky, falling towards a direction he was incredibly familiar with.
The Mojave Desert. The ruins of the Project Pegasus Base.
He knew she had returned to find answers.
And he also needed an answer.
He slowly extended his right hand, palm open. A golden glow quietly lit up in his hand, stable, condensed, and pure, forming an incredibly sharp contrast with the violent energy body in space.
"Welcome home, Captain," he murmured softly.
The next second, the air around him subtly distorted, and he, like a sugar cube dropped into water, rapidly dissolved and vanished into thin air... The night in the Mojave Desert was cold and silent.
The once heavily guarded Project Pegasus Base was now just a vast expanse of broken walls and ruins. Under the cold moonlight, the twisted steel bars and shattered concrete, like an abandoned giant skeleton, silently spoke of past glory.
Boom!
A golden meteor, carrying a World-destroying momentum, violently slammed into the central plaza of the Base. The enormous impact stirred up a fierce sandstorm, sending countless rocks and sand hundreds of meters into the sky, only for them to fall like heavy rain.
In the center of the swirling dust, in a crater several meters deep, Carol Danvers slowly stood up. She wore a blue-green Kree Empire Starforce uniform, her golden hair wildly dancing in the turbulent energy aftershocks. Her eyes were filled with confusion, anger, and a hint of sadness she herself couldn't perceive.
She looked around at the familiar yet strange ruins, countless fragmented memories flashing madly in her mind, like sharp knives, stabbing her with a splitting headache.
She couldn't remember anything.
She only knew that this place was very important to her. She had lost some things here and gained some things.
"Who are you?"
Just then, a strange voice came from the shadows not far away. The voice was calm, devoid of any emotion, like asking, "How's the weather today?"
Carol sharply turned, her fists instantly enveloped in scorching golden energy. Her body instinctively entered a combat state, her eyes as wary as a lioness protecting her cubs.
"Come out!" she sharply commanded, her voice echoing across the empty ruins.
From the shadows, a man in a black trench coat slowly emerged. He looked young, with black hair, black eyes, and a distinct East Asian face. There were no energy fluctuations around him, like an ordinary person who had accidentally wandered into this place.
But Carol's combat intuition screamed wildly. She could feel that this seemingly harmless man was an extremely dangerous presence. His calmness was, in itself, a silent threat.
"Who are you?" Carol asked again, her voice full of wariness. "Did the Kree send you? Or the Skrulls?"
The man shook his head. He looked at Carol, a faint smile even appearing on his face.
"Neither," he said. "I'm just a... fellow traveler passing by."
"Fellow traveler?" Carol frowned, completely not understanding what he was saying.
The man didn't explain further. He just slowly extended his right hand, palm open.
The next second, a similarly brilliant, similarly dazzling golden glow quietly bloomed in his palm. The fluctuation of that energy, the pure aura originating from the Tesseract, was identical to the surging power within Carol. The only difference was that the energy sphere in his hand was as stable as a miniature star, while the energy within Carol was like a supernova about to explode, violent and uncontrolled.
The moment she saw that energy, Carol's pupils suddenly constricted to the extreme. For the first time, her face showed an expression of unparalleled shock.
How could this be?!
How could there be a second person in this World with the exact same power as her?!
In her mind, the memories forcibly implanted by the Kree, the claims that she was a unique, super-powered hero blessed with power, collapsed at this moment, accompanied by the light before her.
Just as the two homologous cosmic energy bodies confronted each other, their powers creating an increasingly strong resonance in the air.
In the deepest part of Chu Hang's consciousness, the gray panel that had been dormant for six years suddenly flickered violently.
[Detecting high-intensity homologous energy resonance...]
[External energy is being absorbed...]
[System energy replenishment beginning... 10%... 30%... 70%... 100%...]
[Energy replenishment complete...]
[Restarting system core module...]
A cool and familiar data stream, like a refreshing spring after a long drought, flowed back into his mind. The feeling of reconnecting with the entire World made him almost groan in pleasure.
[Restart successful.]
A clear, emotionless electronic voice rang distinctly in his mind.
[[superpower copier]] is back online.
[Newbie protection period has ended.]
[New function module unlocked: Ability Analysis.]
[Current copy target locked: Carol Danvers.]
[Target detected with multiple abilities. Please select the options to copy:]
[1. Twin Star Form (Cosmic Energy Manipulation)]
[2. Super Strength (Energy Amplified Version)]
[3. Super Durability (Energy Amplified Version)]
[4. Flight Ability]
[5. Energy Absorption and Release]
Instantly, a long string of clear options, like a lavish menu, appeared distinctly in Chu Hang's consciousness.
Chu Hang looked at Carol Danvers, who was still utterly shocked and unable to extricate herself, and the smile on his face became even more playful.
Six years.
Finally, he could open for business again.
And this time, the opening was a feast.