The thought hit Li Feng so hard it left him cold. He set the bottle down under a roomful of puzzled stares and managed a sheepish grin. "Drank too fast. Wrong pipe."
Decision made: unless Tony's life literally hung by a thread, he wasn't casting a single spell in front of Stephen Strange. Too risky. If he had to intervene, he'd fix the outcome and wipe Strange's memory after.
He cut to the OR. Pepper was already there. He folded their handshake into a pass—slipping her the jade gourd of Fountain water—then opened his Sight and took a place with Banner along the wall. Observers only.
On the table, Stark brought up a full-body holo—an elegant, floating anatomy of himself with the shrapnel paths tagged in red. The extraction played in crisp steps, a surgeon's ballet rehearsed by software.
Banner leaned in, voice low. "Can you get this holographic setup?"
"Probably," Li Feng murmured. "Top shelf, but Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. both have it. With my contacts? Not hard. Why?"
"Because your nuclear basics are abysmal," Banner said gently. "If we had true-to-physics projection, you could simulate fusion while you learn theory. Like driver's ed—one class is lectures, the other puts you behind the wheel. Which works faster?"
Li Feng's eyes lit. If that shortened the road to a fusion fireball, he was in. "I'll ask him after surgery. He's got an AI at home—feed it a reactor model and we're closer."
Banner opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head. Maybe don't install Stark's nosy AI in a warded RV you're trying to de-bug. Not in Stark's house, where the AI might be listening.
Minutes ticked by. The first shard came free. Dr. Cliff Owen and—yes—Dr. Stephen Strange eased back the retractors, ready to suture… and both froze as the raw incision stopped bleeding and knit closed, skin drawing tight before their eyes.
They stared at the room's inventory—oxygen lines, hemostats, blood bags. None of that did this. The only anomaly was a clear bag of unlabeled fluid—looked like saline, acted like a miracle.
Pepper caught their look. "Doctors." Her voice went cool. "You signed NDAs. Would you like me to repeat the penalties for breach?"
Both men shook their heads, a little pale.
"Then please finish the procedure."
An hour later, it was over. The surgeons called it a success; Li Feng, who'd been watching Stark's spirit the whole time, gave Pepper a small nod—healing had started on the soul's edge, too.
What came next wasn't for outside eyes. Not with Stephen Strange in the building. The butterfly effect alone gave Li Feng hives.
Pepper ushered the doctors out. As Strange stepped through the door, disappointment flickered across his face—he'd wanted to bond with Stark. Li Feng read the hunger there: prestige, influence. In that headspace, the man wasn't trading a surgeon's salary for the money pit called wizardry. Spell reagents could make a grown man cry.
Pepper returned a minute later, a compact phone in hand. She nodded: room clear.
Li Feng rolled up his sleeve, stepped to Stark's side, and pressed a fingertip to the faint arc-reactor scar—sliding an ultra-compressed control seed into the body, a spell so folded it shed no aura at all.
From the start, Tony Stark had been the hardest node in Li Feng's time-travel plan. Three minds stood between him and a working rig: Hank Pym, Bruce Banner, and Tony himself.
Pym: brilliant, stubborn, religious about the science that bore his name. Threats and bribes wouldn't move him. Li Feng wasn't after Pym Particles anyway, and he had a half-ace—Janet van Dyne, reachable in the quantum wilds when he was stronger. Pull Janet out, offer quantum tutoring, and even Hank Pym might loosen his grip.
Banner: already eating Li Feng's food, wearing his spare clothes, hand-holding him through physics—teaching a golden retriever calculus. When Li Feng asked, Bruce usually said yes.
Stark: the problem. They bantered like friends, but Tony never dropped his guard. Ask him outright about time travel and he'd dissect motive and risk before answering. Maybe yes, maybe no. Fifty-fifty odds—and Li Feng hated those odds.
Becoming Stark's truest friend was one path, but Tony's paranoia ring-fenced his heart. Outside Pepper, Happy, and Rhodes, everyone else wore a stamp: friend—conditional.
So: another path. Demonic control magic.
JARVIS complicated it. The AI would flag any foreign influence hitching a ride. Li Feng had gnawed that puzzle for weeks and finally torn hair out over the answer: compress the spell until it was all blade, no glow. A block of ice with every chill folded inward, polished to harmless shine—until it met the right counteragent.
Healing.
He'd pair shadow and light like a lock and key. For the light he used the Key of Solomon—angelic workings tuned for self-repair. Stark, given his future injury profile, would need healing more than anyone. Each time Tony patched himself, the angelic current would seep through and soften the hidden seed by inches, coaxing it—not to enslave—but to tilt, to nudge the needle of Tony's heart by imperceptible degrees. If there was a ripple, the healing signature would blanket it; JARVIS would see nothing but benign repair code.
Time would do the rest.
Pepper glanced at her phone, frowned, and looked up. "Austin, that last spell… didn't read like healing."
Li Feng's eyes flicked to the handset. "So Tony already taught JARVIS the healing signature." He nodded at the sedated Stark. "You pinged the AI from your phone?"
Pepper started to nod.
"That one wasn't healing," Li Feng said, easy. "Stamina burst. I want him awake—so I can ask how it feels letting someone carve his chest open with a dinner knife."
Pepper's shoulders loosened despite herself. JARVIS hadn't flagged harm.
She rolled her eyes. "Do you use scalpels as dinner knives where you come from?"
"Only on formal occasions," Li Feng said, deadpan, and stepped back from the bed—his expression calm, his pulse quietly loud in his ears. The seed sat where it needed to. The rest, like all good engineering, would be incremental.
Chapter 155 – Holo-Rig Acquired
A flurry of spells later, Tony Stark snapped upright on the operating table—moving with a freedom no man fresh out of chest surgery should have. His hand drifted to his sternum, palm spreading almost tenderly across skin that should've been stitched and scarred. Instead, only a pale coin of brand-new flesh marked where shrapnel had once lodged.
Catching the self-satisfied gleam in Tony's eyes, Li Feng shivered theatrically. "Your husband's a little too in love with himself," he told Pepper. "One day he's going to petition the clerk to marry… Tony Stark. Might be time to cut your losses. Happy Hogan's available."
Tony rolled his eyes, yanked out the lines, and peeled into casuals like he'd just woken from a nap. "Says the guy who's been single since the Ice Age." He buttoned a cuff. "Get a girlfriend before you start handing out relationship advice."
"Me? Single?" Li jabbed a thumb at his chest, bristling—then slumped with a sigh. "So what? It's called self-respect. If I post I'm taking applications for, uh, evening aerobics, the line'll stretch to Siberia."
"Full of women who can't find boyfriends and weigh over three hundred pounds," Tony shot back, dry as martini vermouth. Then his gaze flicked to the IV bag. Even under anesthesia he'd felt the Fountain water course through him—raw vitality, pure charge. Now, barely awake, he could feel it fading. The miracle was burning off.
If only I could keep what's left—
He turned to ask Austin for help and froze. The sorcerer already had a syringe in hand, drawing from the bag like a man stealing the last slice of cake.
"Hey—that's mine," Tony protested. "Contract, remember? Or is this one of those deals where I'm bound and you get loopholes?"
"I'm bound too," Li said, glancing back with a shrug. "Just preserving what's left. For you."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Since when are you generous?" Then, folding his arms with a sly grin: "You want something."
Li cut a look at Banner. "That obvious?"
Bruce lifted his hands. "Might as well be tattooed on your forehead."
"Fine." Li rubbed his palms. "I want a full holo-projection rig. And an AI stack to simulate physics experiments."
"A wizard wants to learn physics?" Tony clapped a hand to his ear, doubled over laughing. "You? Physics?"
Li stayed stone-faced—until Tony wouldn't stop. Then he flipped him the bird. "What, me studying physics spins your water meter? Makes your electric meter tick faster than your heartbeat?"
"Not at all." Tony wiped his eyes, still grinning. "I'm touched. You climb a mountain of magic and still end up needing science. As a scientist, I feel… proud. Superior career choice, clearly."
Banner covered his face. When he conjures a fusion fireball bare-handed, we'll revisit that speech.
Li sealed the Fountain's remainder into a syringe and handed it over. "Temporary container. You've got a day before it degrades. Pull an all-nighter."
Tony snatched it like a relay baton. "Pepper, keep them entertained," he called, already backing toward his lab. Then he was gone.
Pepper moved to stop him—patient or not, he should at least pretend to convalesce—but Li blocked her gently. "It's fine. He soaked up enough life force in there to power a marathon. Better he burns it off. And JARVIS is watching—you've got the vitals on your phone."
He rubbed his hands again, sheepish grin in place. "Since he'll be busy till morning… think you could help with the holo setup?"
Pepper sighed. Dragging Tony out of work mode was impossible. "There's a lakeside cabin outside the city. Stocked with the holodesk he uses for side projects. I'll text you the address." She hesitated. "But the AI? That's Tony's call."
"How heavy's the cabin's compute?" Banner asked.
"For physics? Adequate."
Li pictured an AI waving goodbye and fought the urge to pout. Only transmigrator in Marvel without a digital valet. One star. Would not recommend.
He took the address with thanks, sliced a portal, and ferried Banner back to the RV. Then he slid into the driver's seat, brought the coach online, cloaked it, opened a shimmering gate ahead—and stomped the accelerator.
They burst into open sky above Manhattan.
Bruce gripped the armrest, staring out the window. "Your RV flies?"
Li grinned. "If it doesn't fly, that's science. If it does, that's magic." He winked. "Find me the right power source and I'll drive this baby off-world."
"Solve oxygen first," Bruce muttered.
Minutes later, they skimmed low over a still lake. Li checked Pepper's pin. "See a cabin?"
Bruce leaned forward, scanning the pines. "There—tucked back."
Li followed his finger to a sprawling two-story lodge. He snorted. "Only Tony Stark calls a thousand-square-foot lodge a cabin."
They touched down and stepped into the cool night. Li spread his arms, breathing in resin and water. Banner flopped onto the grass, hands behind his head, eyes on the moon.
After a while Li patted his stomach. "Kreacher—two cold beers and bar snacks."
Trays arrived on invisible hands, glasses clinking. Li tilted his head. "Missing your girlfriend?"
Bruce blinked. A pained smile tugged at his mouth. "That obvious?"
"It's not a crime." Li flicked a phone into his hand with a lazy spell, then stretched out with a blade of grass between his lips. "Private land. Legally protected. And Ross knows I'm trouble. He won't touch it."
Bruce gave him a sideways look. "Your point?"
"Bring Betty," Li said simply. "Live here awhile. I've gotten used to the RV. I won't crowd your two-person world."
Joy flickered, then dimmed. Bruce shook his head. "After I get rid of the Hulk. Then I start making plans."
Kreacher set down the beers. Li eyed his quiet misery, scratched his hairline. There was no good way to say, you'll never kill the Hulk; better start living anyway. Not unless he wanted to be buried lakeside by sunrise.
They ate, they drank, the night settling soft around them.
Then Li, warmed by beer and momentum, strode to the door and kicked it in.
The "cabin" didn't creak. Whatever it was made of, it wasn't pine. Lights surged on. The holodesk bloomed to life, a lattice of blue-white geometry rising over the floor.
Behind him, Bruce rubbed his forehead. "You really are… direct. Compared to you, Hulk's temper feels almost reasonable."
"If a woman said that, I'd be flattered," Li said cheerfully, already sliding his fingers through menus.
Bruce blinked. Which ear takes that as a compliment? Then he gave up, stepped onto the platform, and shifted into teacher mode.
An hour ago they'd crawled out of bed in the Afghan desert. Now the moon hung bright over a mirror-still lake. Neither man had a hint of sleep left. Two guys, a holodesk, and a stack of physics to climb—what else were they going to do?
Elsewhere, the medium Bob sensed something wrong—and bolted.