"You all have solid skills. You can stay at the dojo."
Chen Mo straightened his slightly wrinkled shirt as he looked down at the men lying on the floor.
Hearing that they could stay, the group of Chinese fighters couldn't hide their relief and excitement.
"I don't care what your status was back in Huaxia," Chen Mo said sternly, his expression hardening. "From now on, you are instructors of this martial arts hall. If you work here, you follow my rules. And I don't ever want to have to throw someone out with my own hands."
These men had smuggled themselves into the U.S. to escape the war. None spoke English. Apart from martial arts, they had no other trade, surviving only through hard labor at the docks.
To improve his own fighting skills, Chen Mo had specifically sought out a group of newly arrived Chinese boxers struggling to make a living—and from them, he had chosen four of the best.
Of course, since they would soon serve under him, Chen Mo hadn't gone all out during the sparring. Even so, the difference in power was overwhelming. Soon, the men rose to their feet, clasped their fists respectfully, and bowed deeply.
"Thank you for taking us in, Master!" one of them said solemnly. "We won't let you down!"
Their voices rang with conviction.
Back in China, these fighters had all been respected figures in their hometowns, proud and self-assured. But in America, they had learned humility through hardship. In a world torn by war, just surviving—feeding themselves and their families—was enough to be grateful for.
Now, Chen Mo had offered them shelter and purpose. To men of honor and discipline, such kindness was worth a lifetime of loyalty.
And Chen Mo's own strength left them awestruck. Though young, his power far surpassed theirs. His technique still lacked refinement, but given time, he would ascend to a level they could only look up to.
Seeing their sincere gratitude, Chen Mo nodded with quiet satisfaction.
They're straightforward men—dependable. They'll do.
The martial arts hall had three floors.
The third floor was Chen Mo's private quarters—no one else was allowed up there.
The first floor was open to the public: a grand hall, training room, sparring arena, changing room, and lounge.
The second floor housed the living quarters—each of the four instructors was given his own room.
Compared to the filthy, cramped slums they had been living in, these new accommodations felt like heaven. Standing in the clean, spacious rooms, the men were overwhelmed with gratitude; warmth filled their hearts, and more than one had eyes that turned red.
To operate a martial arts school openly in New York, Chen Mo naturally couldn't remain an illegal immigrant. Fortunately, identity issues were easy to fix for someone with Hydra's resources.
Before leaving Norway, Chen Mo had sent his photo and a forged identity through Hydra's global network. They had provided him with a flawless new identity—clean enough that even the U.S. government would find nothing amiss.
Within Hydra, he had created an additional identity for himself:
The Red Skull's new aide—a martial arts master from the East, sent to America on a secret mission.
Officially, "Red Skull" had disappeared from Hydra's public view. His duties were being managed remotely by his assistant—Chen Mo.
The daily operations of the organization were left to Dr. Zola and Major Johann Wolf, the new head of security.
The Red Skull's authority had been absolute; no one dared question his absence. His will was law. After Chen Mo's careful purge of dissidents, Hydra was more unified—and more obedient—than ever.
The machine ran smoothly. The new base was under construction. Zola's research on the Tesseract was progressing rapidly.
Leaving the training room, Chen Mo walked to the window and sat on the sofa.
An elderly man approached silently, handing him a towel.
"Eddie," Chen Mo asked, drying his hands, "how are you settling in?"
Standing before him was Eddie Albert, dressed in a neatly tailored dark-gray suit. His white hair was combed back perfectly; his face was calm, kind, and full of quiet wisdom.
"It's wonderful here," Eddie said with a gentle smile. "The bed's quite comfortable."
Before coming to America, Chen Mo had thought often of the old man he'd met in Liverpool—the only person in this world he could truly call a friend. On his way to the States, he had detoured through Liverpool to find him again.
Though Chen Mo's ten-thousand-dollar gift had given Eddie security, the old man's life had changed little. He still spent his days painting portraits in the square, though now he rented a modest apartment and helped other struggling refugees. His health had improved, but he often thought of the mysterious young man who had once changed his fate.
When Chen Mo reappeared before him, Eddie's hand had trembled so hard that his charcoal nearly ruined the portrait he was working on. Then he saw that familiar smile—and couldn't help but smile back.
"Would you like a portrait, sir?" Eddie had asked warmly.
"Why not?" Chen Mo replied.
Being around the old artist made Chen Mo relax in a way he hadn't felt in years. Here, he didn't need to hide, plot, or calculate—he could simply exist, breathe, and enjoy life for a while.
So this is what trust feels like, he thought.
Eddie's patience, humor, and gentle dignity had impressed him deeply. Though life had battered him, the old man remained kind, composed, and unbroken. The only time Chen Mo had ever seen him truly flustered was that day he'd impersonated him in Liverpool—a memory that still made Chen Mo grin when he thought of Eddie's bewildered face.
After finishing the portrait that day, Chen Mo had asked casually:
"Eddie, I'm heading to New York. Would you like to come with me?"
The old man had paused mid-stroke, thinking, then asked, deadpan:
"Does it include room and board?"
Chen Mo couldn't help but laugh. Despite his usual formality, Eddie's dry humor always caught him off guard.
"Of course," Chen Mo said. "Ten dollars a day, meals included."
"Then congratulations," Eddie had replied with a graceful bow. "You've just hired yourself an excellent butler."
Eddie Albert had been born to an aristocratic family in East Prussia, Germany.
Educated as a noble, gifted in art, he'd later become a house steward after his family fell into decline following World War I.
For years, he had managed estates and served the rich. When his last employer passed away, a forty-year-old Eddie left the manor to pursue his dream of becoming an artist.
Now, fate had brought him full circle—once again serving as a butler. But he didn't mind. Chen Mo already knew everything Eddie could teach him about art and language; what remained was companionship and care.
And for Eddie, this new chapter was not an end, but another adventure.
He had known the luxury of nobility, endured the hardships of the streets, chased dreams, and lived through despair.
Perhaps, just perhaps—
traveling with Chen Mo would make his twilight years the most extraordinary part of his life yet.