Morning light crept across the horizon, gilding the earth in gold. The night's chill dissolved into mist as dew sparkled on grass blades like scattered diamonds.
Black boots moved swiftly through the damp lawn, leather darkening with moisture and crushed greenery. Well-worn light blue jeans hugged his legs. A black-and-white plaid shirt hung loosely around his waist over a crisp white tee. Bronze rings chimed against each other with every swing of his arms.
The cowboy hat perched effortlessly on his dark hair. Behind those sunglasses hid a smile that could set hearts racing. With the overstuffed backpack, he looked every inch the wanderer. The ranch town already shrank in his wake.
Hong Fei had liberated these reasonably fitting clothes under cover of darkness. He'd rather not linger among townsfolk... He hoped it was truly the simple, hospitable place it appeared. The alternative—finding every resident secretly moonlighted as murderers—didn't bear thinking about. The sky brightened steadily now, the road growing busier with each passing minute.
Head down, Hong Fei kept pace with the awakening highway. Suddenly raucous laughter erupted behind him—the kind of drunken revelry that suggested either an all-night bender or very enthusiastic morning drinkers. As the vehicle passed, Hong Fei flicked a glance upward. His assumptions proved correct—just kids, barely out of high school by the look of them.
Beer bottles waved wildly in the wind as they shouted nonsense at the sky. A few flipped him off for good measure. Hong Fei averted his eyes. The convertible off-roader wasn't luxury, but definitely beyond most families' budgets. Seven passengers, all clearly plastered, clothes in disarray.
Going shirtless he could understand. But pantsless? Did they not fear rheumatism? Four guys, three girls. Hard to tell who was handling themselves versus welcoming double-team arrangements. Worst of all, the driver kept swigging from his bottle without a care.
In the past thirty minutes alone, twelve fully loaded semis had rumbled past—this was clearly a major freight route. The odds of a drunken crash? Astronomical. Hong Fei's gaze lifted fractionally.
At the car's rear, a blonde with a beer can clamped in her teeth suddenly hoisted her top at Hong Fei, shaking herself enthusiastically. Hong Fei dropped his eyes. The resulting peals of laughter nearly drowned out the engine's roar as the car accelerated away.
"Legs like tree stumps," Hong Fei muttered. "Flat ass, barely B-cups. Pathetic."
He shook his head as if clearing cobwebs.
Focus. Next steps. Breaking the seal topped the list—no question there. But that "confront your heart and power" condition sounded deceptively simple. His abilities were... complicated. Harmonizing them wouldn't be straightforward.
Overthinking would only make it worse. No need to rush—couldn't rush it even if he wanted to. With no immediate threats looming, he'd just keep it simmering in the back of his mind. Second priority: establishing a base.
When he came, he took a lot of gold bars from the Dragon Dimension, which should fetch at least a hundred grand. Pocket change compared to his previous dealings in the hundreds of millions, but enough to get started.
First things first—find a place to settle down, secure a reasonable and legal identity, and then gradually plan for the future once a way to lift the seal presented itself. Next came the matter of strengthening and honing his abilities. The seal might still be in place, but that was no excuse for complacency. Becoming stronger was inherently gratifying, and even in his weakened state, there were ways to progress.
Heroes, after all, came in varying degrees of power. Superman was out of reach for now, and Batman could be ignored for the time being, but there were plenty of others he could target directly. Once he figured out the current plot trajectory, he'd find the right angle to intervene. The sun grew hotter, and Hong Fei absently scratched his itchy arm.
"I've been walking all night, but I'm not hungry, barely thirsty, and my legs aren't sore," he mused.
"It seems that even though I've lost a lot of strength and can't absorb Light Energy anymore, my body's high endurance remains intact."
Just then, a car horn blared behind him.
He turned to see an old pickup truck signaling as it approached, gradually slowing down. The window rolled down, revealing a handsome face with sharp features. The car came to a stop, and the driver offered a gentle smile.
"You look like you've been walking for a while. Need a ride?"
It's you again, Hong Fei thought silently. He returned the smile and nodded.
"Where are you headed?"
"New York. I like it there," the man added.
"I'm going for an interview. What about you?"
"New York too," Hong Fei replied.
The man chuckled.
"I can take you there, if you like."
"Thanks!"
Hong Fei slid his backpack off and tossed it into the truck bed before climbing into the passenger seat. As he fastened his seatbelt, the man handed him a fresh bottle of mineral water. His sharp eyes caught a bead of sweat sliding down Hong Fei's forehead.
"Clark Kent, from Kansas."
Hello, Kal-El.
"Hong Fei. You can call me 'Hong.'"
The monosyllabic pronunciation didn't seem to trouble Clark. He nodded, and after Hong Fei took a sip of water, Clark started the car. Hong Fei glanced at his attire—a light blue crew-neck shirt, black casual pants, and worn leather shoes. The vehicle itself was just as old, with a folded quilt and some miscellaneous items scattered across the back seat.
"You're from Kansas," Hong Fei said conversationally. "Did you drive all the way from there?"
Clark kept his eyes on the road and smiled. "Yeah. I wanted to take in the scenery along the way." He paused, then added, "Just like you."
He really thinks I'm a hiker. Hong Fei noted that Clark hadn't used his X-ray vision on his backpack or employed any of his superpowers to assess whether he was a threat.
"Driving isn't much more comfortable than walking," Hong Fei remarked, shifting in his seat.
Clark nodded in agreement.
"True. It was exhausting at first, but I've gotten used to it. By the way, where are you from?"
"Gotham."
I did pass through there, so it's not a lie.
"Really? What's it like?"
Clark sounded genuinely curious.
Hong Fei thought for a moment before answering.
"Not great. It's a strange city—very prosperous, but also very poor."
"Is that so? Maybe I'll visit sometime."
Better not, Hong Fei thought.
Hong Fei shook his head and asked again, "You mentioned you're going for an interview?"
"That's right. I'm applying for a reporter job."
"In New York?"
"Yeah."
Don't go. You won't get hired. Head to Metropolis instead. Or are you avoiding Lois's success but still want to work alongside her? Hong Fei pursed his lips.
"I think you'll make a great reporter."
Clark smiled sincerely. "Thanks."
Ten minutes later, traffic crawled to a halt. Up ahead, police officers directed sluggish movement through the bottleneck. Flashing red and blue lights painted the night—emergency vehicles clustered around something unseen.
"Something bad happened," Hong Fei muttered, forehead creasing. Clark remained silent, just nodding once. As their car inched forward another hundred meters, the wreckage came into view.
On the curve, a massive semi-truck faced them with its front end crumpled inward. Wedged beneath it, an SUV had been compressed to a third of its original length, the rear section jammed against the truck's grill like a crushed soda can. Blood streaked the windshield in violent arcs. Yellow caution tape ringed the area, white sheets draping uneven shapes across the asphalt.
The contours beneath those sheets left little to imagination—a dismembered arm here, a leg there. Hong Fei's gaze jerked to movement in the roadside bushes. The blonde girl from earlier lay sprawled in the undergrowth, her golden hair now matted with rust-colored filth. A cop tilted her head back, revealing skin the color of spoiled milk.
Her torso was barely clothed in shredded fabric. When the officer released his grip, her skull lolled forward with unnatural weight, a jagged shard of vertebrae bursting through the base of her skull like some grotesque flower.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
Hong Fei slammed a palm against the dashboard. Clark flinched—he'd been staring at the nearest sheet with grim concentration.
At Hong Fei's outburst, he wheeled toward the window.
"Eyes on the road! Drive!" Hong Fei barked. Clark jerked the wheel straight, but his knuckles had gone bone-white on the steering wheel. That split-second glance had been enough. Hong Fei wondered if super-vision felt more like a curse than a gift right now.
Silence thickened between them for the remaining drive. Clark's jaw stayed locked, his stare fixed on the highway with unsettling intensity. When he wasn't responding to Hong Fei's occasional remarks, his expression turned glacial—eyes dark with something unreadable. Hong Fei studied the passing streetlights instead.
The uniform meant Clark had already found the Kryptonian ship. The job hunt suggested he'd dealt with Zod. Poor bastard never stood a chance. Should've waited for me, General. Hong Fei exhaled through his nose as New York's skyline emerged an hour later.
"Thanks for the ride," he said abruptly. "If not for you, I might've... gotten a much clearer view back there."
Clark's fingers flexed on the wheel.
"You're welcome," he said after a beat. "That was... horrific."
Hong Fei nodded vehemently. Drunk drivers deserved a special circle in hell.
As they entered the city proper, Hong Fei tapped the window.
"Drop me here."
Clark signaled and pulled over. Hong Fei unbuckled, then hesitated with the door half-open.
"Let's swap numbers. I'll buy you dinner once I'm settled. No alcohol involved."
Clark's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Not necessary."
Predictable.
Hong Fei shrugged.
"I'll remember your plates then."
They exchanged perfunctory smiles before Hong Fei shouldered his backpack onto the sidewalk. He waved once as the car merged back into traffic.
Hong Fei did remember his license plate number, but he wouldn't use it anytime soon. Metropolis would claim Smallville's favorite son within weeks. Tilting his head back, Hong Fei surveyed the Manhattan skyline—nearly identical to the one he knew, save for the glaring absence of a certain billionaire's tower.
Hong Fei chose to stay here for now. The location was familiar to him, and it struck the perfect balance—not too close, not too far from Gotham City in New Jersey or Metropolis. Shouldering his backpack, he checked his bearings and headed straight for Queens. His outfit and the oversized pack on his back drew more than a few curious glances along the way.
Just as he crossed the street, the scenery shifted abruptly—gleaming high-rises gave way to a grimy, overcrowded neighborhood. This was a haven for the destitute, a place where the desperate and dangerous mingled. For Hong Fei, suddenly stranded in this world, it was the ideal first stop.
As he walked deeper into the district with his backpack, hungry eyes tracked his every move. But whether it was the daylight or something else, no one made a move. They lingered on street corners, leaned against walls, or squatted by the curb, watching him with detached indifference.
Before long, he turned into a shabby hotel lining the street. There was no grand lobby here—just a cramped space choked with cigarette smoke, the floor cluttered with junk that made it hard to find footing.
Behind the battered counter sat a heavyset Black woman, her eyes glued to the TV. Her belly spilled over the armrests of her chair, arms crossed, gum snapping between her teeth. She hadn't even noticed Hong Fei walk in.
He rapped his knuckles against the counter. She glanced up without turning her head, the whites of her eyes prominent.
"Staying," Hong Fei said quietly.
"Full."
Not surprising. A place like this, masquerading as a hotel, usually dealt in far less legitimate business. Back when Hong Fei had first arrived in Marvel and was playing the part of a... vigilante, he'd fenced stolen goods in spots just like this. Apparently, that experience still came in handy.
Clink.
The soft sound made the woman frown and finally look over. Then, with surprising agility for someone her size, she shot to her feet. The grimace that had made her look like she'd just lost her entire family melted into a grin as if they'd all been resurrected. A plump hand darted out—
Hong Fei flicked his fingers, and she missed the gold bar.
"Price," he said, smiling.
The woman's eyes narrowed, matching his expression.
"Sixty percent."
Market price for gold in places like this usually sat between fifty and sixty percent. Other stolen goods might go for as low as ten or twenty, but gold was reliable. Hong Fei didn't bother haggling.
He pulled a second bar from his pocket.
"I also need an ID."
Her gaze flickered between his palm and his pocket.
"Can do."
"By tomorrow."
"No problem."
Hong Fei nodded and slid both bars across the counter. She snatched them up, weighed them in her palm, then inspected them right in front of him. After a moment, she tossed a key his way.
"You want company?"
Hong Fei's lip twitched.
"Pass."
Thwack. She slapped a stack of photos onto the counter, undeterred.
"Pick one."
He swore he wasn't interested—but his gaze still snagged on one image. His steps faltered. He plucked a photo from the pile.
Third time they'd crossed paths.
The woman leaned over the counter for a look and immediately said, "She's out today. Pick someone else."
She won't be coming back at all.
Hong Fei shook his head, set the photo down, and turned toward the stairs.
The woman called after him, relentless. "I'll call her! She'll come straight up to your room!"
Sure. You go ahead and summon a ghost.
He climbed to the fifth floor and pushed open the door. The interior's understated luxury stood in stark contrast to the crumbling stairwell outside. After setting down his backpack, he methodically secured the apartment—locking doors and windows, drawing the curtains—before stepping into the bathroom.
Moments later, he emerged naked, his body sheathed in formfitting nano-armor that left only his head exposed. The suit's sensors swept the room, confirming no hidden surveillance. At the sofa, he unpacked his gear, arranging scattered firearm components across the table with practiced efficiency. The reassembled weapon gleamed under the dim light as he stretched out on the cushions to sleep.
Eight hours passed. The last sliver of daylight vanished behind the window's gray curtains, which now stirred against the still air. A curl of dust drifted from the windowsill, floating lazily toward the sofa. Hong Fei's brow twitched in his sleep—then his eyes snapped open.
A figure clung to the ceiling above him, limbs splayed like a spider's. Golden hair cascaded around a stained white robe, its hem dripping something dark. A single drop struck Hong Fei's ear with a wet tap. The hair parted. A bloodless face lunged down, stopping inches from his own.
Hong Fei kept his eyes open the whole time, motionless, as if frozen between terror and disbelief.