What Huang Wen hadn't anticipated was that the first person to breach the silence of the fourth floor wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but Belle. She had been tucked away upstairs, lost in a book, or so he thought. With a face as calm as a frozen lake, she walked into the room, smoothed her skirt, and took a seat on the sofa right next to him. She didn't say a word, but the air pressure in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees.
"Everything okay, Belle?" Huang Wen asked, blinking in surprise. He half-expected her to launch into a lecture or ask about the truck idling outside. He stepped toward her, his voice softening. "You usually don't come down during 'business hours.'"
"The book got tedious," Belle said, her tone light but incredibly dry. She didn't look at him; instead, she fixed her gaze on the stairwell. "I spent some time meditating to clear my head, and now I'm just... resting. Don't mind me."
Huang Wen felt a corner of his mouth twitch. He wasn't a telepath, but he'd lived with Belle long enough to know that 'resting' was code for 'I'm watching you like a hawk.' He played along, nodding solemnly as if he believed her, though he kept his internal radar focused on the stairs.
A moment later, the clicking of high heels announced the arrival of the Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff ascended the final step with a practiced, radiant smile. She looked as though their previous encounter—the one where Huang Wen had systematically dismantled her cover and sent her packing—had never happened. She was a pro; to her, a failed mission was just a Tuesday.
What she didn't know, however, was that her current play was already a step behind. While she was making her grand entrance, Huang Wen had already used his perception to "tag" the cargo in the truck. Below, in the hidden depths of Base No. 1, Silly Girl had already verified the contents. Two heavy, lead-lined canisters: one shimmering with the silver-blue lethality of liquid Adamantium, the other holding the vibrant, energy-absorbing hum of pure Vibranium. Every milligram was accounted for.
Nick Fury, you old pirate, Huang Wen thought. If you can cough this up on a day's notice, your secret stash must be enough to build a fleet.
"The payment is in the driveway," Natasha said, her voice smooth and businesslike. She stood in the center of the room, ignoring the chill coming from Belle. "Director Fury is a man of limited patience. He sent the best materials on the planet; now he wants to know when he gets his 'American Hero' back."
Huang Wen leaned back, his expression turning unreadable. "The goods are received and verified. Tell Nick he'll get his man when the defrost cycle is complete. I don't deliver half-baked legends." He waved a hand dismissively. "You can go back and tell him the deal is honored. And tell him if he wants any more 'miracles' from me, he'd better keep that supply line open. I know he's holding back the good stuff."
Natasha didn't blink. "That was the entirety of the agreed-upon requisition," she lied, her voice filled with a sincerity that only a master spy could fake.
"Sure it was," Huang Wen chuckled. "I believe you. Now, if that's all, I have a school to run and a very busy afternoon ahead."
Natasha didn't move. She shifted her weight, her leather suit creaking slightly, and shot a lingering look at Belle. Then, she turned her eyes back to Huang Wen, her gaze turning heavy and feline. "I drove a multi-million dollar payload through Manhattan traffic just to see you, and I don't even get a glass of water? You're a cold host, Huang Wen." Her voice had dropped to a sultry purr, the kind that had probably toppled governments.
Clang!
The sound of metal shearing air cut through the flirtation. Yuriko had stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, her Adamantium claws extended and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Her eyes were fixed on Natasha's throat, her posture a coiled spring of lethal intent.
Huang Wen didn't look bothered. If anything, he looked amused. "I'm just a simple martial arts instructor, Natasha. My manners are a bit... unrefined. But we do have a tradition here. Guests can have whatever they want to drink, provided they can win a sparring match against one of our staff. I'd hate to pick on a lady, so if you can get past Yuriko..."
Natasha's smile didn't falter, but her eyes went cold. She knew Yuriko's file by heart. The "Lady Deathstrike" project. A cybernetically enhanced killing machine with a healing factor that rivaled Logan's and a skeleton that couldn't be broken. Fighting her wasn't a 'sparring match'; it was a suicide mission.
"I think I'll pass," Natasha said, turning on her heel. "I'm on a diet anyway. Goodbye, Huang Wen."
She didn't look back as she descended the stairs. She had achieved her secondary objective—sowing a little discord between Huang Wen and his girlfriend—but as she stepped into the New York sun, she had a nagging feeling that Belle wasn't as fragile as she'd hoped.
Back upstairs, the silence was heavy. Logan, leaning against a far wall, gave Huang Wen a look of pure, unadulterated respect. The kid had just stared down one of the world's most dangerous women and a jealous girlfriend simultaneously and lived to tell the tale.
Huang Wen turned to Belle, his smile genuine now. "Well, that was exhausting. Ready to see what we actually bought with that frozen guy? I'm going to forge a new blade, but I have something else in mind first. I found a special bit of ore in the shipment—I want to make some protective beads for you. Want to help me pick the design?"
Belle's "haughty" facade cracked just a little. She stood up, tossing her hair back. "Hmph. Fine. Let's see if your taste in jewelry is better than your taste in 'business associates.'"
In a flash of golden light, the two of them vanished, reappearing in the high-tech sanctuary of Base No. 1.
"Alright, show me," Belle said, walking toward the primary workstation. "What's so special about a piece of metal that it needs to be turned into jewelry?"
Huang Wen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dull-colored stone he'd snagged from the crates. It looked like a common pebble, but it didn't reflect light quite right. "Be careful with your mental energy when you touch it," he warned, handing it over.
Belle took it, her brow furrowing. "It feels... empty. Like a hole in the world." She gasped softly. "Wait, it's absorbing my psychic residue? No, it's blocking it."
"Exactly," Huang Wen nodded. "It's a psychic-nullifying ore. Magneto used a refined version of this for his helmet to keep Professor X out of his head. I accidentally vaporized the helmet during our scrap, but I found this raw chunk in Fury's 'payment.' It's not as potent as a finished helmet, but for you and Uncle Zhong, it'll act like a spiritual shield. It'll stop any mid-level mental interference dead in its tracks."
"It's a bit small for a helmet," Belle noted, rolling the stone between her fingers. "If we carve it into beads, we'll lose half the mass in shavings. It seems like a waste."
Huang Wen paused. "You're right. I was thinking like a carpenter, not a smith."
"We should melt it," Belle suggested, her eyes lighting up with the thrill of creation. "If we liquefy it and cast it into thin, hollow spheres or intricate wire, we can maximize the surface area. It'll be more flexible and we won't lose a single gram of the material."
Huang Wen beamed at her. "Belle, you're a genius. Seriously, why didn't I think of that?"
Belle rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide the small, triumphant smile. "Because you're too busy worrying about 'American popsicles' and redheaded spies. Now, move aside. Let's see if that fire of yours is hot enough."
Huang Wen didn't need further prompting. He placed the ore into a specialized crucible—a vessel crafted from reinforced Adamantium by Silly Girl specifically for high-temperature alchemy. He centered himself, drawing upon the massive reserves of his internal energy.
With over 900 points of raw power coursing through his meridians, his Ice and Fire Palm technique wasn't just a martial art anymore; it was a force of nature. He pressed his palms toward the crucible. Instead of a blast of flame, a concentrated, white-hot heat began to radiate from his hands.
The air in the lab began to shimmer and distort. The dull grey stone began to glow—first a deep cherry red, then a brilliant, blinding orange. Impurities, ancient and microscopic, began to burn away in puffs of acrid smoke, leaving behind a shimmering, viscous pool of liquid starlight.