Chapter 51: Sorry, My Essence Is Beyond Your Reach

S.H.I.E.L.D. certainly wasn't short on cash; the five million was quickly transferred. Natasha drove away with a cold expression, taking with her ten jars of what was supposed to be white spirits spiked with cheap liquor, while Skye beamed as she watched her account balance surge from single digits to seven figures, her face radiant with delight.

It was her first time ever seeing so much money in her life!

How much liquor and water could she buy with this?

No more clunky old truck—she could get a brand-new, ultra-luxurious, zombie-mashing apocalypse vehicle! No more ancient laptop—she could upgrade to the latest, server-grade model! No more outdated phone—she could splash out on the just-released Banana 13 Plus! As for Old Wang—well, maybe it was time for an upgrade...

Wait! Perhaps not. That was new enough, barely used...

Skye was overjoyed—the happiest she'd been in three years. But her elation lasted less than twenty seconds before Old Wang’s calm voice interrupted, “Keep one million. Find a way to transfer the rest to Eli and Lucy without leaving a trace. Don’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. track it.”

“...Fine,” Skye replied, crestfallen and reluctant.

She hadn’t even had time to warm up to the money!

After three years together, she knew Old Wang well. The calmer he sounded, the more serious he was. Once he made up his mind, nobody could change it.

Wolves hunt in silence; when pandas catch bamboo rats... probably the same.

Grumbling, Skye returned to the register to busy herself. As she laundered the money, she tried probing, “Wang, what should I do with the remaining million?”

“Get a new car, a new computer, a new phone, clothes, makeup—whatever you want. Feel free,” he replied.

Old Wang paused for two seconds, then added, “Use what’s left to pay the store’s rent—six months upfront. Then rent an apartment and buy furniture. Being tied to a mortgage is better than living out of a truck forever, don’t you think?”

Of course not.

She couldn’t afford it before, but now that she could, she owed it to herself to live a little better.

Skye’s fingers danced across the keyboard.

Moments later, her spirits wilted.

To her dismay, once everything was accounted for, the million was gone—she couldn’t even afford a particularly nice car.

Easy come, easier go.

After a while, still in a foul mood, Skye suddenly thought of something and asked sourly, “Wang, Romanoff’s figure was nice, wasn’t it? Was her skin smooth? Did she smell good? Did it feel good to touch her?”

“So you really think I was taking advantage of the Black Widow?” Old Wang snorted, hands behind his back, looking inscrutable and profound. “I was examining her physical condition!”

Skye was speechless.

Was he planning to conduct a thorough examination for three days and nights in bed?

“Young lady, your thoughts are unhealthy and impure. You need to correct that,” Old Wang reprimanded sternly. “Do I seem like that kind of person? There’s something off about Black Widow’s body—she’s not like a normal person. She’s probably undergone some special modifications. As a traditional physician, it’s my duty to be responsible for my patients!”

Sure you are... Skye rolled her eyes, but curiosity got the better of her. “So, what did you find?”

“She’s much stronger than an ordinary person, probably enhanced to some degree,” Old Wang mused for a couple of seconds. “But she’s still far inferior to the Winter Soldier. Over sixty years, countless people have tried to replicate the super-soldier serum, but none have succeeded.”

The Winter Soldier was probably the most successful version.

The original super-soldier serum, developed by Dr. Erskine, was lost forever after his death. Since then, nearly all related experiments have been tied to that serum, either directly or inspired by it.

The Winter Soldier belonged to the former category. His physical abilities were on par with Captain America.

Black Widow fell far short.

Of course, now that she’d taken away ten jars of Old Wang’s special liquor, and after drinking the infused essence, her physical attributes would improve a bit. She’d never match the Winter Soldier, but her overall strength would certainly increase.

If she wanted to get even stronger, she’d have to keep drinking.

Not that Old Wang looked down on S.H.I.E.L.D., but if they really wanted to drink as much as they liked, even Stark Industries couldn’t afford it—only Wakanda might manage.

Yes, Wakanda was the real big shot. He’d have to find a way to make connections there.

“Wang, are we going to keep selling essence liquor?” Skye asked. She loved the thrill of raking in tens of millions at a time, but she also felt a pang at the dwindling supply. “What’s left isn’t even enough for the three of us…”

Old Wang, Skye, and Gabe.

All three of them had yet to reach their full potential within the bounds of law and morality.

If they kept drinking, their bodies would grow stronger and stronger. Maybe not gods, but with enough time they might reach the level of wild gods—definitely stronger than Captain America.

Old Wang would see the greatest improvement, Skye next, and Gabe the least.

Monks mainly cultivated their own bodies; the stronger the constitution, the more formidable they became.

Skye was destined to become the “Quake.” Her powers taxed her body heavily; the stronger her body, the longer she could sustain her abilities, and the greater her power.

As for Gabe, he was headed to Stanford or Berkeley—just a little would suffice for him.

Robbie didn’t need it.

The Ghost Rider was immortal; all he needed now was to keep seeking vengeance.

These past couple of days, every night he’d cruise around in that flashy Dodge Charger, though he hadn’t acted yet.

He wasn’t alone anymore; he had an organization and resources. He couldn’t act recklessly—he needed a plan.

Once he’d chosen his target, he’d tell Skye. She’d dig up the information, hack surveillance, and otherwise cover for him—ensuring the Ghost Rider’s identity was safe.

New York, this international metropolis, hid shocking filth beneath its glamour. In the eyes of the Spirit of Vengeance, at least half the city was guilty. But Robbie wouldn’t let it run amok; he had his own code.

Petty thieves didn’t deserve death—only the truly wicked made Robbie’s list.

Old Wang had little interest in vigilantism. To be honest, it didn’t move him. If a situation crossed his path, he might intervene—order was better than chaos—but he wouldn’t go out of his way.

If water is too clear, there will be no fish; if a person is too exacting, they will have no followers. Without evil, there is no good. If saints never die, great thieves never cease. A perfect world isn’t paradise or hell, but a human realm with both.

There are good people, bad people, and many who are simply ordinary—this is what makes the world vibrant.

In truth, Old Wang was lawfully neutral.

Skye leaned a little toward justice. After joining the Rising Tide, she’d developed a sense of social responsibility—so on the spectrum, she was lawfully good.

And Robbie? He should have been an ordinary, lawfully neutral man, but now, as Ghost Rider, influenced by the Spirit of Vengeance, he leaned toward lawful evil. Vigilantism suited him.

The three of them had their differences, but all were lawful.

Ghost Rider could only grow stronger by enacting vengeance.

So Old Wang supported Robbie, and had Skye assist him.

“Of course we’ll keep selling the essence liquor. How else are we going to make money?” Old Wang shifted the topic. “Who has Robbie set his sights on?”