After securing the revamped Unique Sword into the storage ring's void, Huang Wen didn't linger. He collapsed into a shimmering point of light, a localized warp that deposited him back at the threshold of Belle's private lab.
The air inside was cool, smelling faintly of ozone and that unique, sterile scent of high-grade metallurgy. Belle was no longer hovering over the crucibles. Instead, she was seated at a polished workbench, admiring her handiwork. Laid out before her were several bracelets, each a masterpiece of understated elegance. They were composed of twelve perfectly spherical beads of the psychic-nullifying ore, strung together in a seamless circle that seemed to absorb the room's ambient light.
Huang Wen stepped closer, a bit puzzled. They were beautiful, sure, but they didn't exactly look like the kind of top-secret project that required his immediate and forceful eviction from the room.
"Belle, they're great, really. But you kicked me out for... bead-stringing?" he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"Patience is a virtue you clearly lack, Wen," Belle replied, her back still to him. As she shifted her weight to stand, her elbow caught a small object on the edge of the table. With a soft clink, it bounced off the tile floor and rolled toward Huang Wen's feet.
He looked down. It wasn't a bead. It was a slender, exquisitely crafted ring made of the same dark, semi-translucent metal.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. The bracelets were for the others—a gift of protection. But this ring? She had spent those private moments pouring her own intent and focus into this single band. She hadn't been "doing research"; she had been crafting a symbol.
Huang Wen felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with his internal energy. He didn't say a word. He walked over, his eyes locked onto hers, and picked up the ring. Without needing a script, he sank onto one knee, the cold metal of the ring feeling heavy with significance between his fingers.
"Belle," he said, his voice dropping to a low, sincere register. "I think I've been a bit slow on the uptake. But looking at this... and looking at you... I don't want to spend another day wondering 'what if.' Will you marry me?"
Belle's expression was a whirlwind of emotions. She crossed her arms, trying to maintain a look of mock-annoyance. "Honestly, you're such a blockhead. I literally had to forge the ring myself and drop it at your feet to get a proposal. You're lucky you're cute."
The bravado lasted only a second before it crumbled into a radiant, teary-eyed smile that outshone every light in the laboratory. She extended her hand, her fingers trembling just a fraction. "Yes, you idiot. Of course."
Then came the tactical error. Huang Wen, looking at her slender hand, suddenly realized he had no idea which finger was the "official" one. He'd spent his life training in ancient Chinese martial arts and dealing with modern American superheroes; his brain was a jumble of conflicting traditions.
Silly Girl, help! Which finger am I supposed to use? I'm in the middle of a life-defining moment here, respond urgently! he sent a frantic mental ping.
"Boss, you've reached a cultural crossroads," Silly Girl's voice boomed through the lab's speakers, startling both of them. "In traditional Eastern culture, the symbolism varies, but in the Western context Miss Belle grew up in, the ring finger of the left hand is the standard for engagement. I suggest you commit to that one before the romantic tension evaporates."
Huang Wen's face went scarlet. "Silly Girl! Did you have to broadcast that to the whole building?"
"I apologize, Boss. My direct-neural-link module is currently undergoing a background update. Audio output was the only available secondary channel," she replied with a digital shrug in her tone.
Belle's romantic glow dimmed for a split second as she glared at the ceiling, then back at Huang Wen. "You really are a piece of work, Wen."
"Hey, blame the tech, not the guy," he muttered, quickly sliding the ring onto her finger. The fit was perfect. He stood up, pulling her into a tight embrace, and for a long moment, the rest of the world—the aliens, the secret bases, the shadowy organizations—simply ceased to exist.
"Come on," Huang Wen eventually whispered, breaking the silence. "Let's go show Uncle Zhong. I think the old man needs some good news to balance out the stress of running that kitchen."
"And the bracelets?" Belle asked, gathering the twelve-bead circles.
"We share the joy. Everyone gets a bit of protection today," he smiled.
They arrived at the Chinatown stew restaurant in the middle of the lunch rush. The air was thick with the scent of star anise and braised pork. Uncle Zhong was a blur of motion behind the counter, barking orders and ladling soup, but he stopped dead when he saw the two of them walking in hand-in-hand, Belle's new ring catching the light of the overhead fluourescents.
A slow, wide grin spread across the old man's face. "About time. I was starting to think I'd have to cater your wedding in a nursing home."
"Uncle Zhong, keep it down," Huang Wen laughed, leaning over the counter. "We brought gifts. These bracelets... they're more than they look. They'll keep the 'weird' stuff away. Think of it as a spiritual insurance policy."
He signaled Belle, who slipped one of the bracelets onto Uncle Zhong's wrist.
"Heh, you kids and your trinkets," Zhong said, admiring the beads next to his weathered watch. "Between the watch, the charms, and now this, I'm going to look like a street vendor if you keep giving me stuff. I won't have room for my sleeves!"
"Next time, we'll get you something invisible," Huang Wen promised. "Where's Zhong Qiang? I have one for him too."
Uncle Zhong huffed. "That little brat? Probably off chasing some girl or getting into trouble with John. He vanished an hour ago. If you see him, tell him he's peeling potatoes for a week."
"Got it," Huang Wen nodded, leading Belle out toward the Wing Chun hall.
The transition happened in a heartbeat. One second they were stepping onto the sidewalk, and the next, Huang Wen's 'Legendary' instincts screamed a warning. His hair stood on end. He didn't think; he reacted, pulling Belle behind him in a fluid motion.
CRACK!
A shockwave of displaced air whipped past his ear. To any bystander, it looked like Huang Wen had dodged a ghost. He spun, his eyes scanning the empty street, but there was nothing.
BANG! BANG!
Two more strikes aimed at his ribs and shoulders. Huang Wen moved like water, his Lingbo Microsteps activating instinctively. He was fighting shadows. In his vision, there was only a blurred, silvery streak, like a glitch in the world's frame rate.
"A speedster?" Huang Wen's eyes narrowed. This wasn't just fast; this was high-tier mutant speed.
He reached into his mental inventory. He couldn't use the Unique Sword here—it was too lethal and too heavy for a street brawl. But he still had his Slow-Motion Glasses, which Silly Girl had integrated into his custom contact lenses. Unlike the sword, the system still recognized these as 'equipment' because they hadn't been fundamentally altered by his own forge.
He blinked, activating the lenses.
The world slowed to a crawl. The falling leaves froze in mid-air. The bustling sounds of Chinatown became a low, distorted groan. And there, standing three feet away with a look of utter bewilderment, was a teenager with shaggy silver hair. He was wearing high-altitude goggles pushed up onto his forehead, a pair of battered headphones around his neck, and a silver jacket that looked like it belonged in a 90s music video.
Pietro Maximoff. Quicksilver.
The boy was mid-stride, his feet vibrating against the pavement at a frequency that kept him nearly invisible to the naked eye. He looked shocked that Huang Wen was actually looking directly at him. To Pietro, the rest of the world was a statue gallery, yet this man's eyes were tracking his every move.
"Wen? What's happening? I can't see anything," Belle whispered, her voice sounding like a slow-motion whale song to Huang Wen's enhanced ears.
Huang Wen didn't deactivate the lenses. He smiled, a predatory glint in his eye. This kid needed a lesson in humility. "Don't worry, Belle. Just a restless child playing tag. Stay here."
Pietro realized the jig was up. He wound up for a flurry of punches, his arms becoming a blur even in the slow-motion view. To him, he was delivering a hundred hits a second.
To Huang Wen, it was just a messy amateur boxer swinging in slow motion.
Huang Wen didn't strike back yet. Instead, he reached out and grabbed the silver-haired boy by the collar. Using the Dream Butterfly Escape technique, he wrapped his energy around Belle, himself, and the struggling speedster.
In an instant, they vanished from the crowded street, reappearing in the middle of a desolate, rocky canyon miles away from the city.
Quicksilver stumbled as the world suddenly snapped back to normal speed. He looked around at the towering red rocks, then back at Huang Wen, his jaw dropping.
"What the—? How did you... where are we? Are you a teleporter? I hate teleporters!" Pietro yelled, his voice crackling with nervous energy. He started to run, a silver blur circling the canyon floor, but no matter how fast he went, he felt a crushing weight of gravity holding him back—Huang Wen's Grandmaster aura was pinning the very air around them.