Xiang Qian's meeting with General Ross was uneventful.
A demanding businessman invoked his status as a taxpayer to demand that the government protect his lawful investments; an Air Force lieutenant general, wheeled out as a representative, solemnly reiterated the United States' unwavering resolve to combat terrorism and maintain social stability.
The two sides went through the motions, neither bothering to disguise how formulaic and perfunctory the whole thing was. The deal had already been struck when Xiang Qian called the White House and the United States Department of Defense.
Still, Xiang Qian had tossed out two offhand remarks—"I hope General Ross does a better job than General Frank Hummel" and "If you fail, will you have fighter jets blow up all of Alcatraz Island?"—leaving the humorless General Ross momentarily stunned.
Only after one of his men, unable to hold back a laugh, reminded him, "The Rock," did General Ross catch on. Blushing with anger, he ordered Xiang Qian to leave.
"I'll be staying at the Hilton in San Francisco for a while. Once San Francisco Bay is calm again, you can send your negotiating team over." Before leaving Alcatraz Island, Xiang Qian said this to Worthington II.
Worthington II looked relieved. "That day will come soon. Think of it as a short, comfortable vacation. The Hilton's service is excellent."
"Is that so? I'm not particular about hotel service. It's just that Miss Hilton got me the highest-level VIP treatment the hotel offers, so I can't let that go to waste."
Worthington II gave him a knowing, man-to-man smile. Given the way "Miss Hilton" behaved, it was no surprise she'd gotten involved with Xiang Qian. But when he casually asked, "Which Miss Hilton, the older sister or the younger one?" he got an answer that made him jealous.
"Both!"
They waved goodbye in an atmosphere that seemed light and cordial on the surface. As Worthington II watched the small ferry carrying Xiang Qian sail away from Alcatraz Island, a palm-sized spider-bot crawled into a crack in the concrete pier.
By the time Xiang Qian came ashore, night had fallen completely. As far as the eye could see, the crowds in the streets were growing, most of them looking hostile and sporting all manner of bizarre, unconventional styles.
"Radical Mutants in North America have an unspoken rule. Depending on their powers, they get different tattoos on exposed places like their faces or hands, so they can identify one another," the employee from the American branch riding with him explained, pointing at the Mutants outside the window.
Xiang Qian smirked. "Like the rule about gay people wearing earrings?"
His companions all let out awkward chuckles. After living in the United States for a long time, being politically correct had become second nature to them. They instinctively fell silent when sensitive topics came up, unlike Xiang Qian, who joked about them so freely.
But Xiang Qian wasn't as shallow as they thought.
"It's more than just self-expression." Xiang Qian watched the impassioned Mutants outside the window with an impassive gaze. "The tattoos are an identity. They represent a division into groups and a sense of belonging. They're searching for and building a sense of identity as a people."
"It's a pity. From what we've learned from history, building that kind of group identity requires fertile ground and at least several centuries to take root. And there's no such ground in the United States."
African Americans, Anglo Americans, Irish Americans, German Americans, Latino Americans, and so on. When had there ever been a true American nation?
A country pieced together like a joint business venture: united by profit, scattered once the profit ran out.
The convoy sped along. By the time they reached the Hilton, it was almost time for Xiang Qian's appointment with Professor X.
"Miss Hilton left a message for you. She hopes you'll call her back when you have time. Here are her new phone numbers." As the hotel manager handed him his key card, he also passed over two slips of paper with numbers written on them.
Xiang Qian's expression turned inscrutable. "Two numbers?"
"The two Miss Hiltons left separate messages. They both specifically asked to speak with Mr. Zion privately when the time comes." The hotel manager wore a perfectly professional expression, giving no sign that he found anything unusual about it. He embodied the poise of a top-tier professional.
"Zion" was the surname Xiang Qian used abroad. Americans couldn't pronounce the tones in Chinese, and they often rendered the pinyin for "Xiang" as "Zion." After a while, Xiang Qian had simply started going by James Zion overseas.
Xiang Qian tucked away the numbers without changing expression, but as he left the front desk, he cast a meaningful glance at the busy hotel lounge.
The hotel's presidential suite had the best view in the entire building. Xiang Qian stood at the window, overlooking the brightly lit city. San Francisco was livelier than usual tonight. Sirens wailed one after another, and most of the police cars were racing toward the waterfront.
For San Francisco's police officers, tonight would surely be a sleepless one.
At the appointed time, the doorbell rang right on cue.
Xiang Qian turned and signaled to his companions to open the door. Professor Xavier, seated in his wheelchair, was the first to enter.
"Professor, you're as punctual as ever. Not a second off."
"Punctuality is a virtue, James. It's been a long time." The professor's expression was always gentle yet serious, giving him the kind of quiet authority people often described as inspiring awe without anger.
Several X-Men filed in behind the professor. Seeing those familiar faces, Xiang Qian's smile stiffened at once.
Wolverine Logan and Cyclops Scott.
The two love rivals, who normally couldn't stand each other, were now glaring at Xiang Qian in unison, united against him.
Among those who had come with Professor Xavier were neither Phoenix Jean Grey, with whom he was close, nor Storm Ororo, who seemed like a stranger to him but might still have spoken up on his behalf.
Xiang Qian was certain that if they got the chance, Logan and Scott, both men who'd been spurned, wouldn't hesitate to chop him into pieces and then blast his bones to dust with optic beams.
That bald old man had done this on purpose! Xiang Qian clenched his back teeth and glared resentfully at Professor Xavier.
Fortunately, the last person through the door was the current Mutant Affairs minister, "Beast" McCoy. This burly man looked wild, but his sincere, honest nature was quite different from his appearance.
"Hello, Minister. It's been a long time." Xiang Qian greeted him, pointedly skipping over the two love rivals. "I heard you went to the island to see that child?"
"James, you can call me Hank." Beast was as honest as ever. "Yes, I just saw him. By the way, have you seen Raven lately? We haven't heard from her in a long time."
Xiang Qian's grip on Beast's hand tightened suddenly, but he hid it and gave it a little shake.
"Really? Seems she's taken a liking to the life of a lone wolf," Xiang Qian said lightly. "She's elusive, which certainly suits Mystique's style."