The Strange Bracelet on His Wrist

Curled up on a park bench until the middle of the night, Lin Mo groggily felt his wrist growing hot. It did not feel like the burning heat of a fever. Instead, it felt as though a stream of warm water was seeping inward along his bones, accompanied by an indescribable itch. He thought a stray cat had scratched him or a bug had bitten him, so he abruptly raised his hand to feel for it—only to touch something cool and hard. It was not skin. It was metal.

By the dim yellow glow spilling over from a distant streetlamp, he made out the thing on his wrist: a silver-gray metal band, just wide enough to fit snugly against his wrist bone. Its edges were so smooth that there was not a seam to be found, as if it had grown directly out of his body. Even stranger, a line of pale blue text appeared on its surface, like a projection cast into the air, glowing coldly in the night:

[X Check-In System Activated]

[First Check-In Countdown: 364 days 18 hours]

[Description: You may check in once per year to randomly obtain an X-Men ability. Ability strength increases with the number of check-ins.]

Lin Mo's breathing stopped. He blinked hard, suspecting that his eyes were playing tricks on him—after all, he had been soaked by rain all day, starving and freezing. Hallucinating would not have been surprising. But when he opened his eyes again, the words were still there. They even swayed slightly as he turned his wrist, like an electronic display stuck to a pane of glass.

"Fuck..." he cursed under his breath and viciously dug his nails into the bracelet. Pain shot through his fingertips, but the metal surface did not even gain a scratch. Instead, it seemed to shine even brighter, reflecting his distorted face: deep dark circles beneath his eyes, chapped and peeling lips, and a scruffy, unkempt beard. He looked like a homeless man who had just crawled out of a dumpster.

The bracelet did not budge, as though it had been welded to his bones. Lin Mo panicked, grabbed a broken stone from beside the bench, and smashed it down. With a light clang, the stone shattered into powder, his wrist went numb from the impact, and the bracelet remained perfectly intact. Even the blue text did not tremble.

"What the hell is this? A standard-issue cheat for transmigrators?" He collapsed back onto the bench, his heart hammering wildly. He had read plenty of web novels. He knew the trope of "get superpowers through annual check-ins" all too well. But the problem was that the system clearly said "X-Men abilities." He was not unfamiliar with mutants, but aside from top-tier figures like Wolverine and Phoenix, most of them seemed pretty useless. Like someone who could change the color of socks, or someone who could only understand dogs during a full moon.

He held the bracelet up toward the streetlamp, its metal surface reflecting his anxious face. "What if I draw some trash ability..." He shuddered, suddenly recalling that Kitty Pryde could pass through walls. Then he thought of the basic phasing ability he had acquired before, and his mind became even more chaotic. She could actually walk through walls. What if he got an ability that only let him talk to pigeons? In Queens, he probably would not survive three days—pigeons here were fiercer than homeless people. He had once watched a fat pigeon snatch away half a hamburger.

The bushes suddenly rustled. Lin Mo instantly tensed up and grabbed half a brick. An orange cat crawled out of the darkness, its green eyes glowing like lightbulbs in the night. It stared at the brick in his hand, let out a meow, and flicked its tail.

"Get lost." Lin Mo relaxed and tossed the brick aside. But the orange cat was not afraid. It slowly approached and rubbed its head against his pant leg—a pair of faded jeans with torn knees, stained by mud from the alley.

He hesitated, then reached out and stroked the cat's back. His frozen fingers touched soft fur. The orange cat narrowed its eyes and began purring.

Since transmigrating into the Marvel world, this was the first warmth Lin Mo had felt beyond coldness and hostility. His chest warmed slightly. Looking at the bracelet, he suddenly felt that things might not be so terrible after all. At least the system was not sending him to his death right away. It had given him a long-term mission instead: survive for one year, and he could obtain his first superpower.

"One year..." he murmured. He remembered that Tony Stark had built Iron Man armor after being held captive in Afghanistan for three months. There were still several years until the Battle of New York. He had enough time to slowly make plans. What mattered most right now was not fantasizing about abilities, but finding somewhere to stay and filling his stomach.

He remembered the hiring notice he had seen outside a Chinese restaurant that evening: meals and lodging included, two thousand dollars a month. For someone with nothing, it was practically a lifeline. But looking at himself—his soaked roast-duck T-shirt, ripped jeans, mud-covered sneakers, and unshaven face—the owner would probably throw him out after one glance.

"I need to clean myself up first." He made up his mind. Holding the cat, he stood and stretched his stiff limbs. The park was empty, with only a few streetlamps lit. Distant police sirens rose and fell, reminding him that this was not a peaceful era.

As he walked down the path, the orange cat jumped out of his arms and wandered beside his feet. When he passed a public restroom, he stopped. The door was half-open, and there were no lights inside, but moonlight outlined the shape of the sinks.

"I'll make do for the night." He pushed the door open. The stench of disinfectant mixed with mildew hit him in the face. It smelled awful, but at least it could shield him from the wind and rain. When he turned on the faucet, icy tap water gushed out and splashed into the filthy sink.

He scooped up water and splashed it over his face. The cold woke him up a little. The person in the mirror was both familiar and unfamiliar: an Asian man in his twenties, with ordinary features, but eyes filled with panic and wariness, exactly as they had been before he transmigrated.

"Lin Mo, you have to hold on," he told the person in the mirror. "In this world, no one will help you. You only have yourself."

He squeezed out the last pump of hand soap. Green foam spread across his palms, carrying the scent of cheap lemon. After washing his hands, he used a wet towel to wipe his face and neck, trying to scrub away the mud and exhaustion.

At that moment, the bracelet suddenly flashed, and the blue text updated:

[Host's current condition detected: extreme hunger (Stamina 37/100), moderate fatigue (Mental State 42/100), mild frostbite (Health 89/100). Recommendation: replenish energy, maintain body temperature, and avoid strenuous activity.]

Lin Mo froze. This thing could even perform a physical exam? He focused his attention, and another line of small text appeared beside the numbers:

[When Stamina falls below 50, movement speed decreases by 30%; when Mental State falls below 30, hallucinations may occur; when Health falls below 60, disease infection becomes likely.]

"Pretty smart," he muttered, but he felt even more panicked. His stamina and mental state were close to the danger line. If he did not eat soon, he would probably starve to death on the street before he could wait for a superpower.

He checked his pockets. They were still empty. His wallet and phone had long since disappeared. His only possessions were this T-shirt and his ripped jeans. With a sigh, his gaze fell on the trash can beside the sink. He knew it was humiliating, but he could not care about that now.

He crouched down and rummaged through it. Most of it was wastepaper and plastic bottles, with nothing to eat. Just as he was about to give up, his fingertips touched stiff cardboard—it was a hamburger wrapper. Inside was less than half a burger, dry as a rock and spotted with mold.

His stomach immediately cramped as hunger surged over him like a tide. He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the burger, blew off the dust, tore away the moldy parts, and put the rest into his mouth. The bread crumbs scraped his throat raw, and the beef patty had nothing left but a greasy, strange taste. Still, he wolfed it all down, even licking the crumbs off the wrapper.

After eating, his stamina seemed to recover a little, and his limbs no longer felt so unsteady. He leaned against the cold tiled wall and looked at the bracelet's countdown: 364 days, 17 hours, 58 minutes... Time moved so slowly.

He began imagining X-Men abilities. Wolverine's healing factor would be best; being hard to kill was the safest option. Magneto's control over metal would not be bad either. At the very least, he could pry open a car and drive it. If nothing else, Iceman would do. He could cool himself off in summer and make himself a shelter in winter...

But what if he drew one of those useless abilities? Like making objects float five centimeters off the ground, or understanding what plants said? In a place where even street punks carried guns, that would be practically offering himself up to be killed.

"Forget it. I'll cross that bridge when I get there." He shook his head and pushed away the distracting thoughts. What he needed most right now was sleep. Even an hour or two would restore some of his mental strength.

He placed the orange cat on his lap. The little creature obediently curled into a ball, using its furry body to keep him warm. Leaning against the wall, Lin Mo closed his eyes and gradually fell asleep to the sound of rain and police sirens outside.

His sleep was restless. His dreams were full of movie scenes: Tony building armor in a cave, Hulk smashing tanks in New York, Captain America charging forward with his shield... Finally, Thanos, wearing the Infinity Gauntlet, slapped down toward him. He jolted awake, his heart pounding like a drum.

Dawn was breaking, grayish-white light filtering through the crack in the window. The orange cat had left at some point, and only its lingering warmth remained on his legs. He stood and stretched his stiff neck, feeling a little more alert.

He walked to the sink and washed his face with cold water. The man in the mirror finally looked a bit cleaner. He took a deep breath. "Time to try that Chinese restaurant."

He pushed open the restroom door and stepped outside. The damp, chilly morning air brushed against his face, feeling refreshing. Elderly people were already exercising in the park, jogging and practicing tai chi. It looked peaceful, but Lin Mo knew how many undercurrents lay beneath the surface.

He headed toward the Chinese restaurant, his steps steadier than yesterday. Passing a convenience store, he saw that the newspaper's front-page headline was still about Tony Stark being attacked. The accompanying picture was a map of Afghanistan, with a red circle marking the site of the incident.

Looks like it had quite an impact. Stark Industries' stock price had probably plummeted. He wondered whether it would affect Queens' economy. He shook his head and dismissed the thought—this was not something he needed to worry about yet. Survival came first.

At the street corner, the Chinese restaurant came into view. Three golden characters, "Fortune House," stood on its red signboard, while red lanterns at the entrance swayed gently in the wind. The door was open. A middle-aged man in a chef's uniform was mopping the floor. He was probably the owner.

Lin Mo's heartbeat quickened. He stopped to straighten his wrinkled T-shirt and smooth down his hair, hoping to look a little more presentable. But there was no hiding his ragged clothes or haggard face.

"Whatever. I'll treat a dead horse like it's alive." He clenched his fists and walked toward the restaurant.

The man looked up at him, stopped what he was doing, and gave him a sharp once-over. He was in his forties, with a buzz cut and a scar on his face. He did not look easy to deal with.

"Who are you looking for?" the man asked in Mandarin with a hint of a Cantonese accent.

"Boss, I saw that you were hiring a dishwasher. I wanted to give it a try," Lin Mo said, doing his best to sound sincere.

The man looked him up and down, frowning. "Looking like that... can you handle hardship?" He pointed at Lin Mo's clothes. "You look like a homeless man."

Lin Mo's face heated up, but he forced himself to continue. "I can handle hardship. I can do any dirty or tiring work. I have nowhere else to go right now. As long as you're willing to take me in, I can accept lower pay. Meals and lodging are enough."

The man fell silent for a moment and stared into his eyes. There was no numbness there, only stubbornness and urgency. After several seconds, he nodded. "Fine. Give it a try. Three-day trial period, no pay. If you do well, you can stay. Two thousand a month, meals and lodging included. If you don't perform well, leave immediately."

Lin Mo's eyes lit up, and he nearly jumped for joy. "Thank you, Boss! I'll definitely work hard!"

"Don't get happy too soon." The man handed him a mop. "First, mop the entrance clean. Then come inside with me."

"Okay!" Lin Mo took the mop. It was a little heavy, but he immediately began mopping with all his strength. Having a place to stay and not needing to sleep on a bench was already an enormous stroke of luck.

As he mopped, he secretly looked around the restaurant. It was small, with a dozen or so tables and simple decor. Old landscape paintings hung on the walls. The kitchen door stood open, steam rising from the stoves as people bustled around inside.

After he finished mopping, the man led him into the kitchen. It was cramped, with two stoves and a dishwashing sink. The floor was slippery, and cooking fumes mixed with the aroma of food. An older woman in an apron was chopping vegetables. When she saw him enter, she gave him a few curious glances.

"This is Old Wang. He cooks." The man pointed at the chubby chef, then at the older woman. "This is Sister Li. She prepares ingredients. You'll be responsible for washing dishes and cleaning both the front and back areas."

"Understood, Boss." Lin Mo nodded respectfully.

"My name is Chen Qiang. Just call me Brother Qiang," the man said. "There are work clothes in the cabinet. Go change."

Following his instructions, Lin Mo took out a blue work jacket. It was a little big, but clean. He changed into it in a corner and finally looked somewhat human again.

Brother Qiang brought him to the dishwashing sink and pointed at the mountain of bowls and plates. "These are yours. Wash them clean, rinse them with disinfectant, dry them, and put them away. Remember, they have to be clean. If customers find grease on them, you're out."

"Understood, Brother Qiang." Lin Mo picked up the dish soap and rag and got to work.

The dishes were covered in grease and leftover food. Some had grains of rice stuck to them, making them difficult to clean. The water was icy, and his hands quickly turned red from the cold, but he did not dare stop. He kept scrubbing.

After Sister Li finished chopping vegetables, she saw how clumsy but diligent he was and quietly handed him a pair of rubber gloves. "Put these on. The water's cold. Don't freeze your hands."

"Thank you, Sister Li." Lin Mo accepted them, warmth rising in his chest. The people here were not so bad after all.

With the gloves on, he washed faster. As he worked, he listened to Brother Qiang and Old Wang talk. Most of their conversation was about business and ingredients, though they occasionally mentioned that New York had been unstable lately and there were more police around.

Lin Mo listened silently, making plans in his heart. He would work first, save money, rent a place once he had some savings, and then slowly study the check-in system. No matter what ability he got a year from now, it would give him a little more confidence.

The lunch rush began, and office workers and residents entered one after another. After washing dishes, Lin Mo was sent to wipe tables and serve food, keeping him so busy that his feet barely touched the ground. He was exhausted, but it felt solid—this was a chance to survive through his own labor.

After the rush hour, Brother Qiang told him to eat in the kitchen. There was a bowl of egg fried rice, topped with a fried egg, its aroma filling the air. Lin Mo was starving. He wolfed it down and felt that he had never eaten anything so delicious in his life.

"Slow down. No one's taking it from you." Brother Qiang watched him, a rare smile on his face. "It won't be busy this afternoon. You can sleep for a while in the partition upstairs. Get enough rest. We'll be busy again tonight."

"Thank you, Brother Qiang!" Lin Mo was so moved that he could barely speak. He had thought the owner would be harsh, but he had not expected him to be so considerate.

After eating, he went upstairs to the partition. The tiny room had only a bed and a cabinet, but it was clean. Lying down, he checked the bracelet's countdown: 364 days, 12 hours.

There was still a year before he could obtain his first superpower. He sighed, but his anxiety had already eased. He had somewhere to live, food to eat, and work to do. That was enough.

He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. In his dream, he wore clean clothes and stood beneath the sunlight. The bracelet shone brightly, and then he gained the ability to pass through walls. Like Kitty Pryde, he moved freely between the skyscrapers of Queens...

This time, he was not jolted awake by a nightmare.