Queens on Saturday looked like an overturned palette. Elderly women in fur coats walked poodles, skateboarders whizzed past, and the scent of roast lamb from Middle Eastern restaurants mingled with the sweet smell of popcorn from the subway entrance, weaving through the crowd. Lin Mo stood on the steps outside the station, clutching a gray baseball cap in his palm—Ted's old cap, still speckled with chip crumbs, now serving as his money collection prop.
"Are we really doing this?" Ted tugged at his hoodie sleeve beside him, equal parts excited and nervous. "This is street performing. If the cops see us, we could get fined." He was also carrying a folding stool he had specifically bought at the hardware store yesterday, saying it was "for the audience, to make us look professional."
Lin Mo took a deep breath and adjusted the band on his wrist. Physical Enhancement's synchronization rate had risen to 35%. He was becoming increasingly proficient with Dynamic Vision and Burst Sprint, and even his Phasing Ability had improved through frequent practice. He could now precisely control what passed through objects—for example, letting only his palm pass through a wall while the rest of his body remained solid. "Let's give it a try." He placed the cap upside down on the ground and stepped back two paces. "The repair shop's closed today anyway. Might as well do something."
But he had another plan in mind. He had paid a customer for a new monitor last week, which had eaten up nearly all of the "efficiency bonus" Carlos had given him. If he did not find a way to earn some extra money soon, he might not even be able to pay the basement rent next month. More importantly, he wanted to test whether he could use his abilities "reasonably" in public and find a way to make money without exposing his identity.
His first audience member was a young mother pushing a stroller. The baby was crying and reaching for bubbles in the air. Lin Mo cleared his throat and pointed at the brick wall beside him. "Everyone, let me perform a little trick for you—retrieving an object through a wall with my bare hand." He deliberately lowered his voice, giving it the mysterious edge he had learned from movies.
The young mother stopped and folded her arms as she watched, her lips carrying the skeptical look of someone thinking, Is this guy crazy? Ted hurried over and chimed in, "My buddy's got real skills. This isn't staged!"
Lin Mo ignored Ted's unnecessary embellishment and focused on activating his Phasing Ability. Under the stunned gazes of the crowd, his palm slowly passed through the rough brick wall as though it were sinking into a block of butter. He deliberately slowed the movement, letting his fingertips fumble around behind the wall for a moment before suddenly pulling his hand back out. There was now a yellowed dead leaf in it, plucked from the old locust tree on the other side.
"Wow!" The baby in the stroller stopped crying at once and reached for the leaf with tiny hands. The young mother stared wide-eyed, then instinctively took out her wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and bent down to place it in the cap. "That's amazing! Do another one!"
With one audience member, more soon gathered around. Office workers in suits, students with backpacks, and hot dog vendors all stopped to point and whisper at Lin Mo. "How did he do that? Props?" "It doesn't look like it. That wall's solid!" "Was that some kind of special effect?"
Lin Mo smiled and decided to raise the difficulty. He walked beneath a streetlamp across the road and looked up at its shade more than three meters above him. "Next, I'll jump straight up and touch the streetlamp."
"Yeah, right!" a teenager in a basketball jersey scoffed. "My brother's on the school team, and even he can't reach that high!"
Lin Mo said nothing. He merely rolled his ankles. The power of Physical Enhancement flowed through his muscles like warm water flooding a riverbed. He took a deep breath, bent his knees slightly, then exploded upward. His body sprang into the air like it had been launched by a coil, easily clearing the teenager's head. His right hand precisely touched the edge of the lamp shade, and he even gave it a light tap, producing two crisp knocks.
As he came down, he adjusted his posture with Dynamic Vision and landed steadily in the same spot without even disturbing his hair. The crowd instantly erupted in gasps. Applause and whistles surged together like a tide. The teenager in the basketball jersey stood there with his mouth hanging open, his basketball dropping from his hand with a smack and rolling to Lin Mo's feet.
"Chinese kung fu!" someone shouted, immediately drawing a chorus of agreement. More bills went flying into the cap—dollars, coins, even a crumpled euro—all clinking and spinning around the brim. Ted busily handed out folding stools while babbling nonstop, "Slow down, slow down! Everyone gets a seat! The next one's even better!"
Lin Mo felt a little lightheaded with excitement. He had not expected such a great response. Just two simple displays of his abilities had drawn so much attention. He cleared his throat, preparing for the next act—a combination of Phasing Ability and Physical Enhancement, "taking" a bottle of Coke from a locked vending machine.
Just then, a deep laugh came from the edge of the crowd, carrying a trace of mockery. "That kid's more nimble than a circus monkey."
Lin Mo froze, and his Phasing Ability nearly slipped out of control. That voice... sounded familiar. He swept his gaze toward the edge of the crowd with Dynamic Vision and saw a man in sunglasses leaning against a lamppost. He held up a phone with its screen aimed directly at Lin Mo, clearly recording him. The man wore casual clothes and carried a black quiver under one arm. Though it was hidden beneath his trench coat, Lin Mo still recognized that distinctive outline—
Hawkeye, Clint Barton!
Lin Mo's heart leaped into his throat. What was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent doing here? Had he just happened to pass by, or had he come specifically to watch him? Lin Mo remembered Phil Coulson's warning. His fingers clenched instinctively, making the coins in the cap rattle.
"What's wrong?" Ted leaned over and followed his gaze. "That guy's been filming you. He's not a reporter, is he?"
"Not a reporter." Lin Mo lowered his voice, forcing himself to stay calm. "Ignore him. Keep the show going." He knew he could not show weakness now. The more panicked he looked, the more suspicious he would seem. Taking a deep breath, Lin Mo walked to the vending machine. Before everyone's eyes, his hand passed through the glass door, precisely grabbed a bottle of Coke, and pulled it back out. There were even cold droplets of condensation on the bottle, as if it had just come out of the refrigerator.
"Awesome!" The teenager in the basketball jersey was the first to cheer. He pulled every bit of loose change from his wallet and dumped it all into the cap.
Hawkeye laughed again, this time from closer by. "Nice technique. Your props are just a little outdated." He put away his phone and turned to leave. As he passed Lin Mo, he deliberately slowed down and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Be careful. Not everyone's as easy to fool as an audience."
Cold sweat instantly soaked Lin Mo's back. He had seen through him after all! Hawkeye had not only recognized his abilities, but was warning him too—S.H.I.E.L.D. had been watching him all along, and a little stunt like street performing could never escape their notice.
By the time the performance ended, the money in the cap had piled up like a small mountain. Ted excitedly counted the bills, his fingers trembling. "Two hundred and thirty-seven dollars! Mo, we're rich!" He suddenly leaned close, greed glinting in his eyes. "Listen, this is nothing! With your skills, you'd definitely make big money in underground fights! You could earn thousands in one match!"
"Don't get stupid ideas." Lin Mo frowned, snatched up the money from the cap, and stuffed it into his hoodie pocket. "There are plenty of ways to make money. Don't get involved in anything illegal." Hawkeye's words left him even more uneasy, and all he wanted was to get away from this troublesome place.
"What do you mean, illegal?" Ted muttered stubbornly. "Don't rich people watch that stuff all the time? My cousin fights in Brooklyn. He can afford a car now."
"That's because they haven't run into danger yet." Lin Mo grabbed Ted and pulled him away, not even bothering to collect the folding stools. "Do you know how many people who fight in underground matches end well? Either they get their legs broken, or gangs take control of them. They can never turn their lives around."
Ted wanted to argue, but Lin Mo's look frightened him into silence. He had never seen Lin Mo look so serious, as if he had become a different person. The resolve in his eyes made Ted swallow the rest of his words.
The two hurried through the crowd, leaving behind the still-discussing spectators and folding stools scattered all over the ground. At the corner, Lin Mo looked back. Hawkeye was already gone. Only the hot dog vendor was still pointing at where he had been standing.
"Who was that guy?" Ted finally could not help asking, his voice still trembling slightly.
"Someone troublesome," Lin Mo said vaguely, quickening his pace. All he wanted now was to get home, hide the money, and think carefully about what Hawkeye's words meant—was it merely a warning, or a sign that S.H.I.E.L.D. was about to take action?
When they passed a neighborhood bank, Lin Mo deposited most of the money and kept only fifty dollars on him. Ted watched him use the ATM, then suddenly said, "Sorry, Mo. I shouldn't have brought up underground fighting." His voice sank. "I just... really want to make money. I want to get to Las Vegas sooner."
Lin Mo smiled and patted his shoulder. "I know. But we have to make money slowly. We can't rush it." He took twenty dollars from his pocket and stuffed it into Ted's hand. "Go buy two cans of beer. Come to my basement tonight, and we'll celebrate our first successful 'street performance.'"
Ted's eyes immediately lit up. He took the money and ran toward the supermarket, his back as light as a bird that had just learned to fly. Lin Mo watched him go, and the unease in his heart gradually faded. Maybe Hawkeye's appearance had only been a coincidence. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. did not intend to make a move against him yet. After all, he was just a "magician" performing on the street, not much of a threat.
Back in the basement, Lin Mo hid the remaining money in the metal box beneath his mattress, placing it with the money he had saved before. There was also a note in the box that read "New Mexico Fund," and it was already nearly halfway filled. He picked up the note and gently ran a finger over the numbers, suddenly feeling one step closer to that desert with Mjolnir embedded in it.
The wristband suddenly vibrated and displayed a new notification:
[Detected that the host reasonably used abilities in public without causing widespread panic. Physical Enhancement synchronization rate increased by 5%. Current rate: 40%.]
Lin Mo's eyes lit up. So this could raise his synchronization rate too? He tried moving his wrist and felt his strength increase again. He could even clearly sense the vibration frequencies of every water pipe in the basement—was this a new function of Dynamic Vision?
"Mo! I bought the beer!" Ted's voice came from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. He held two cans of chilled beer, excitement written all over his face. "Oh, right. I ran into Peter at the supermarket. He said Aunt May's making barbecue tomorrow and wants us to come over."
"Sounds good." Lin Mo took the beer, popped the tab, and let the cold liquid slide down his throat, driving away the irritation in his chest.
The two sat on the floor, drinking beer and chatting. Ted was still excitedly planning their next "street magic performance," saying they should make more impressive props, like a box that could make people float. Lin Mo did not interrupt him. He simply listened with a smile, nodding now and then.
He knew that Ted's dream, like his New Mexico Fund, was what kept them going in this crazy world. As for Hawkeye's warning and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance, he would put them out of his mind for now.
At least for now, he had beer to drink, a friend by his side, the dollars he had just earned, and abilities he could use as "magic" to add a little joy to life. That was enough.
Moonlight shone through the small basement window and fell on the empty beer cans on the floor, reflecting a faint glow. Lin Mo touched the wristband on his wrist. A synchronization rate of 40% was like a steadily growing child, reminding him that he was becoming stronger little by little.
Maybe he would not need to wait until New Mexico, or for the next check-in, to find his own way to survive—using his Phasing Ability to help old ladies snatch eggs, using Physical Enhancement to perform magic on the street, and carving out an ordinary but peaceful path between superheroes and regular people.
At that thought, Lin Mo could not help smiling. He opened another can of beer and clinked it against Ted's, producing a crisp sound.
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