How Much Effort Could a Little Hammer Take?

The next day, around twenty people had gathered loosely around the hammer pit.

Chen Xiao wore a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, flip-flops, and sunglasses perched on his nose. Holding a bottle of cola, he blended into the crowd without the slightest incongruity.

After confirming the hammer's condition last night, he had gone straight back to the sanctuary to sleep, completely ignoring the weapons rack that had been exiled along with the hammer. Once he woke up, he came back to watch the fun. The edge of the pit was already packed with people who had rushed over from nearby towns after hearing the news. The ground was covered in messy footprints, proving that quite a few people had already tried.

A middle-aged man in a plaid shirt was gripping the hammer's handle with both hands, his face red from exertion and the veins in his neck bulging like tree roots. His companion stood beside him, filming with a phone.

The hammer did not budge.

The middle-aged man let go and staggered back, panting heavily. "Nope. It's like it's welded in place."

"Let me try." A young man who looked like a student spat out his gum, rolled his wrists, and grabbed the handle. He tried three different angles before finally hanging his entire body from the hammer, both feet off the ground. The hammer did not budge. The crowd burst into laughter. Embarrassed, the young man let go and scratched the back of his head.

Chen Xiao took a sip of cola. From a physics standpoint, the weight of an adult man hanging from the handle should have produced enough torque to pry up most objects. Unfortunately, Mjolnir did not care about physics.

A faded dark-blue Ford pickup drove in from the highway and stopped at the edge of the crowd.

"That's it?" An old man's voice carried a thick Texas drawl. "A little hammer, and none of you can pull it out?"

After saying that, he started the truck, preparing to leave. Chen Xiao's eyes lit up, and he squeezed through the crowd to approach him.

"Sir, why don't you give it a try?"

The truck stopped. The door opened, and a white-haired old man jumped out. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans, deep wrinkles carved into his face by years of sun exposure. His arms were thick and sturdy; one look was enough to tell he had spent his whole life doing manual labor. He walked to the edge of the pit, planted his hands on his hips, and narrowed his eyes at the hammer.

"Young people these days really are useless. Can't handle even a little hardship."

The old man rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the handle. "A little hammer, how much effort could it..." Before he could finish, he froze. He looked down at the hammer, then at his own hand, before gripping it with both hands, his face reddening. "...take quite a bit of effort."

The old man flung his arms and backed away as boos rose from the crowd. He snorted, turned toward his pickup, and hauled a coil of towing chain from the truck bed, shaking it loose with a clatter. Then he took out a pair of work gloves stained with motor oil and put them on unhurriedly.

"Sir," Chen Xiao said as he leaned closer again, his tone carrying just the right amount of enthusiasm, "that's some professional equipment."

The old man glanced back at him. Sunglasses, floral shirt, shorts—he looked like a standard tourist. Still, he liked what he heard.

"You've got a good eye, kid." He patted the towing chain. "This chain has pulled tractors that broke down and pickups stuck in mud. A little hammer? Piece of cake."

"Exactly." Chen Xiao nodded vigorously, his expression utterly serious. "Those people before didn't use any tools. They just relied on brute force, so of course it wouldn't work. You're working smart."

The praise made the old man's mustache practically curl upward.

"But..." Chen Xiao changed the subject, sounding slightly hesitant. "What if you really pull it out? Who gets the hammer?"

The old man paused.

"I heard," Chen Xiao lowered his voice as though sharing an exclusive secret, "that this thing fell out of a meteorite. It might be some rare metal. If it becomes yours, you could melt it down and make a set of tools, or sell it to a museum."

The old man's gaze changed. He cleared his throat and raised his voice to announce to the crowd, "You all bear witness! If I pull it out, this hammer is mine!"

The crowd erupted in cheering and heckling. Some shouted, "It's yours!" Others shouted, "Pull it out first!"

The old man nodded in satisfaction and strode toward the hammer pit with the towing chain in hand. He wrapped one end around the handle twice and fastened it tight—his movements were crisp, and the knot was neat. Then he stood up, took the other end to the pickup, and hooked it onto the tow hitch. He climbed in and started the engine.

The V8 engine let out a deep roar.

The crowd automatically moved aside. The old man leaned his head out the window and shouted at Chen Xiao, "Kid, keep an eye on the chain for me!"

Chen Xiao gave him a thumbs-up.

He shifted into gear. Hit the gas.

The pickup's tires dug up sand and dust. The towing chain snapped taut, letting out a shrill screech of metal grinding against metal. The engine roared deafeningly, black smoke spewing from the exhaust as the whole truck struggled like a bull tethered by an iron chain.

The hammer did not budge.

This time, the old man really could not keep his face. He floored the accelerator. The pickup shuddered violently, and its rear wheels dug two deeper and deeper holes into the sand. The towing chain made a teeth-grinding creaking sound.

Then—

BANG!!!

The tow hitch was ripped clean off the pickup's undercarriage along with a section of metal bracket. It traced an arc through the air before crashing to the ground with a clang. The towing chain fell limp to the ground like a dead snake.

The entire place fell silent.

The old man sat in the driver's seat, both hands still gripping the steering wheel, his expression frozen like a statue. The tow hitch lay on the ground, silver-white metal gleaming at the broken edge.

Chen Xiao twisted open his cola. The soft pop was especially clear in the silence. He tipped his head back and took a drink.

The old man got out of the truck and slowly walked to its rear, looking down at the hole left by the tow hitch. Then he looked at the hammer. It was still where it had been, completely unmoved. He was silent for a long while before walking over to Chen Xiao.

"Kid."

"Yeah?"

"Can I have a sip of your cola?"

Chen Xiao handed him the bottle. The old man tipped it back and took a huge gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing as cola ran from the corner of his mouth. After finishing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned the bottle to Chen Xiao.

Then he turned around, picked up the broken tow hitch, and tossed it into the truck bed. It landed with a clank.

"This truck of mine," he said quietly, though the surroundings were so silent that every word could be heard, "has been with me for twenty-six years. It's pulled tractors that broke down and pickups stuck in mud. Never once has anyone ripped the tow hitch off its ass."

He looked at the hammer in the pit.

"This isn't something meant for humans."

The pickup rattled away into the distance.

The crowd was silent for a moment before suddenly bursting into laughter. Chen Xiao had nearly failed to hold it in when the tow hitch went flying too. He had only thought the chain would snap; he had not expected the entire tow hitch to be ripped off.

A few more people went up to try. A girl in sportswear, a middle-aged man with a beer belly, and two motorcyclists who had come together. No one succeeded.

Then the sound of engines came from afar.

Three black SUVs drove in one after another from the highway, their tires crushing the sand and kicking up huge clouds of dust. Their doors opened in perfect unison, and agents in black suits stepped out one after another with clean, efficient movements. Guns hung at their waists, communicators were hooked around their ears, and their faces were expressionless.

Seeing this familiar scene, Chen Xiao pushed his sunglasses higher and retreated half a step into the crowd. After all, he did not want to be seen by old acquaintances.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this area is under FBI jurisdiction. Please leave immediately."

Someone muttered, "The FBI handles hammers now?"

Coulson did not repeat himself. He merely tilted his head slightly. The agents behind him simultaneously took a step forward. It was only one movement, yet they were so synchronized that it looked as though a single person were looking into a mirror.

The crowd fell quiet. People began leaving.

Chen Xiao walked out of the cordoned-off area without looking back.

He followed the highway toward town. Behind him, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s temporary camp was rapidly being assembled. Crates containing materials for transparent containment barriers were unloaded, and antenna arrays slowly rose.

After walking some distance, he took out his phone and opened the map. The town was small, with a few motels, a church, and a gas station.

Jane Foster's studio seemed to be in this town. Thor was probably following behind her right now, strutting like a peacock.

The corner of Chen Xiao's mouth lifted.

He sensed the area, then went to a nearby motel and booked a room. The elderly woman at the front desk accepted his cash while knitting and handed him a key to a second-floor room facing the highway.

The room was small, its bedsheets washed nearly white, and its window air conditioner humming loudly. But the window faced a white building diagonally across the street.

Chen Xiao tossed his backpack onto the bed, pulled back a corner of the curtain, and sat on the old sofa by the window. He closed his eyes and spread out his Observation Haki.

There were four people in the room—two men and two women. One of them had muscle density completely unlike the others, along with a faint, concealed energy fluctuation.

Chen Xiao opened his eyes.

"Found you."