The atmosphere at Bagram Air Base had changed the moment Tony Stark went missing.
When the photos of the destroyed Humvee came back, it was as if someone had hit the mute button on the entire base. The military personnel looked grim, some Stark Industries employees burst into tears on the spot, and Colonel Rhodey shut himself in the communications room, replaying that last radio recording over and over.
The news reached the S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost faster than a sandstorm. Coulson called from New York overnight. His voice retained its usual professional composure, but he spoke at least thirty percent faster than normal. He asked the same question three times, and Hawkeye patiently answered each time. Before hanging up, Coulson fell silent for a few seconds, then said something Hawkeye had never heard him say before.
"Agent Barton, Director Fury personally assigned this matter its priority level. The highest."
Hawkeye put down the communicator and gazed out the window, lost in thought.
The next day, Lin Xiao left before dawn.
Standing behind his room's window, Hawkeye watched the six-foot-eleven hulk carry a battered canvas bag out of the base's east gate alone and disappear into the morning mist.
His brow briefly furrowed, but he said nothing. Maybe the guy simply couldn't sleep.
That evening, Lin Xiao returned.
Hawkeye was checking search coordinates with two military liaisons in the briefing room when he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor, mixed with the scraping of something dragging along the floor. He looked up just as Lin Xiao pushed open the briefing room door.
His fatigues had several tears in them. His left sleeve was ripped from shoulder to elbow, exposing a faint red scrape underneath. Sand and sweat stained his face, and bits of grass clung to his hair. He carried a battered canvas bag, bulging with something unknown, and walked unhurriedly toward the inner rooms, as if he had just returned from a stroll around his own backyard.
Hawkeye stared at him, momentarily forgetting to speak.
"Are you hurt?" One of the military liaisons stood up, instinctively reaching for a first-aid kit.
Lin Xiao glanced down at the scrape on his arm and casually wiped it. "Just scraped myself. It's nothing." Without stopping, he headed past the briefing room and farther inside, even humming a tune. Was it "Xi Shua Shua"? Or something else?
The two military liaisons exchanged looks. One removed his glasses and wiped them, murmuring, "How long has this guy known Stark? He's really putting his life on the line."
Hawkeye didn't answer. His gaze fell on the spot Lin Xiao had just passed. A short trail of dried blood dotted the floor. He sat back down, picked up the mission log, and turned to Lin Xiao's page. His pen hovered above the assessment field for a long time. Then he drew a line beside the "C" and wrote a new entry:
"B rank. Revised assessment: capable in combat, proactive attitude."
The fourth day. The fifth day. The sixth day.
Lin Xiao left on schedule every day and returned every evening. When he came back, his clothes were in tatters, his face was covered in bruises, and sometimes there were dried bloodstains on him. Once, half his face was red, giving everyone at the base a fright. Passing the mess hall, he still helped himself to three apples and an entire tray of roast meat, saying, "Got hungry on the road. Didn't have time for lunch."
The cook stared at the empty roasting tray in silence for a long time.
By the seventh day, Hawkeye finally couldn't take it anymore.
That day, Lin Xiao went out through the east gate with his battered canvas bag as usual. Hawkeye waited a few minutes, then silently followed.
Tracking a six-foot-eleven hulk wasn't difficult. He took long strides, left deep footprints, and occasionally snapped branches blocking his path as he walked, making enough noise to be heard half a kilometer away. Keeping a safe distance, Hawkeye used rocks and bushes for cover as he followed Lin Xiao over a ridge and through a dry river valley, finally stopping at the edge of an abandoned village.
Then Hawkeye witnessed something he would never forget.
Lin Xiao pulled a gaudy Arab headscarf from his canvas bag and wrapped it over his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. Next came a wig from who knew where, which he planted on his head and pressed down firmly, followed by a robe. In under thirty seconds, a sprightly S.H.I.E.L.D. desk agent had become a bizarre Middle Eastern stranger who looked as though he had wandered out of some bazaar.
Lin Xiao drew a dagger from behind his waist, its blade giving off an extremely faint blue glow in the twilight. The dagger traced an arc, and he vanished. When he reappeared, he was behind a dozen or so armed militants, taking them down with one slap apiece while muttering things like "morality and the rule of law" and "education fees." The militants scattered with terrified howls. Some opened fire, but their bullets didn't even leave a pale mark on him; one tried to use a rocket launcher, only for him to grab the warhead, pin it to the ground, and stamp it out. The entire process flowed seamlessly, all in one go.
In less than ten minutes, all dozen or so militants lay sprawled across the ground.
Lin Xiao crouched and went through their wallets one by one, extracting colorful banknotes. He shook his head as he counted, muttering something about "education fees." Once he finished counting, he stuffed the money into his robe, stood up, brushed the dust off his knees, and took a crumpled map from inside his robe, marking a small cross on it.
His movements were extraordinarily practiced, as if he were carrying out a standardized procedure he could complete with his eyes closed: search wallets, count money, mark the map, and drag the unconscious men to the roadside, lining them up to keep wild dogs from carrying them off. Finally, he traced an arc through the air with his dagger and vanished on the spot.
Hawkeye stood in the ridge's shadow, staring at the empty, abandoned village in silence for a long time. He looked down at the assessment report in his hand. The ink of the "B rank" entry wasn't even completely dry.
He took out his pen again, crossed out "B rank," and wrote a new entry above it:
"A rank. Revised assessment: extremely high combat capability, unconventional search strategy, astonishing operational efficiency. Additional remarks: unorthodox methods, flexible morals, but gives his all for his friends."
He paused, then added another line beneath the remarks: "Followed him for a day. He marked a cross at every village he reached. This man doesn't explain a thing, but he does more work than anyone else."
On the final page of this report, Hawkeye wrote just four sentences:
"Conclusion: recommend immediate confirmation as a permanent agent. This individual never volunteers reports or explanations, suggesting an introverted personality and difficulty expressing himself, but his initiative and loyalty far exceed those of agents at his level. If any hope remains for Mr. Stark, this individual represents the greatest likelihood of finding him."
"Addendum: this agent's food consumption exceeds normal standards; recommend adjusting his meal allowance."
Over the next few days, Hawkeye joined the military searches, then secretly followed Lin Xiao on his solo operations after the searches ended. Later, he stopped following, because he felt doing so insulted the dignity of a man of noble character.
That day, Lin Xiao returned a little earlier than usual. He had cleared pretty much all the nearby missions; it was time to move somewhere farther away.
When he walked through the base gates, the sentry was already used to seeing a raggedly dressed big guy emerge from the sunset at this time every day. The soldier instinctively started to salute, then lowered his hand halfway and said instead, "Mr. Lin, the cooks are making roast legs of lamb tonight."
Lin Xiao stopped and turned toward the sentry, his eyes briefly lighting up. "Save me two."
The sentry nodded. Lin Xiao patted his shoulder in satisfaction and strode toward the barracks. The sentry stood there for a while before noticing a dull ache in his shoulder bone, silently calculating whether this hulking man's daily shoulder pats had gotten a little harder again.
Back in his quarters, Lin Xiao locked the door and drew the curtains. He tossed his canvas bag onto the floor and flopped onto the bed. The folding bed let out a tragic shriek.
"Doupao."
"Ding-here."
"Attribute panel."
A blue screen lit up the dim room, rows of stats appearing:
Strength: 293 Intelligence: 18 Agility: 12 Charisma: 18 Mental power: 8
Lin Xiao stared at the "293" beside strength, his eyes narrowing into slits. Ten days ago, that number had been 253. Forty points of strength. Previously, he had spent three months doing missions just to build it up to two hundred and fifty. Now, in just a few days, it had risen by nearly fifty. This efficiency, this growth-now this was warfare, this was grinding mobs, this was efficiency.
"Ding-reminder to the host: you completed twenty-three missions over these ten days, including eighteen three-star missions and five four-star missions. The four-star missions mostly involved Mutants or armed groups with superpowers."
Lin Xiao rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, his voice muffled. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, in another eighty-odd days, once Tony finishes hammering his sheet metal, I'll go fish him out, and the mission will be done. Then I'll take my allowance back to New York and return to a nice, steady desk job."
His tone was as light as if he were planning a weekend picnic, as though the genius billionaire hammering sheet metal in a cave were merely a friend he needed to pick up on his way home. Exactly. On his way. Tony could hammer his sheet metal over there while he developed over here. Neither got in the other's way, and they were meeting each other halfway.
He sat up on the bed, opened the battered canvas bag, and pulled out two things.
The first was a dagger. Its handle was worn shiny, its blade engraved with indecipherable runes and giving off an extremely faint blue glow in the dark. When he gripped it, the handle vibrated slightly, like the pulse of a dormant insect.
"Blink Dagger. Produced in the Dota world. B-rank item." Lin Xiao read the description on the system panel under his breath, his smile growing wider. Infusing it with mental power allowed instant teleportation to any location within fifteen hundred meters, with a two-hour cooldown. To others, it was a movement skill-to him, it meant someone with 293 strength suddenly appearing right in their face. A two-hour cooldown gave him enough time to tear them apart several times over.
"My signature gear." Lin Xiao tucked the dagger behind his waist. "From now on, my fights will go: whoosh, boom, smack."
The second item was a thumb-sized glass bottle filled with pale blue liquid. Its label read: "D-rank item: mental potion. Permanently increases mental power by five points upon consumption."
Lin Xiao pulled out the stopper, tilted his head back, and downed it.
"Ding-mental power updated: 8 + 5 = 13. The host's current mental power now exceeds the average for an ordinary adult male."
"Good enough." Lin Xiao nodded in satisfaction. "At least a mind controller won't drop me with a single glare."
He lay back down with his hands behind his head and one leg crossed over the other. The evening sunlight outside was just right, and the aroma of the cooks' roasting lamb drifted through the air. He closed his eyes, his lips curving in satisfaction. His missions were cleared, his stats had risen, and there was roast lamb for dinner. He wouldn't trade this life even for an immortal's.
Just then, his phone rang.
Lin Xiao checked the caller ID-Coulson. He answered, and had barely opened his mouth to say hello before the voice on the other end poured out like floodwater through an opened gate.
"Lin Xiao." Coulson spoke at least thirty percent faster than usual, with a rare excitement in his tone. "Your probation period is officially over. Director Fury approved it personally."
Lin Xiao froze, his mouth still open, without having managed a single word.
"The director's exact words were-move that big guy's file from the temporary roster to the permanent roster. I'll mentor him personally." A rare hint of laughter entered Coulson's voice. "Do you know what that means? It means Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., intends to train you himself. He's never mentored a rookie before. You're the first."
With his mouth open, Lin Xiao produced an indistinct syllable. "Uh-"
"And Agent Hawkeye submitted a character observation report today. Do you know how harsh he usually is on rookies? A+. He gave you an A+, and added four sentences of recommendation. Four! In all his years at S.H.I.E.L.D., I've never seen him write more than two lines about anyone." Coulson paused, his voice suddenly becoming very serious. "Lin Xiao, I know you've been out looking for Stark these past few days. Don't push yourself too hard. The agency has already committed every resource. This isn't your responsibility alone."
Lin Xiao finally found an opening. "Boss, actually, I was just-"
"I understand." Coulson interrupted with the air of someone who had been there himself, his voice even carrying a barely perceptible trace of sympathy. "You don't have to report these things to me, or explain yourself to anyone. Your actions have already said everything. I read Agent Barton's observation log. Your search routes covered a thirty-kilometer radius, every route different, without repeating a single grid square-this isn't blindly searching at random. It's a strategic grid search, a very professional search-and-rescue approach. You may not have formal training, but your instincts and methods are more effective than those of many veterans."
"...Thanks, boss." Lin Xiao realized he genuinely had nothing else to say beyond those words. They had already written the script; all he had to do was play along.
"Oh, right." Coulson paused, then continued in an even gentler tone. "I remember you mentioning you wanted an advance on your salary. Regulations prevented me from approving it then. But today is different-your permanent appointment has been processed. As a level-six agent, you can draw one month's salary in advance. The money will reach your account within twenty-four hours."
Lin Xiao's eyes lit up. It wasn't an act; they genuinely lit up. He had been planning to find an excuse to steer the conversation toward reimbursement, but Coulson had opened the door himself. Drawing a deep breath, he spoke in a voice that sounded tearful but struggled to hold it back. "Boss, thank the director for me. But until Tony is found, I'm not leaving this place. I owe him that."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before Coulson spoke again, with a touch of emotion Lin Xiao had never heard from him. "Lin Xiao, you really are... full of surprises."
After hanging up, Lin Xiao sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching his phone. He looked down at the words "Call ended" on the screen and remained silent for quite a while. Then he smiled.
How to describe that smile-Coulson would probably have been heartbroken to see it, Hawkeye might have drawn an arrow, and Tony might have hammered out a suit of anti-Lin Xiao armor on the spot. But Lin Xiao felt no qualms whatsoever. He tossed his phone onto the pillow, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at the ceiling, his mental abacus clacking away: An A+ evaluation, personal mentoring from Fury, permanent appointment as a level-six agent, plus a salary advance-what a massive win.
Deep inside a cave about a hundred and fifty kilometers from Bagram Air Base, Tony Stark sat on a rock, clutching a wrench and staring blankly at a pile of dismantled missile components in front of him. He had grown thinner, his eyes sunken, his cheekbones prominent, and his beard a tangled mess. The makeshift Arc Reactor in his chest emitted a faint blue glow.
Beside him, Yinsen spoke. "Tony. That man outside said if you steal any more missile parts, they'll cut you down to one meal a day."
"Let him." Tony's voice was dry and hoarse, but it still held that infuriating composure. "When I get out, I'll treat him to a missile."
Yinsen gave a bitter laugh and was about to speak when he suddenly noticed a change in Tony's expression. Tony had lowered his head, the wrench motionless in midair, his lips moving as though he were talking to himself.
"I wonder what that big idiot's doing right now."
Yinsen blinked. "Who?"
"An idiot," Tony said, then lowered his head and went back to tightening the screw. After two turns, he stopped again, his lips forming a tiny curve he didn't even notice himself.
"But a good idiot."