Thanks for the gift, boss! I'm just a few dollars away from unlocking two bonus chapters.
I'm not busy today, so I'll give you plenty of emotional value. I'll add an extra 4500 words (2 chapters).
The rainy season hasn't arrived in Kathmandu yet, but you can already smell the impending dampness in the air.
Lynn had been in the city for almost two weeks and knew every alleyway in the Thamel like the back of his hand.
Which teahouse has the strongest milk tea? Which restaurant's food best suits his taste? Which alley has the worst-tempered stray dogs?
He archived this information in his mind like intelligence, and occasionally sent it to Natasha via an encrypted channel, along with a casually taken photo of a distant snow-capped mountain.
Raj and his friends would come to the hotel entrance every day or two to report on their "reconnaissance progress."
Lynn bought each of them a cup of sugarcane juice from a roadside stall and sat on the stone steps in front of the hotel, listening to them chatter about the foreigners who had been wandering around the Thamel recently.
There was a hiker with such a thick beard that a sparrow could be hidden in it.
There was another person, tall and thin, whose hands were trembling. He was wearing a dark blue shirt that looked expensive but was wrinkled beyond recognition, and he kept asking passersby for directions to Kamar-Taj.
When Lynn heard the last description, he placed the glass of sugarcane juice on his lap, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Where is this last person?"
Raj pointed to the street to the east, "Just turn into the third alley. He lives in the innermost room on the second floor, with a window facing a terrace. I climbed up and saw him; every night he sits on the edge of the bed staring blankly at his hands, sometimes for hours on end."
Lynn gently patted Raj on the back of the head. "Call a few more fast runners tomorrow. I have a task for you."
The next afternoon, when Strange emerged from the herbal shop, he was carrying a bag of brown herbal powder, his face bearing the expression of someone who had been fooled too many times but couldn't resist trying again. He was used to the vendors chasing him through the streets of Kathmandu shouting "Cheap! Cheap!" and the rickshaw drivers honking their horns in his ear. So when a boy who looked about twelve years old ran past him and casually snatched the travel bag from his shoulder, he froze for a full two seconds before reacting.
"Hey, my bag!" Strange yelled and took off after it.
His leg was fine, but months of depression and malnutrition had clearly diminished his physical strength. The boy who snatched the bag wasn't particularly fast, but he was as agile as a cat darting across rooftops, weaving left and right through the crowd. Every time Strange was about to catch him, he would make a sharp turn and disappear into a nearby alley. Strange, panting heavily, chased him through three alleys before finally stopping in a dead end.
The boy who had snatched the bag stood at the end of the alley, handing the travel bag to a young man leaning against a stone wall. The man wore a clean, but unbranded, dark gray coat, his posture languid. He took the bag, dusted it off, and then pulled a few bills from his pocket and handed them to the boy. The boy took the money, grinned, and climbed over the low wall behind the man, disappearing into the depths of the alley in an instant.
Strange hunched over, catching his breath, then straightened up and looked at the young man in front of him. The man casually carried his travel bag, and his face didn't look like that of a street thug.
He was so clean, his eyes were relaxed, as if he were doing something extremely ordinary.
"Letting a bunch of kids rob me isn't a good idea, my friend." Strange's voice was hoarse and restrained. He didn't yell or rush at the bag. He just stood there, stating the facts in an extremely weary tone, "There's no money in my bag, just some clothes and identification. You can tell by looking at me."
Lynn looked at him. This former neurosurgeon was even more pathetic than Raj had described.
His shirt collar was open, and the cuffs were haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, revealing two hands that were still trembling slightly. The bandages wrapped around his fingers were loose, and there were several unhealed scars on his knuckles. His stubble had probably been unkempt for three or four days, and his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. But his gaze had not been completely extinguished; it held a stubborn refusal to admit defeat.
Lynn recalled the five days he spent squatting in the subway station staring at a moldy hamburger, and the words the Ancient One said to him when she appeared before him, "You are special." He almost laughed out loud.
I'm not mocking Strange, I just think that fate sometimes really likes to take unexpected turns. Back then, he was the one being picked up from the perspective of a homeless person, and now it's his turn to be picking others up from the alleyway.
He took out a few small US dollar bills that he had prepared beforehand, squatted down, and handed them to Raj, who had been peeking around from the side.
Raj jogged over and took the money, his eyes lighting up. Lynn patted his head. "Well done. Take your younger siblings to buy some good food. You don't need to watch over things for me anymore. If there are any more jobs like this, I'll come to you."
Raj folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket, then grinned at him. "Your friend looks really bad. Worse than that German hiker from last time. That hiker just got lost, your friend looks like he's been lost for six months."
He's not my friend yet.
Raj tilted his head, but didn't ask any further questions. He simply turned and whistled, and a group of children, big and small, emerged from the low walls on both sides of the alley, behind clotheslines, and under abandoned tricycles, running after him out of the alley. Their laughter echoed for a while on the narrow cobblestone street before slowly fading away.
Strange watched this scene, his expression shifted from wariness to confusion, and then from confusion to a more complex look, somewhere between anger and bewilderment.
He had probably never encountered anything like this before: someone who let children snatch his bag, then turned around and gave those children money to buy snacks. This clearly didn't fit his understanding of robbers.
"Brother, you can tell I don't have much money just by looking at me like this." He spread his hands, his tone tinged with a sense of helplessness after being repeatedly tormented by fate. "You can open that bag and take whatever you like. I just need those identification documents."
Lynn didn't answer immediately. He picked up his travel bag, weighed it in his hand, and his gaze fell on the Strange watch on Strange's left wrist, which was still reflecting light. That watch was the only valuable thing he owned. The dial gleamed with a faint metallic sheen.
"You still have your watch on your wrist, don't you?" Lynn leaned against the stone wall, slightly raising her chin, her tone as casual as if she were bargaining. "You can have the bag back. Give me the watch."
Strange glanced down at his wrist.
"No... please. This is all I have left."
His tone suddenly shifted from calm to a soft, almost collapsing quality. There was no anger, as if the watch was the last piece of driftwood he had left in this world, and if he let go, he would truly have nothing left.
Lynn leaned against the wall, fiddling with the worn-out travel bag in his hand. He didn't rush to hand it to him, nor did he press him further. He watched Strange clutching the watch, looking even more disheveled than when he was chasing after the child.
"Uh... is that all?" Lynn continued in a lazy tone, "Let me guess. Is it a token of love? Or a symbol of some kind of status? Or..." He paused deliberately, looking into Strange's eyes, "Is it the last thing you use to remind yourself 'who I used to be'?"
Strange didn't speak. His knuckles were white, and his fingers were trembling more noticeably than before.
He huddled in the shadows of the alley, his shoulders tense, his whole demeanor exuding a sense of utter helplessness and having nowhere to escape.
Looking at him like this, Lynn suddenly thought about whether she was like this when the Ancient One found her in the subway station. She was almost starving, but she stubbornly refused to bow her head to anyone. Now he has Natasha, Tony, the King, and the Ancient One.
The man before her had nothing left. No friends, no money, no faith, and even his last watch was about to be taken away. He could only say in a hoarse, almost broken voice, "Please."
Lynn leaned against the stone wall, watching Strange clutching the watch tightly, and suddenly smiled. His smile held a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and an enigmatic ease.
He didn't speak, but simply raised his finger slightly.
Strange's body suddenly froze. He seemed to be paused, his fingers still clenched in a tight arc, even the expression on his face—a mixture of despair and pleading—was frozen in time. His bloodshot eyes darted rapidly across his frozen face, shifting from confusion to alertness, then from alertness to pure bewilderment and despair.
Lynn straightened up from the stone wall and slowly walked over to Strange. He tilted his head and looked at the former neurosurgeon who was frozen in place, then reached out and gently lifted Strange's still trembling wrist.
Even when frozen in place, the damaged nerve endings continued to twitch uncontrollably, like a puppet with its strings cut, making its last struggle.
He lowered his head and examined the Jaeger-LeCoultre watch with curiosity. The watch was very well maintained, and it was clear that its owner had cherished it.
"Please," Strange's voice gasped from deep in his throat, hoarse and broken, carrying a vulnerability born from utterly broken defenses. He wasn't begging Lynn to spare his watch; he was begging Lynn not to take away his last remaining piece of evidence that " Stephen Strange once existed." "This is all I have left."
Lynn raised his eyes and met Strange's almost shattered pupils. He looked at him for a moment, then smiled and shook his head.
He released Strange's wrist, turned and walked to the travel bag that had been on the ground, bent down to pick it up, dusted it off, and carried it with one hand. Then he snapped his the Snap.
Strange staggered forward, nearly losing his balance. He looked down at his regained mobility and then up at the young man who had rendered him completely powerless with just a single gesture.
His lips moved several times, and he looked at Lynn with an expression that seemed to come from someone whose entire understanding had been overturned.
"Follow me." Lynn turned and walked deeper into the alley.
Strange stood there, watching the young man ahead almost reach the corner of the alley. His brain was still trying to process what had just happened; the man had simply raised a finger, and his body had completely lost control.
This is unscientific; it completely violates all the laws of physics and medical common sense he knows. But the facts are there: the sensation of being lifted up by the other person still lingers on his wrist, and his fingers are trembling more violently than before, whether from nerve damage or from the impact of those few seconds.
A stray dog barked at the alley entrance. Strange snapped out of his daze, gritted his teeth, and staggered after it. His identification was in that bag, as was the little cash he had left. Whoever this man was or where he was going, he had no other choice now.
Lynn didn't look back at him, but slowed his pace. He walked through the busiest main street in the Thamel, past piles of thangkas and copperware on the stalls, and stopped in front of a stall selling roasted corn. He bought two ears and handed one to Strange, who was following behind him. Strange hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. Lynn shrugged and continued walking while chewing.
The inn's facade was small, sandwiched between a spice shop and a tailor shop. Several faded prayer flags hung at the entrance, swaying gently in the evening breeze. An elderly Nepalese woman was knitting at the front desk. When Lynn entered, she looked up at him, gave him a toothless smile, and said something in Nepali.
Lynn replied in equally fluent Nepali, making the old lady giggle. Then she took out a few bills from her pocket and pointed to Strange behind her. The old lady rummaged through a drawer and pulled out an old-fashioned brass key, placed it on the counter, and looked at the disheveled white man with trembling hands with a curious gaze.
Lynn picked up the key and went up the narrow wooden stairs to the second floor. Strange followed behind him, each step making the stairs creak. The corridor was narrow, the wallpaper on the walls was yellowed, and the light bulbs overhead emitted a warm yellow light. Lynn reached the end of the corridor, pushed open a door, inserted the key into the lock, and then went inside, casually tossing Strange's travel bag onto the foot of the bed.
The room wasn't big, but it was very clean. There was a single bed with white sheets, an old wooden wardrobe, and a desk by the window, which faced the alley leading to the small temple.
Lynn turned around, leaned against the windowsill, and looked at the man still standing in the hallway by the door, his whole body filled with vigilance and confusion.
"There's hot water in the bathroom. I don't need to prepare any changes of clothes for you, right?"
He paused, glanced at Strange's still trembling hands, then at his face which seemed to say, "I'm still not sure if you're going to sell my organs," and chuckled.
"Pack yourself up. Go to bed early tonight. Tomorrow morning I'll take you somewhere where someone is better at explaining everything you just went through than I am."
He finished speaking and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Strange standing alone. Strange looked down at his badly wrinkled shirt, then at the dusty travel bag on the bed, and remained silent for a long time. Then he put the bag on the bed, unzipped it, and pulled out a relatively less wrinkled T-shirt and a pair of trousers, placing them beside his pillow. His movements were slow, not because he was relaxed, but because every movement hurt.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. His fingertips were still trembling, and the scars on his knuckles were particularly glaring in the dim light. He tried to clench his fist, but couldn't. Just like every time he had tried before.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't know this man, didn't know his background, and wasn't even sure if he was a good person or a bad person.
The bathroom had plenty of hot water. He turned the tap on full blast and stood under the showerhead for a long time, until the entire bathroom was filled with white steam. The hot water washed away the dust from his hair and the grime from under his fingernails. He stared at his reflection in the tiled wall for a long time.
Back in his room, he changed into clean clothes, lay on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. He heard a very soft sound coming from next door, like someone turning pages of a book. Listening to the sound, he slowly closed his eyes.