For the next few hours, Ye Mo remained in this semi-dormant state. He was like a diver lurking underwater, constantly monitoring the subtle changes in the surrounding water flow.
Around 3 a. m., both phones started vibrating almost simultaneously.
The black smartphone screen on the left lit up, displaying a video call request from Tony Stark. The silver spare phone on the right flashed Steve Rogers ' caller ID.
Ye Mo opened his eyes, the weariness on his face vanished, replaced by an almost cold calm. He answered Tony's call first.
In the scene, Tony is dressed casually, with a workbench piled high with blueprints in the background. He looks tired but determined. He cuts straight to the point, asking Ye Mo for his opinion on the Sokovia Accords, and hints that if Ye Mo supports the Superhuman Registration Act, Stark Industries will provide the best resources to protect Mutants rights. This is a quid pro tactic of exchanging favors.
"Ye, I know you're a smart man." Tony's voice came through the loudspeaker, carrying an undeniable confidence. "Order comes at a price, and you're the only one who can help us balance that cost. If you agree, Stark Industries is your backer. Whether it's technological support or a legal team, it's all at your disposal."
Ye Mo leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of his teacup, and said calmly, " Tony, your plan sounds perfect. But I need time to assess its technological feasibility. After all, it involves privacy issues at the genetic level, and I don't want to leave any hidden dangers due to a hasty decision."
Tony frowned, seemingly dissatisfied with the ambiguous answer, but ultimately didn't press the issue. "Alright, I'll give you twenty-four hours. But you should know that hesitation itself is a choice."
After hanging up the phone, before Ye Mo could even take a sip of water, his silver phone on the right vibrated again. This time it was Steve Rogers.
There was no fancy background, only Steve's serious face and firm gaze. He didn't talk much about politics, but emphasized the importance of free will and personal responsibility, questioning Ye Mo whether he was willing to let the government hold the power of life and death over superpowered individuals. This was a moral high ground appeal.
"Ye," Steve's voice was deep and powerful, carrying an undeniable weight, "This is more than just a document; it's a commitment to freedom. If we hand over the right to judge right and wrong to bureaucracies, how are we any different from our former enemies? I need your help, not for power, but to protect everything we cherish."
Ye Mo stared at the familiar face on the screen, his heart unmoved. He knew what Steve represented, and the weight of that belief. But he also knew that in the face of such a grand narrative, personal stance was often the weakest bargaining chip.
"Captain," Ye Mo smiled slightly, his eyes clear yet unfathomable, "You're right, freedom is indeed precious. But I need to weigh the ethical boundaries and the potential risks of such a regulatory mechanism in practice. Please give me some time to carefully consider the pros and cons."
Steve was silent for a few seconds, then finally nodded. "I believe you will make the right choice. Whatever the outcome, we respect your decision."
The call ended, and the room returned to silence.
Ye Mo placed the two phones face down on the table, making two soft thuds. This ambiguous attitude was both a form of camouflage and the only way for him to retain his autonomy amidst the chaos. He neither agreed to nor refused either side; he simply placed himself in an absolutely neutral position, leaving both sides unable to guess his true intentions.
He walked to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain. Outside, the bustling New York nightscape stretched out, neon lights flashing, and cars thronging the streets. But in his mind's eye, the city was no longer peaceful. Countless emotions of anxiety, anger, and fear surged in like a tide, stemming from street arguments, insults on social media, and the uncontrollable rage within the superheroes themselves.
He closed his eyes, immersing his consciousness in the Gene Spiral Tower in his mind. The tower remained still, but he could feel the power within it stirring restlessly. This wasn't a thirst for power, but a warning. He realized that his so-called wish to "live a peaceful life" seemed so fragile in the face of this immense historical torrent.
Ye Mo reopened his eyes, his gaze deep and cold. He knew that everything would change when the sun rose tomorrow. He straightened his black hooded sweatshirt, put on his silver half-rimmed glasses, and tried to use this refined disguise to conceal the storm in his eyes. He didn't need to make a choice immediately, but he had to be prepared to face the consequences of his choice.
He picked up his coat from the table and draped it over the back of his chair. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if preparing for an impending ceremony. The dim lighting in the room illuminated his tall, yet somewhat lonely figure. He glanced one last time at the two black encrypted cards, then tucked them deep into the drawer and locked them. At this moment, he was no longer a mere observer, but a gambler standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for the wheel of fate to turn.