"Brother Li, haven't seen you around these days!"
At the entrance of a small antique shop, Mo Youqian greeted Li Qingyuan with a grin.
That's right—since the shop owner was terrible at naming things, he'd simply called it "There Is an Antique Shop."
After all, if There Is an Inn could become the most famous chain in every martial arts world, maybe There Is an Antique Shop could one day be the hottest shop across all the multiverses, right?
"I had some business to take care of these past few days," Li Qingyuan replied lazily. "Brother Mo, off to buy groceries again?"
He eyed the basket in Mo Youqian's hand curiously.
After living on this street for quite a while, Li Qingyuan had never seen this old rascal do any proper work. Every day, he either slacked off or loitered around, peeping at pretty girls passing by—the very image of a washed-up scoundrel.
He had opened this antique shop just to enjoy a quiet life, but what puzzled him was: where the hell did Mo Youqian get money to live like this every day?
Sure, the guy technically owned a dojo—but from the half-collapsed signboard and the decrepit building, it didn't look like anyone had ever paid a tuition fee there.
"Yeah, I'm going to buy some tofu!" Mo Youqian grinned widely.Except, with that pervy look on his face, one couldn't help but suspect the tofu he meant had a different… meaning.
Leaning back in the rocking chair by the doorway, Li Qingyuan felt as if he had already entered early retirement.
But the pedestrians passing by didn't seem surprised at his laziness—after all, this was New York City. Nothing was too strange here.
Besides, for an antique dealer, business was all about long stretches of nothing—three years closed, one sale feeding you for three years.If he were as busy as the stores next door, that would be suspicious.
"Boss, how much is this thing?"
His leisure lasted less than fifteen minutes before a voice came from inside the shop.
Damn it…
Annoyed, Li Qingyuan got up and walked in—only to find a man holding up a photocopied replica of "Travelers Among Mountains and Streams" pretending to admire it.
"Doesn't S.H.I.E.L.D. have anyone else to send? You again? You think no one's going to notice if you keep coming here?" Li Qingyuan snapped.
"Uh, I just happened to be on assignment in New York, so they sent me," Ward said awkwardly, scratching his nose before putting the fake painting back on the shelf.
Honestly, if he could've avoided this errand, he would have. But Garrett had no one else left to send.
As one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s veteran agents, John Garrett had plenty of underlings—otherwise, he wouldn't have the guts to start building his own faction.
Still, Li Qingyuan was Garrett's hidden piece within S.H.I.E.L.D., so the fewer people who knew about him, the better.
Originally, Garrett had thought Li Qingyuan was just an explosives expert and had casually recommended him to Obadiah Stane at Stark Industries—never expecting much.
But then Li Qingyuan shocked everyone. Within days, he had solved a technical problem that had stumped the entire Stark military R&D division.
Garrett immediately realized he'd struck gold—his opinion of Li Qingyuan skyrocketed.
"So, what's this about?" Li Qingyuan asked, ignoring Ward's sheepish look and sitting down.
"They asked me to check where the blood sample you sent to Oscorp came from," Ward replied, his tone submissive despite his rank.
"Blood sample? Oscorp got the results already?" Li Qingyuan asked, suddenly remembering what he'd asked Ward to do two days ago.
Michael's blood had been stored in a freezer—but even that had an expiration date. So, as soon as he'd returned, he'd called Ward to deliver a ten-milliliter sample to Norman Osborn.
Honestly, among all Marvel villains, the Osborn family deserved an award for Most Tragic Lineage.
They weren't even bad people—just victims of hereditary genetic collapse. Then, just when Norman finally developed a cure, some shady people sabotaged it under false pretenses.
Really, it was only because Norman was broad-minded. If it were Li Qingyuan, he'd have wiped out the entire Parker family tree and salted their graves for good measure.
But since Norman Osborn was a powerful corporate figure, meeting him in person wasn't realistic. That's why Li had used Garrett's connections to mail the sample instead.
He'd thought it would take weeks to get a response—but apparently, Oscorp had cracked it in just two days?
"The full analysis isn't done yet," Ward said excitedly, "but preliminary results show the blood contains some kind of special regenerative cell—with miraculous effects on genetic disorders!"
He was trembling as he spoke.
Garrett's body had been failing after decades of brutal missions and overexertion. Even the best medicine couldn't stop his decline.
Now, this blood sample offered hope—not only for Norman Osborn's family curse but also for Garrett's decaying body.
Michael's blood truly was a miracle fluid—it couldn't grant immortality, but it could repair cellular collapse, genetic decay, or deep injuries.
No wonder Ward, who regarded Garrett like a father, was overwhelmed with excitement.
"Mr. Norman Osborn would like to meet you personally," Ward continued. "When would you be available?"
"Not anytime soon. I'm busy," Li Qingyuan said, waving his hands dismissively.
He'd just returned from a mission world—no way he was diving into another right away.
With Green Goblin and Lizard both under that roof, it'd be a two-part deathtrap waiting to happen. He wasn't signing up for that kind of high-intensity work.
Ward tilted his head, glancing around the empty shop. Remembering how the guy had been napping in a rocking chair when he came in, he couldn't help but wonder—
Busy? With what, exactly?
-----------------------
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(End of Chapter)