In today's hyperconnected world, secrets have become increasingly difficult to keep. What you desperately want to conceal is precisely what your adversaries are most eager to expose. The internet's reach is instantaneous—when night falls in Japan, the sun still shines in America.
The moment someone pulled out their phone and aimed it at the tank, the event was destined to go viral, echoing the Liberty Island incident. Netizens from across the globe flocked to social media, their excitement palpable. "Am I awake? This feels like a dream." "Is this real? That's definitely an American tank, right?"
"Is America planning to disown its troublesome child?" one commenter joked, adding a dog emoji.
"Fantastic special effects! Which studio produced this?" another marveled. "Am I the only one who thinks this tank outpaces my GTR?" "I thought it was fake until it fired its cannon—that's when I knew it was real." "Where did it even come from?"
The discussion grew more analytical. "Let's break this down rationally. First, why Tokyo? Second, how is it so fast? Third, why did it deliberately avoid commercial buildings when firing? Fourth, why did it self-destruct?"
"First Liberty Island, now Tokyo. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I did it. Do I have a sleepwalking problem?" one user mused. "To the person above, I think we might be partners in crime," another replied.
"Stay put—I've already called the police." "America: Is someone messing with me? My sanity is crumbling!" "Isn't the real question what happened before the tank appeared in the video? I drove over to check it out. Police cars were crushed into scrap metal, armored vehicles blown up. Not only were there police, but also some intensely intimidating individuals. They chased me away the moment I got close, and they almost confiscated my phone."
"Is war about to break out? Is it too late to buy a plane ticket?" one anxious commenter asked.
Meanwhile, Hong Fei lounged on a yacht, scrolling through his phone with glee. Frank, busy frying fish, glanced at his cheerful demeanor and couldn't reconcile it with the man who had driven a tank through downtown Tokyo the night before.
"Food's ready," Frank called out eventually. "Oh," Hong Fei replied without looking up. A moment later, Frank tried again, "Time to eat!" "Okay," Hong Fei mumbled, still engrossed in his phone.
Ten seconds later, Frank snapped, "Stop staring at that screen! You look like you're about to shove your eyeballs into it!" Hong Fei finally glanced up, saw Frank's irritated expression, and quietly turned off his phone with a sheepish grin. "Don't be mad. I'm just checking how far the investigation has gone. It's part of the job, you know."
Frank let out a heavy snort and slammed the plate of fish in front of Hong Fei. Hong Fei took a bite, then dramatically gave a thumbs-up. "Wow, this is incredible! Best fish I've ever had. Frank, ever thought about becoming my personal chef?" Frank ignored him completely.
After surfacing last night, Hong Fei and Frank had drifted for hours. Once Hong Fei regained more than half his energy, he summoned the tank again. They raced to the port on the opposite side of the bay, swam ashore, traveled back to the Koto district, and boarded the yacht to head out to sea.
When they finished the fish steak, Frank announced, "Time to go." "You head back first," Hong Fei said. "And you?" Frank asked. Hong Fei smiled. "I'm in Paris now."
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
Fury held the phone, his eyes narrowing as he growled, "You said he went to Paris?" "Yes, sir. I checked his chartered flight records and airport entry logs. He definitely went to Paris." "When?" "Three days ago." "What a coincidence," Fury muttered. Coulson stayed silent. As an agent, he knew better than to dismiss any coincidence—no matter how small.
Fury's voice crackled with impatience. "Take a quinjet to Paris and find him. If he's in Tokyo, he'll arrive later than you. Don't tell me you don't know where he's staying?"
"I know. I'm leaving now," Hong Fei replied. After sending Frank off, he boarded a chartered flight to Tokyo under his second identity.
But Paris wasn't his destination. Instead, he headed for Singapore, where a tank deal awaited. Meanwhile, Number Four in Paris also boarded a plane to Singapore, using Hong Fei's identity. Unbeknownst to him, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already begun tracking his movements. The elaborate maneuver was a precaution, a way to sidestep potential complications.
Alone in the spacious cabin, Hong Fei felt the subtle shifts in his body and energy. The battle at Liberty Island had triggered a surge in his energy reserves, and during his trip to Tokyo Bay, his physical fitness had skyrocketed.
Though it wasn't enough to push him into a second-stage breakthrough, his current energy levels allowed him to summon a tank three times consecutively. His physical attributes—strength, speed, endurance—had far surpassed human limits, marking a comprehensive transcendence.
The discomfort of his energy overflowing after Liberty Island had also subsided, a sign that balance between body and energy was crucial for optimal development. With a flick of his wrist, two cards materialized in his palm.
One was a crystal-like fusion card, the other a blue skill card dropped by Murakami: Cold-Blooded Killer (Blue).
"Restores a small amount of health upon killing an enemy," Hong Fei read aloud. A valuable skill, essentially a lifesteal cheat, though the exact amount restored remained unclear. He currently had three skill card slots.
The blue passive skill card Hidden Identity occupied one slot permanently, and Telepathy often filled another. The third slot was flexible, occasionally holding the green active skill card Deceive Time and Crowd, but most of the time it remained empty. Cold-Blooded Killer would likely become a staple in his arsenal.
The only question was, where was his health displayed? Storing the skill card, Hong Fei turned his attention to the crystalline fusion card. He examined it carefully, then crushed it.
Instantly, a flood of information surged into his mind, etching itself into his memory as if carved there. Simultaneously, a strange new force emerged within his body—distinct from energy yet harmonious with it, existing independently yet perfectly fused.
A moment later, Hong Fei opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and clear. The information was a complete cultivation method for Qi, and the newfound force was the initial spark of Qi itself.
He understood the basics: meditation, combat, tempering, realization. But he sensed there was another way.
As the thought arose, the energy in his body poured into that nascent Qi. The process was seamless, energy diminishing as Qi grew. Yet after a brief moment, Hong Fei paused. He realized that injecting energy into Qi didn't reduce its volume—it lowered its maximum limit.
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Each surge in his energy reserves marked an expansion of his total capacity. Unlike ordinary stamina, his energy replenished automatically—the stronger his physique, the faster it recovered. Best of all, skill cards demanded nothing but this self-renewing resource. Qi operated by entirely different rules.
Once converted, Qi couldn't revert to raw energy. Direct cultivation proved far more efficient. He unfurled his palm, watching as a tiny vortex of Qi spiraled to life above his skin. The applications were endless—defensive barriers to stop bullets midair, offensive techniques that transformed close-quarters strikes into ranged attacks, even strikes that bypassed distance entirely.
More ways to use it remain to be developed, or, he could wait for someone in the future to drop a skill card about mastery of "Qi" usage methods for him.