At twelve-thirty in the morning, Zhou Mo was getting ready to sleep.
As part of his nightly routine, he expanded his Wall-Piercing Vision to scan the surrounding blocks.
This habit had lasted for months, becoming akin to a bedtime meditation.
Then he “saw” an anomaly.
Three blocks away, a chase was underway.
A single heat signature fled desperately, bleeding profusely from gunshot wounds in his left leg and right shoulder.
Behind him, seven or eight armed men were hot on his heels, cursing loudly in thick Irish accents.
The chase wound through narrow alleys and backstreets, heading toward the docklands.
Zhou Mo looked closer.
The fleeing man was clutching an electronic device that emitted intermittent jamming signals.
It was a continuation of the vault robbery from the previous night.
“Good skills,” Zhou Mo muttered to himself.
“Terrible escape plan.” He had originally intended to mind his own business—things like this happened every night in San Francisco.
Yet the jammer made him hesitate.
The device was delicately modified, its energy signature indicating high-end work not commercially available on the market.
Someone capable of using technology like that shouldn’t die under gang gunfire.
Zhou Mo sat up and threw on a jacket.
He activated Standing Erect Without Shadow.
His figure faded inside the bedroom, as though melting into the shadows.
Next came the Five Elements Escape—not a long-distance teleportation, but a short-range spatial fold.
One step forward, and he was already in the alley behind Renxin Hall.
Another step, and he arrived at the intersection two blocks away.
Standing in the shadows of the alley mouth, he watched the pursuit draw near.
The man running at the front was in his sixties, dressed in a dark jacket.
The fabric over his left thigh was soaked in blood, and his right shoulder bled steadily.
He clutched a backpack in one hand while his other hand gripped the jammer tight.
The three closest Irish mobsters were right behind him, raising their handguns.
Zhou Mo lifted his hand and lightly made a grasping motion toward the trio.
Guiding Primary Yang—not to siphon life force, but to drain the localized air.
The oxygen within a three-meter radius instantly thinned to unbreathable levels.
All three gunmen choked at once, eyes bulging as their hands flew to their throats.
They collapsed silently, their lungs stripped of the air needed to vibrate their vocal cords.
The remaining pursuers were still around the back corner.
Zhou Mo walked over to the injured man, who was now slumping against a wall, gasping consciousness away.
Having lost too much blood, the man’s pupils dilated at the sight of Zhou Mo, but he still clung desperately to his backpack.
“Don’t…
don’t touch…” he mumbled.
“Quiet.” Zhou Mo squatted down and tapped several acupoints on the man’s leg, instantly slowing the blood flow.
He then hauled the man up and activated Deep-Abyss Earth-Shrinking.
The surrounding scenery blurred, stretched, and snapped back to normal.
They were already inside the secret room beneath Renxin Hall.
Overhead, the surgical lamp lit up.
Zhou Mo cut away the man’s pant leg and shirt.
The left leg suffered a through-and-through bullet wound in the calf muscle.
It had missed the bone and main artery, though the blood loss was severe.
The right shoulder bore a graze, taking off a small patch of flesh roughly half a centimeter deep.
He retrieved his acupuncture kit.
Three silver needles were inserted into key acupoints around the wounds, halting the pain and bleeding.
Placing both hands over the injuries, Zhou Mo injected a tiny thread of positive energy to accelerate cellular repair.
He didn’t fully heal the injuries—that would be too obvious—just enough to stabilize them for normal medical treatment.
Next came debridement, disinfection, and suturing.
Zhou Mo worked with neat, practiced skill, making every stitch precise.
Finally, he applied a special Golden Wound Salve, a formula he had refined using his auxiliary alchemy skill to promote rapid healing without leaving noticeable scars.
Once that was done, he pulled out two Qi and Blood Replenishing Pills and popped them into the man’s mouth.
The man swallowed instinctively, coughing a couple of times.
The medicinal efficacy dissolved rapidly, returning a touch of color to his pale face.
Zhou Mo washed and disinfected his hands, then sat in a chair nearby to wait.
Half an hour later, the man stirred.
He bolted upright, pulling at his wounds and gasping in pain.
Seeing Zhou Mo and taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, his eyes filled with vigilance.
“Don’t move around,” Zhou Mo said.
“I just stitched those up.
Tear them open, and I’ll have to sew you up again.
What’s your name?” “You…
tell me who you are first.” “Zhou Mo.
Physician at Renxin Hall.” He gestured around.
“This is my clinic.
You were about to be turned into Swiss cheese by the Irish Gang, so I dragged you back on a whim.” Zhou Mo pointed to the backpack sitting on the surgical table.
“By the way, that gadget of yours is pretty neat.” The man looked at his jammer, then back at Zhou Mo.
“Why did you save me?” “Two reasons.” Zhou Mo stood up and handed him a cup of tea.
“First, I dislike the Irish Gang.
Second, I’m interested in your technical skills.
Now it’s your turn.
Name, and why they’re hunting you.” The man took the tea, his hands trembling slightly.
He stared at the steam rising from the cup and remained silent for a long moment.
“Scott Lang,” he finally said.
“Electrical engineer…
former.” “Former?” “I served three years in prison,” Scott said with a bitter smile.
“Because I blew the whistle on corporate fraud.
They turned around and framed me, saying I was the one behind it.
I lost the lawsuit and went inside.
Just got out last month.” He took a sip of tea and continued, “I have a daughter, Cassie.
She’s almost eighteen.
She has congenital heart disease—a complex condition.
The doctors said she needs surgery that costs two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
I have no insurance, no job, no anything.” Zhou Mo remained silent, simply listening.
“So I did something stupid,” Scott’s voice dropped.
“I accidentally found out the Irish Gang keeps a cash vault down in the docklands.
I thought…
stealing from mobsters isn’t really a crime, right?
At least it doesn’t hurt innocent people.” He pulled the backpack over and unzipped it, revealing stacks of bundled cash—roughly eighty thousand dollars.
“I pulled it off.
I modified the jammer myself, capable of disabling most electronic locks and security cameras.
But I missed a hidden mechanical alarm.
It went off when I retreated, and they chased me all the way.” By the end, his voice cracked with emotion.
“I just wanted to save her…
I had no other choice…” He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a photograph, and handed it to Zhou Mo.
The girl in the photo looked around seventeen or eighteen, with short blonde hair and a bright smile, though her pale complexion was evident.
Scott Lang.
The name triggered memories in Zhou Mo.
Not from this life, but from the comics and movies he had seen in his previous world.
Ant-Man—the hero who could shrink and control ants.
Right now, however, Scott wasn’t a hero.
He was just a desperate father.
*Top-tier technical talent, pure motivation, no complex background, currently extremely vulnerable,* Zhou Mo evaluated internally.
He looked at Scott.
“I can give you the money,” Zhou Mo said.
“Not as charity, but as an advance on your salary.
I need a chief security consultant who doubles as a special operative.
Your public duty will be designing security systems for enterprises under my name.
Your real mission will be developing secure communications and executing special intelligence ops.” Scott stared at him as if looking at a madman.
“Why…
why are you helping me?” “I need your skills, and you need a way out to save your daughter.” Zhou Mo stood up.
“It’s a business transaction, but you can treat it as a second chance.
A legal identity, high salary, medical insurance, and you can bring your daughter here to San Francisco.
Once she arrives, I’ll examine her myself.
If traditional Chinese medicine can’t manage it, I’ll contact the best pediatric cardiothoracic surgeons in the country and cover the costs.
Consider it employee benefits.” Scott opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
His eyes reddened, his hands gripping the bedsheets tightly.
“Why…” he choked out.
“I don’t even know you…” “You do now.” Zhou Mo checked the time.
“Do you need time to think it over?” Scott shook his head vigorously.
“No.
I’ll do it.
As long as it saves Cassie, I’ll do anything.” “Very good.” Zhou Mo patted his shoulder.
“Focus on healing first.” He called Remy and briefly explained the situation.
Ten minutes later, Remy arrived in the secret room.
He raised an eyebrow upon seeing Scott, but asked no questions.
“This is Scott, our new colleague,” Zhou Mo said.
“Take him to the tea house basement to recover.
You’re in charge of security and supplies.” “Got it, Boss.” Remy helped Scott up.
Before they left, Zhou Mo whispered to Remy, “The Irish Gang lost money and men tonight.
They might stir up trouble over the next few days.
Have Skinny Monkey’s people keep an eye out, but don’t provoke them.” “Understood.” Zhou Mo turned back to Scott.
“While you recover, think about what equipment you need and write up a list.
Once you’re healed, I’ll arrange for someone to help you pick up your daughter.” Scott nodded, tears finally falling.
“Thank you…
Boss.” Remy supported him as they departed from the secret room.
After the door closed, Zhou Mo began cleaning up the surgical area.
Blood, gauze, surgical instruments—everything was sorted and handled, some disinfected for reuse, others destroyed.
Once finished, he stood in the center of the secret room, looking at the team roster posted on the wall.
There were now three names on it: Remy LeBeau (Gambit), Leslie Willis (Livewire), and Scott Lang (Tech Expert).
“An electronics expert, a mutant card player, and a lightning manipulator,” Zhou Mo murmured softly.
“This lineup is looking more and more like a supervillain squad.
Then again, who cares?”