Banner
969 Words
Celestian had replaced the entire ceiling of the building with reinforced glass, letting his herbs soak in sunlight while keeping prying eyes out.
Along the eastern wall of the third floor, three one-inch-tall statues of the Sanqing gods were meticulously carved by Celestian himself. Made from rare century-old peach wood, they were priceless back in China—but in the U.S., the price was roughly half as much.
Beneath the statues sat a one-meter-high sandalwood table and chairs, draped with three layers of yellow cloth. A simple yellow cloth behind the gods kept the altar understated, almost invisible.
Celestian lit three incense sticks for each deity, bowed three times, and then quietly exited the room. He locked the iron doors again, headed down to the second floor, grabbed an ice-cold Coke from the fridge, and flopped onto the sofa, flipping the TV on.
Sipping his drink, he idly scrolled through channels until a news clip caught his attention.
Tony Stark was boarding a military plane, waving at a crowd with that cocky playboy grin, ridiculous among serious-looking soldiers. A glamorous CNN reporter stood below, practically purring into the camera—Celestian suppressed a smirk, guessing everyone would wonder about her relationship with Stark.
But what really drew Celestian in was what the reporter said: Tony Stark was heading to Afghanistan to test his latest invention for military sales.
Celestian knew Stark’s trip wouldn’t go smoothly. He’d get kidn*pped by terrorists, forced into a corner—and that’s when Iron Man would be born. And Iron Man? That kicked off a whole new era.
After Iron Man, came Spider-Man, Punisher, Daredevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Iron Fist, mutants, and of course the Avengers: Hulk, Thor, Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Ant-Man, Wasp. Villains? Green Goblin, Venom, Doctor Octopus, Kingpin, Hand, Hydra, Loki, Dark Elves… even the big ones like Ancient One, Apocalypse, Dormammu, Thanos—any of them capable of wiping out the world—came onto the stage. The whole Marvel saga was rolling.
“Ugh,” Celestian sighed. His “golden finger” was small, and at peak mid-level Qi refinement, he could barely defend himself—hardly impressive in this world.
He finished the Coke, headed down to the first-floor warehouse, checked his inventory, and then moved forward.
Night had fallen. Gan Jing was busy tallying the day’s earnings. At the shop, she was not only the cashier but also the accountant, receptionist, and janitor. She’d recently demanded a raise, threatening to strike if Celestian didn’t comply.
“Gan Jing!” Celestian called quietly, taking advantage of the lack of customers. “Anything on the schedule for tomorrow?”
“Yep,” she replied without looking at her computer, coldly meeting his gaze. “Tomorrow morning, you’ve got a visit to Beverly Hills. Ms. Michaela Baines called—she wants her routine youth rejuvenation session.”
“Oh,” Celestian muttered. Michaela Baines was one of Hollywood’s hottest stars lately. Somehow, she’d heard about Celestian’s rejuvenation treatment and had been coming twice a month ever since.
This treatment, invented by Celestian, was all the rage among slightly older stars, especially women around thirty.
“I don’t get it,” Gan Jing muttered, clearly annoyed, “why do these twenty-somethings feel the need for rejuvenation already? Makes no sense.”
Celestian knew she was right, but smiled, explaining, “Twenty-four isn’t exactly young anymore. This is the perfect time for rejuvenation. Miss it, and aging starts creeping in.”
Gan Jing froze mid-task, her face darkening. “Celestian… you’re saying I’m an old woman now?”
She’d done four years of undergrad in China, then grad school in the U.S. At twenty-seven, compared to twenty-four-year-old Michaela Baines, she naturally felt a gap. Women were sensitive about age, and comparing to a younger, prettier star? No wonder she snapped. She looked like a cornered wildcat, bristling all over.
“No, no, Gan Jing! Not what I meant!” Celestian waved frantically, sweating. “I meant—you’re naturally beautiful. Even without rejuvenation, you’d still look twenty.”
“Oh,” she said, biting back a smile, still putting on her grumpy act. Her hand drifted toward the pestle nearby, ready to smash him if he slipped up.
“Yes, yes!” Celestian fawned like a scared dog, staying close and flattering her non-stop.
Just then, the tinkling bell above the pharmacy door rang. A middle-aged man in a crisp suit stepped in. Black-rimmed glasses, a slightly tight jacket, but still exuding a scholarly elegance.
“Is this the Ling’s Pharmacy?” he asked politely.
Gan Jing immediately softened her expression and responded warmly. “Yes, sir. Welcome. Are you feeling unwell?”
“Hello,” the man nodded to both of them. “I’m Robert Banner, from New York. I heard you have something called the Serenity Pill. I’d like to purchase some.”
“Serenity Pill?” Celestian frowned, stepping closer, studying Banner. Only a couple of old-timers knew about that pill. How did this guy hear of it?
“This…?” Banner hesitated, rubbing his hands. “Sorry, the person who told me insisted I keep their identity secret. They also said you’d know what’s going on just by examining me.”
Celestian’s brow furrowed. The guy looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him. And judging by the energy radiating from him, it was intense—overflowing.
Robert Banner… Banner…
A chill ran through Celestian. No way—he shouldn’t be here. Last he knew, Banner was hiding out in South America.
He took a deep breath, face serious, and said to Gan Jing, “Close the shop early today. We’re done for the night.”
“Got it!” Gan Jing glanced at him, then at Banner, her brow furrowed, before heading to lock the door.
- Writer
