Chapter 4: Attempting to Spoil

The scales of fate once again found their balance, and that faint sound, barely audible, rang in Meimu’s ears like a death knell.

More than anything else, Meimu feared this.

This was the Marvel Universe!

A world where godlike alien beings could obliterate a planet with a single move!

Take, for example, Thor’s father Odin—when he was young, he was a legend who could sweep the heavens and earth. Or Star-Lord’s father...

Meimu knew: in theory, if he followed Doctor Strange’s path, he should be able to reach that same awe-inspiring height as the Sorcerer Supreme himself.

But the point wasn’t Doctor Strange. As a seasoned movie buff, becoming Doctor Strange wouldn’t be too difficult for him.

The crux was in the future—when this world’s timeline reached the moment Thanos appeared, it would be the death knell for the entire galaxy, half its people turning to dust, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

He could still recall how Doctor Strange managed to exchange a few blows with Thanos but was ultimately sent flying.

Meimu drew in a sharp breath, whispering to himself, “No, this won’t do! Doctor Strange is still too weak. Not just him—despite the number of superheroes, none of them are truly up to the challenge. Captain America, for instance, charged forward with a punch, but Thanos didn’t even take a scratch…”

“If I want to survive, I have to do better than Doctor Strange himself.”

“If I want to survive, I have to do better…”

“If I want to survive…”

This phrase became a curse, repeating over and over in Meimu’s mind.

His fierce will to live drove his mind to race at full speed.

The problem was, Meimu himself was never a top student. Could he hope to decipher the magical incantations in the spell books like Doctor Strange? Could he grasp the mysteries of spatial sorcery?

The gulf between a mediocre student and a prodigy was like the difference between heaven and earth, and that was Meimu’s greatest fear.

That miraculous scale of fate was his last safeguard, and now, with a sudden click, it had shifted back into place.

What did this mean?

Did it signify he had failed to alter the course of history, and that the goddess of fate was displeased with him?

Whatever the case, Meimu realized he had to take action.

He raised his left hand, scarred and veined like earthworms, and shakily reached toward Christine. “Christine, come here. I want to show you something.”

Meimu’s voice was solemn and steady, nothing like someone sunk in despair, defeat, or self-abandonment.

Christine hesitated for a moment, but eventually allowed his hand to rest on her shoulder.

Meimu gently wrapped his left arm around Christine’s shoulder, holding her hand with his right, and led her to his dressing room.

This was once the very symbol of Stephen’s aura as a “winner in life.”

Inside the glass cabinet in the dressing room were not only the golden trophies awarded to him by the medical association, but also a dazzling drawer equipped with a watch winder. It had once been filled with dozens of Stephen’s luxury watches; it was no exaggeration to say that the watches in this single drawer were worth a million dollars.

But when Meimu opened the drawer, Christine stared in astonishment. “Where are your watches? Did you sell them? Your surgery wasn’t that expensive, was it? I remember your private health insurance was the highest tier, and you even took out a separate policy for your hands.”

Meimu sighed quietly.

In the original history, Stephen, obsessed with restoring his hands, spiraled into madness. The insurance was substantial, but not enough to cover all his additional surgeries, many of which were experimental and cost tens of thousands of dollars each.

Naturally, his fortune was gone within months.

After Meimu became Stephen, he was a practical man—even though he wanted to keep a luxury watch for appearances, he had more important goals.

Taking a deep breath, Meimu slipped into Oscar-winning actor mode, tilting his head back at a forty-five degree angle, his gaze lost and tinged with a weary melancholy.

He began to speak.

“Once… there was a man who achieved great success, earning millions each year, basking in wealth and glory. Because he was successful, he always spent as much as he earned, never saving anything. He didn’t know what love was, nor did he cherish the beauty in the world, so God punished him.”

Meimu released his hold on the woman, slowly raising both hands to show Christine the scarred backs of his hands. Paired with his resolute yet weathered expression, and the single tear that slid from the corner of his eye, the scene was almost overwhelming.

Almost instantly, Christine felt tears welling up, and she covered her mouth to keep them in.

Her heart ached, tears shimmering in her eyes, but she held them back.

“You bastard, are you just trying to win my sympathy? Listen, Meimu—I won’t fall in love with you again out of pity.”

Meimu, playing the role of the tragic hero, slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t need sympathy. Just as I no longer need these watches that symbolize vanity. One watch is all I need.”

With trembling hands, Meimu fully opened the drawer. Only then did Christine notice, at the very back, one last watch remained, spinning endlessly clockwise on the winder.

How could she not recognize that Jaeger-LeCoultre watch?

It was the birthday gift she had given Meimu during their time together. On the back was an inscription, heartfelt and deep: “Time will show you how much I love you—Christine.”

For two people who had already broken up, it was a cruel irony.

Tears began to spill uncontrollably as Christine bit her lip. “What are you trying to say?”

Another tear slid down Meimu’s cheek—in that moment, he couldn’t tell whether he was simply too absorbed in the role, or whether the memories and emotions left by the original owner of this body in this world were bursting forth.

“No, I just want to say that no matter where I go, to the ends of the earth, I will always cherish this love and these memories.” Taking a deep breath, Meimu said, “Come with me over here.”

He led Christine to the floor-to-ceiling windows in his apartment. As a former high-roller, and a neurosurgeon, Meimu owned one of the most luxurious apartments in Manhattan, New York.

The greatest feature of this three-hundred-square-meter apartment was its view of the city’s landmark—Stark Tower.

Its upper floors had a silhouette reminiscent of a dog’s head, or perhaps a stool, rising to a height of 1,138 feet (347 meters), Stark Tower was unmistakable.

Meimu knew well: the moment he crossed over, the timeline was already 2016. In this parallel universe, the earth-shattering battle of New York with the Avengers had already taken place.

And so Meimu had no qualms about revealing the plot ahead.