Chapter 7: The Assailant (Wishing Success in the College Entrance Exam)

When in doubt about domestic matters, ask Baidu. For foreign affairs, ask Google.

And so, Meimu was left dumbfounded.

The Nepal of the Marvel Universe wasn't as terrible as he had imagined. As a landlocked country nestled on the southern slopes of the Himalayas, Nepal was separated from the Celestial Empire to the north by the towering mountains, while the south and three other directions were surrounded by the Indian subcontinent. It was a small nation, less than 150,000 square kilometers in area, with a population nearing thirty million. If not for its reputation as a renowned tourist destination, drawing hundreds of thousands of visitors each year, it would likely be an overcrowded and rather dismal place.

According to the original story, Stephen Strange was supposed to wander the streets, asking questions and inadvertently provoking a group of thugs who tried to steal his watch. He was beaten senseless, but in a twist of fate, was rescued by Baron Mordo, who noticed him and led him to Kamar-Taj.

Unlike Stephen in the original timeline, who was flat broke at that point—penniless except for the Jaeger-LeCoultre watch Christine had given him—Meimu was, in fact, still quite well-off.

But this left Meimu troubled.

Before crossing over, he had been nothing but a student, with only a few scuffles in his entire life. The kind of burly highway robbers from the story were not something he could handle now. True, he had inherited Doctor Strange’s height and physique, with his own face, but his hands were ruined—shaking even worse than those of a Parkinson’s patient.

He was destined to be utterly useless in a fight.

For some reason, as he stepped out of the airport gates, Meimu was gripped by a sudden sense of dread—a foreboding almost akin to a sixth sense. It was not an unfamiliar feeling; he remembered sensing the same faint anxiety when he saw Stephen Strange fall.

After considering for a moment, Meimu ignored the chaotic throng of Nepalese touts mangling English as they hustled for business outside the arrivals hall, and retreated back into the lounge.

He deliberated for a long time before deciding to make a phone call.

Within just an hour, two men appeared before him.

One was a short-haired black man, at least two meters tall; the other, a six-foot-one white man with Mediterranean blond hair. They entered the VIP lounge of the airport. Even at his own considerable height of six-foot-one, Meimu suddenly felt frail and insubstantial beside these two muscular giants.

"Hey, I’m Nick Shaw, and this is Douglas Dute. You must be Dr. Stephen Meimu?" said the black man.

"Yes, that’s me." Meimu extended his hand for a symbolic handshake. "Sorry, I was in a car accident. My hands were severely injured."

"Oh, no problem—I can see that, it’s understandable," Nick replied with a whistle. "Anyway, the one paying is the boss."

Douglas, despite his rugged features, managed a professional smile. "Blackwater Security Consulting, at your service."

This company was a branch of the infamous American Blackwater. Generally responsible for the security of high-ranking officials, they had a declared force of two thousand elite bodyguards spread across most countries and regions of the world. At any time, a single phone call could summon them to any major city within an hour at the latest.

In such a large company, bodyguards were naturally graded. For safety, Meimu had hired two at a thousand dollars a day—just the most standard kind, both ex-Marines.

Nick added, "While our company has accepted your request, let's confirm one last thing before we start: you haven’t gotten yourself into any trouble, have you?"

"Trouble? Uh, I don’t think so," Meimu answered instinctively, raising his hands. "I’m just here as a tourist, hoping to seek out a legendary master who can heal my hands."

Douglas smiled. "No problem, it’s just routine. The company has already checked your social welfare records. A typical member of the elite, excellent credit history—no trouble at all, just the kind of client we like best."

"Well then, welcome to Nepal. I hope your wishes come true."

With two obvious foreigners as bodyguards—who seemed to know their way around Nepal—Meimu felt much more at ease.

"Kamar-Taj!"

"Hello—has anyone heard of Kamar-Taj?" The three foreigners stood out among the generally shorter Nepalese population like cranes among chickens.

Douglas, having spent two years in Nepal and speaking passable Nepali, made inquiries for a while. "Hey, Mr. Meimu, not even the locals have heard of any place called Kamar-Taj!"

Before Meimu could respond, Nick spoke up. "Mr. Meimu, we’ve got a few guys who have been tailing us the whole way. Nine o’clock. What should we do?"

"Uh, any suggestions?" Meimu asked.

Nick shrugged. "Our security protocols don’t permit us to let our client come to harm. But this is Kathmandu—if you act weak or fearful, more thugs will circle you like sharks scenting blood, and you’ll be picked clean to the bone. If there are too many, we might not be able to hold them off."

Douglas raised an eyebrow. "At the very least, some damn kid will pretend to play, then run by and try to pick your pocket."

Meimu looked down at himself and finally understood why he’d been targeted. He had once belonged to the privileged elite, and all his possessions were top-tier—not a single item under three digits in price. Dressed like this in impoverished Nepal, he might as well have been a beacon in the dark.

If not for his bodyguards, he’d probably have been stripped to the bones already.

Meimu felt a twinge of regret. Sure enough, as a college kid with no social experience, he hadn’t thought things through.

"Alright, Nick, I’ll follow your lead."

"No problem, leave it to me."

Seemingly by chance, the three turned into a deserted alley.

Under Douglas’s protection, Meimu witnessed an impressive display of combat. Nick ambushed the group of thugs—both locals and foreigners—at a corner.

At two meters tall, Nick was like a heavy tank, his fists the size of rice cookers, making a thunderous sound as they struck.

Everything went smoothly—until the next instant.

Time seemed to freeze.

A golden whip, as if conjured from thin air, lashed out like a serpent and coiled around Nick’s neck.

In a split second, a dark head soared skyward.

Douglas was stunned for a moment, then immediately drew his gun.

Technically, firearms were banned in Nepal. Meimu had noticed armed guards at the gates of every gilded temple and knew the country’s security was a mess.

That Douglas carried a gun was no surprise.

What was surprising was that, against this enemy, a gun was utterly useless.

Another golden whip, sparking as it lashed, burst from the void and swept across like lightning.

Douglas’s arm—and the gun in his hand—were shattered to dust…