Appearance

Trevor had never imagined that his acting career could continue, and that he would still be playing the same role. Jackson Norris, disguised as a reporter from ABC, had broken him out of prison and shoved him into a prison transport packed with armed men.

Honestly, this sly, slippery third-rate actor had no desire to leave his cell and regain his freedom this way. He knew perfectly well that working with these dangerous people meant taking enormous risks. Who knew when the Avengers might wipe them all out in one sweep?

The last time, he had escaped being implicated by Killian only because Lady Luck had favored him. But if it happened again, he would not be so fortunate.

But he had no control over the situation now. Trevor did not have the guts to keep talking tough with a gun pointed at his head, so he could only obediently board the prison van and let them pull a black hood over him.

As for the attacked prison, chaos reigned inside. Dozens of guards lay in pools of blood. Quite a few vicious inmates had taken the opportunity to knock down several guards, seize the cell keys, and release even more prisoners. A riot was inevitable.

The engine started slowly, tires grinding against the ground. No one spoke. After about twenty minutes in that stifling silence, Trevor was pushed out of the vehicle and transferred to another car. This journey seemed to last half an hour. Before long, a lively clamor drifted in, mixed with many voices speaking Chinese.

"Get out. And remember, you’d better behave yourself." Jackson removed the black hood and threatened him in a low voice.

Trembling with fear, Trevor changed out of his yellow prison uniform and pushed open the car door. Red lanterns hung overhead, while rows of Chinese restaurants and shops stretched before him. This was Chinatown.

Lower Manhattan, at the southern end of Manhattan, was a residential area primarily inhabited by Chinese immigrants and expatriates. This community had formed mainly because California had passed the Chinese Exclusion Act. Chinese people who had been ostracized and persecuted had no choice but to migrate to the East Coast. As the population gradually grew, the area eventually became Chinatown.

Nearly all the residents in this district were Chinese, mainly from Guangdong, Hong Kong, and Fuzhou. The main languages spoken here were therefore Cantonese and Fuzhou dialect. A third of the open businesses were restaurants. Mountains of fruit, medicinal herbs, and seafood stalls lined both sides of the streets, while beautiful Chinese signs decorated the buildings.

Whenever the holidays came around, Chinatown became especially bustling. Many overseas Chinese would flock here, drawing plenty of foreigners interested in Eastern culture as well.

With the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against his lower back, Trevor obediently crossed the middle of the street and entered an old-fashioned teahouse. Compared with the Chinese restaurants outside, business here was sparse. Apart from a few elderly men upstairs, listening to opera tunes over tea and occasionally chatting, hardly any foreigners came here.

The owner, dressed in a traditional long gown and cloth jacket, stepped forward to greet them warmly and led Jackson and Trevor upstairs. A black Ten Rings tattoo was briefly exposed on his arm.

Inside an elegant room on the second floor, a figure stood before the window with his back turned. When he turned around, his face proved strikingly similar to Trevor’s.

He had an aquiline nose, deeply sunken eye sockets, and a thick beard covering his jaw. His gloomy expression radiated intense authority. Like a mighty lion, he seemed beyond anyone’s daring to offend.

The only difference from Trevor was that this mysterious man was younger, in the prime of his thirties or forties. He was tall and powerfully built. Simply standing there, he resembled a towering mountain, exuding an overwhelming pressure.

"Honorable Mandarin." Jackson’s face was filled with fanaticism as he spoke with utmost respect. "I have brought you the fraud who impersonated you."

"Heh. Killian really did find a decent stand-in." The mysterious man stepped forward, a smile blooming across his sinister face. "I preferred him in the videos. He looked more like me that way."

Trevor’s legs trembled. Under Killian’s instructions, he had studied Chinese for a while, so he could roughly understand their conversation.

"Don’t be afraid. Look more serious. Yes, that expression." The other man’s gaze was sharp as an eagle’s. "Don’t appear too terrified. It makes me uncomfortable."

He wore an elaborate black robe, carrying himself with the majesty of an emperor. His eyes swept over Trevor, making the down-and-out third-rate actor lower his head involuntarily. From the corner of his eye, Trevor saw the multicolored rings on all ten of the man’s fingers. Each was set with a precious gemstone, their dim light flickering faintly with extraordinary power brewing within.

"The Ten Rings needs a puppet, so you will return to the stage," the true Mandarin said in a deep voice, his tone carrying an unyielding certainty.

He was the founder of the Ten Rings, having established this vast organization long ago. Its influence had first taken root in a corner of Asia before expanding into Vietnam, Japan, and Korea. It was powerful enough to stand alongside The Hand, its reach spread throughout the Asia-Pacific region, weaving an immense, intricate, secretive network.

The Ten Rings could be found in every chaotic region. For example, the Afghan warlords who had once kidnapped Tony Stark were puppets supported by the organization. The Ten Rings supplied them with money and weapons, allowing them to constantly expand their territory and build their power, until they could ultimately be used for its own ends.

"I hear you enjoy acting and are quite an accomplished actor." The Mandarin’s expression was solemn, as though recalling a distant past. "I want you to understand this role better."

Trevor did not dare interrupt. He silently listened to the man’s account. This hidden master of the Ten Rings was said to possess an extraordinarily long life. Born in the ancient East, he was a descendant of Genghis Khan, a remnant of the Golden Bloodline.

From a very young age, the Mandarin had displayed his exceptional nature. With shrewd and decisive business methods, he amassed terrifying wealth beyond ordinary imagination during that chaotic era of feuding warlords and endless warfare. Yet at the peak of his life, he abandoned his fortune, vast enough to rival a nation’s wealth, and traveled across famous mountains and great rivers in pursuit of the elusive secret of immortality.

He had pored over Taoist scriptures and studied Buddhist sutras and secret teachings, yet gained no enlightenment. It had been an age when the Tao was declining and cultivation had been cut off. No one could glimpse the gateway to the Great Dao.

Everything changed only with the arrival of the Ten Rings. In an abandoned valley, the Mandarin found ten rings amid the ruins of an extraterrestrial civilization, each possessing a different extraordinary power. Overjoyed, he studied and controlled them day and night.

From then on, the Mandarin vanished from public view and secluded himself deep within the mountains and forests. The few times he emerged were only because he sensed great changes in the world, stirring him from stillness into action. The Ten Rings was the product of that resurgence.

"…I found the path to immortality. Those lifeforms from civilizations beyond the universe may offer me even greater enlightenment." The Mandarin’s face was as cold as ice, his voice like a freezing current that made one shudder. "Killian once wanted to control this country. He thought I cared about power and status… Fool! What I seek is the essence of life’s evolution. The Ten Rings led me through the gateway of the Great Dao, yet I am still not satisfied."

"I want the whole world… Hm?"

The Mandarin’s voice abruptly stopped. He suddenly reached out and seized Trevor by the throat, his fingers slicing through the skin like blades as he pinched out a tiny tracking device no larger than a grain of rice.