Pepper ‘Little Chili’ Potts

Azeroth Specialties Shop.

"Money lets you do whatever you want."

Reclining in a wicker chair and watching the news, Old Wang looked at the bandaged forty-year-old bachelor on TV. The man’s face held less of a playboy’s frivolity and arrogance, and more gravity and responsibility. Old Wang shrugged.

"Skye, once Stark Industries’ stock price stabilizes, sell all the shares and buy Stark Industries… Mm, put some strength into it! Ah, faster! Hiss, that’s it, don’t stop!"

"Mm."

Skye agreed, her two delicate fists raining down on Old Wang’s back. Then she asked in confusion, "Wang, Stark Industries is an arms company. If it stops selling weapons, what will it sell? The major media outlets all think that playboy has gone crazy. Stark Industries might go under with him, and you still dare to buy in?"

"Buy low, not high… Stark Industries’ core competitiveness has never been weapons, not even the Arc Reactor. It’s Tony. What’s most important in the twenty-first century? Talent!"

Old Wang pointed at his shoulder. "That guy is the greatest genius in the world. As long as he’s alive, Stark Industries won’t collapse. It’ll only get better and better."

Skye nodded and switched from pounding his back to kneading his shoulders.

She did not really understand it, but everything Old Wang said was right.

There was proof of that!

She carefully did the math and discovered that after all this tossing about, the money in her account plus her stocks had somehow surpassed seven hundred million—

If they had sold off all those antiques and artworks, the figure might even have reached a billion!

Yet just two months ago, all her assets combined had not even amounted to a hundred thousand… not even thirty thousand.

In two months, it had multiplied tens of thousands of times. That was Wang’s magic.

Wait…

When did I become this rich?

Even in an international metropolis like New York, she counted as genuinely wealthy!

In that case…

Could she buy a better truck?

"How unambitious. Don’t let this little bit of money blind those starry eyes of yours."

Old Wang, who had possessed immeasurable wealth in his previous life, was utterly unimpressed by that number. Rocking leisurely in his chair, he said, "It won’t be long before you become the richest woman in the world, Skye. How about we buy a private jet then? S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Quinjet is pretty nice. I wonder if Egghead would sell one, and whether he’d give us a discount."

"You said it!" Skye’s eyes lit up.

Having lived in poverty for nineteen years, she loved money in a way ordinary people could never understand.

Old Wang smiled. What did the whole world amount to?

The universe was vast, and beyond it were more universes. The more one knew, the more one could feel one’s own insignificance and smallness.

Only the short-sighted were arrogant and conceited. Those clowns always thought they could rule the world.

The truly powerful kept a low profile. Take the Ancient One, for example. Her tranquil gaze watched over the multiverse. The matters of Earth were all trivial to her. Whether it was World War I, World War II, Hydra, or The Hand, she could not be bothered with any of it.

As long as humanity was not extinct and Earth was not destroyed, it did not matter.

"Alright, that’s enough."

Old Wang got up with a smile. "Your turn."

"Mm."

Skye skillfully took off her clothes, climbed onto the bed, lay down, and closed her eyes. The entire process took only seventeen seconds.

Old Wang grinned and extended his panda hand.

By the time sweet moans filled the room, ten thousand words had quietly slipped past with the reader’s turning pages.

An hour later.

Old Wang climbed out of bed and clapped his hands. "Rest up. I’m going out to buy groceries."

Buy groceries?

Skye lay sprawled on the bed, weak and limp all over. You haven’t cooked in over two months. Why did you suddenly think of it today?

"What are you buying? Egghead or grilled sausage?"

"Little Chili."

"Huh?"

As the secretary and personal assistant to the chairman of Stark Industries, Miss Pepper "Little Chili" Potts had always been busy.

At other companies, when there was work, the secretary did it; when there was no work, they did…

At Stark Industries, when there was work, the secretary did it. When there was no work, she still had to clean up the mess left behind after her boss had taken care of his physical needs.

Over the years, she had no idea how many times she had made that big bed, changed its sheets, or driven away ignorant vases who fantasized about becoming the mistress of Stark Industries.

Of course, after living like that for so many years, she had long grown used to it. It had even become part of her life.

When her boss disappeared two months ago, she had actually felt rather unaccustomed to it.

Now that her boss had returned, though, there was even more trouble than before.

Stark Industries had sold weapons for seventy years. Her boss had simply decided to quit, and the entire company was in turmoil. She had heard that Justin Hammer and the owners of dozens of other arms companies were trying every possible means to poach employees.

Although the company’s second-in-command, Mr. Obadiah, had promised raises, he still could not stop the wave of resignations.

Stark Industries’ stock had already fallen forty points. At this rate, it could drop sixty. Obadiah had been losing his hair lately.

Strange. Why had that fat man who weighed over a hundred kilograms not lost any weight?

Of course, that was company business, beyond Miss Potts’ control. Her current job was to take care of her boss’s daily life.

Her boss and Mr. Obadiah might control the company’s shares, but the board of directors held considerable power as well.

Citing "harm to the company’s interests," the board had proposed it, Mr. Obadiah had signed it, and her boss could now only recuperate at home.

According to Mr. Obadiah, this was to protect her boss. He would handle the current chaos, and once things settled down, her boss could return—

In short, Mr. Obadiah was now the company’s CEO.

Thinking of the hollow in her boss’s chest when he had asked her to help replace his miniature Arc Reactor yesterday, the slime that had covered her hands, and the diagnosis report the private doctor had handed her after the examination, Miss Potts wanted to cry.

Her boss had been wounded by a terrorist bomb. Many tiny fragments could not be removed at all, and they threatened his life every moment of every day. He was so distressed that he no longer even had the mood to seek out women.

There were countless roads in life, but surgery came first. Surgery carried risks, and her boss refused to agree to it.

If he dies, what will happen to me?

Forget it. She would stop thinking about it and just take good care of her boss.

"Have Happy buy a hamburger. Or maybe find a woman to entertain the boss. He hasn’t slept with the cover girls from the latest two issues of Maxim Magazine yet. He’s never made an exception in all these years. Should I call them both over?"

Little Chili sighed.

Helping the man she loved find women somehow felt wrong.

Suddenly, a voice sounded. "Miss Potts, someone is here to see you."

It was J.A.R.V.I.S., the intelligent butler her boss had developed. It had been named after the old butler, Edwin Jarvis. Her boss was a sentimental man and had always been like that.

J.A.R.V.I.S.’s AI was highly advanced, even capable of independent thought. He checked visitors’ identities and decided for himself whether they needed to be received.

Since he had notified her, the visitor was clearly important and of no low status.

"Please have him wait in the living room. I’ll be right there."

Little Chili took a deep breath, adjusted her emotions, and put on a professional smile.

When she entered the living room, she saw a slightly plump figure. Short black hair, blue jeans with a white T-shirt—very casual, very cheap.

The weather had already turned cold. Was he not afraid of freezing?

"May I ask who you are?"

Little Chili smiled.

J.A.R.V.I.S. usually did not make mistakes, but he occasionally misjudged people. This man’s entire outfit did not cost more than a hundred dollars. What sort of important person could he be?

The slightly plump figure turned around, revealing a somewhat handsome Chinese face.

He was young, no more than twenty, yet he seemed steady and mature. He also had a strange air about him, one she had only felt from major figures in their fifties or sixties. Even her boss did not possess it; Howard Stark had come closer.

That made Little Chili take him seriously.

"Special consultant to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. My surname is Wang." Old Wang handed her an ID.

"W-what? Could you please say that again? It’s a bit of a tongue twister." Little Chili had not caught it.

"We’re working on fixing that little problem. You can call us S.H.I.E.L.D."

Old Wang smiled warmly. "We’re very interested in what Mr. Stark experienced over the past two months, and we hope to speak with him."

Little Chili froze slightly. "Didn’t your S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Agent Coulson and Agent Mei, already come to see me?"

"I’m different."

Old Wang smiled and beckoned.

A banana on a plate atop a table ten meters away automatically peeled off its skin, revealing its snowy-white body before flying over to Little Chili.

"I’m here to help him. The shrapnel inside Mr. Stark is dangerous, isn’t it?"