Chapter 10: Even More Eye-Opening Than "Eye-Opening"
The next day, Bruce Lee once again visited Lin Hao's manor in Silicon Valley. The two men departed early, driving through the morning mist toward the Li family's private airfield on the outskirts of San Francisco, where a sleek Stark-model jet waited to take them to Los Angeles.
The party that awaited them was held in an ancient seaside castle near San Pedro Bay, within sight of the glittering skyline of Hollywood. The place had an old-world nobility, with iron-wrought balconies and torch-lit corridors—a setting perfectly suited for a gathering of America's most powerful elites.
The banquet was designed as more than entertainment. It was a political signal—a message to the outside world that the Los Angeles Consortium and Stark Industries were on the verge of collaboration after years of quiet rivalry. To ensure the message reached every ear, the hosts had summoned the press in droves. Reporters hovered around the red carpet, cameras flashing like lightning, while a crowd of glamorous socialites and actors posed for attention.
It was less a banquet than a battlefield of vanity.
"Half of these people weren't even invited," Bruce said dryly from the car window, watching the spectacle. "They smell opportunity like flies to rot."
"This," he added, his tone half-mocking, "is Vanity Fair incarnate."
Lin Hao smiled faintly. Five years had taught him much about such games. In that time he had attended countless events—some as a silent proxy through one of his artificial humans, others in person after his power had stabilized. He no longer needed decoys; now he walked openly among men, even if he was no longer truly one of them.
Their car rolled toward the side entrance—the path reserved for genuine guests. Outside the main gate, the self-invited celebrities preened under the cameras, unaware that when the real reception began, they would be politely ushered away. Only those whose names carried true weight would remain.
Tonight's guest list, however, held a surprise. Though Tony Stark understood the decorum of such gatherings, he still arrived beneath the full blaze of the spotlight—his natural stage.
The organizers had no choice but to greet him at the front gates, and Bruce Lee and Lin Hao followed among the select group of hosts.
In this world—the one subtly reshaped by Lin Hao's quiet manipulations—Stark Industries had grown even more formidable than in the canonical Marvel timeline. Its dominance over high-end weapons and defense technology was absolute, thanks to the combined legacies of Howard and Tony Stark. The company's fall, when Tony later announced the shutdown of its weapons division, would shake the U.S. economy to its core.
For now, though, Tony Stark was still the golden boy of the American military-industrial complex. Every consortium in California wanted to align with him. Bruce Lee's family fortune, built over generations, seemed almost quaint beside Stark's empire. Lin Hao, however, remained an enigma even to the billionaires—his background clean, his capital flow untraceable.
That alone drew Stark's attention the moment he stepped from his silver-grey Audi R8.
"Well, well," Tony said, glancing between the two oriental faces. "Seems California's becoming more cosmopolitan by the day. Good—was starting to think the press was right about people getting scared to step outside."
He extended his hand toward Lin Hao, the faint smirk on his lips hiding both curiosity and calculation.
Their handshake lasted a heartbeat longer than expected. Lin Hao felt the faint hum of the Arc Reactor beneath Tony's chestplate—a device born of science but saturated with energy that was almost... familiar.
"Lin Hao," he introduced smoothly. "Singaporean Chinese. I run a shipping and biotechnical venture."
That identity, carefully fabricated through multiple shell companies, had served him well since the San Francisco incident, when S.H.I.E.L.D. first began tracking his energy signature.
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Biotech, huh? Funny. You've got the look of a scientist. The kind who likes to play god."
Lin Hao chuckled softly. "You could say that. I study... life itself."
Bruce, overhearing, fought back a grin. Those who knew Lin Hao's "research" understood the darker truth—the experiments on artificial humans, the resurrection of matter, the whispers of the Demon Core sealed beneath his lab.
"Can't wait to see your results," Tony replied, eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and intrigue.
As he moved on to greet others, Lin Hao's gaze lingered on him. The cursed and the curious... Can one soul burdened by knowledge truly sense another?
Bruce broke his reverie with a half-jealous sigh. "Tony Stark himself just greeted you first. That's rare."
Lin Hao smiled. "Are you jealous?"
Bruce shrugged. "Not really. The family business isn't mine to run anyway." But his tone betrayed the smallest trace of envy.
With Stark's arrival, the first act of the banquet began. Leaders of local financial groups delivered short speeches, toasting "innovation" and "mutual prosperity." Then a renowned Broadway troupe took the stage, filling the hall with elegant melodies while couples spun across the marble dance floor.
By midnight, the staff began clearing the uninvited guests. Reporters and minor celebrities drifted away, leaving only those powerful enough to matter.
The lights dimmed.
Masks appeared. Laughter turned secretive. From the upper gallery descended a line of masked dancers—men and women whose movements were too graceful, too synchronized, too inhuman. Lin Hao's eyes narrowed. The faint scent of synthetic energy brushed against his senses. These were not mere entertainers.
And as the music swelled, one of the dancers looked directly at him—eyes glowing faintly crimson beneath the mask.
Lin Hao smiled.
It seemed tonight's party would indeed be even more eye-opening than "eye-opening."