Chapter 84: The Ubiquitous FBI

Secret.

Hearing these two extremely familiar words, Coulson immediately felt as though he’d shot himself in the foot. Wasn’t this just what he’d said earlier, brushing off Zhong Shenxiu’s question about his credentials? Good grief, this Mr. Zhong was admirable in every way—except for how long he could hold a grudge…

Coulson paused, then ultimately chose to compromise. Steering with one hand, he retrieved the ID he’d shown to the squad captain earlier and handed it to Zhong Shenxiu, explaining, “It’s actually just an FBI badge. The only difference is that it’s a higher clearance level, which is why the soldier reacted so strongly.”

Zhong Shenxiu took the ID, studying it carefully. Indeed, it read “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” with Coulson’s name and photograph below, stamped with an official seal. It looked entirely authentic. Or perhaps… it was authentic? After all, this was S.H.I.E.L.D.—surely they wouldn’t be so careless as to use a fake local ID.

“Do S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moonlight at the FBI?” Zhong Shenxiu teased.

Coulson almost choked at that, barely suppressing a laugh. He turned to Zhong Shenxiu with a genial smile.

“Eyes on the road,” Zhong Shenxiu reminded him quickly.

“Oh,” Coulson replied, turning back to face forward as he continued, “Actually, these are issued centrally by our agency for convenience. FBI credentials are widely recognized. For instance, the CIA—Central Intelligence Agency—has no law enforcement authority on home soil, but in special circumstances, they can’t just stand by helplessly, can they? So, in reality, most CIA operatives also carry FBI badges. It’s practically become an industry standard among all the agencies.”

I see—Zhong Shenxiu nodded, enlightened. No wonder the FBI seems to pop up everywhere: in the news, real life, even at the start of videos. So that’s why.

He handed the badge back to Coulson, but had already committed every detail to memory. I’ll have Ivan forge one later, he thought to himself.

After reclaiming his badge, Coulson spent a long moment studying Zhong Shenxiu, a smile playing at his lips. He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.

I’ve explained myself; now it’s your turn, isn’t it?

That was the message Zhong Shenxiu read in his eyes. Did he want an explanation for how he’d known Tony would hold a press conference and shut down the weapons division? He couldn’t very well say he was a transmigrant, could he? So Zhong Shenxiu paused briefly, searching for a plausible, self-consistent reason. Soon, he found one and began to speak.

“In fact, I was only guessing. When I said it earlier, I wasn’t at all certain.”

But this answer clearly didn’t satisfy Coulson.

Zhong Shenxiu continued, “My ability isn’t just to heal wounds—I can also sense injuries and illnesses more acutely than others. I believe you’ve already noticed that.”

At this, Coulson recalled Zhong Shenxiu’s earlier, precise diagnosis of Agent May’s wounds—how, from the chaotic lacerations, he’d accurately deduced they were the result of stray electrical currents from lightning. May’s own confirmation later proved Zhong Shenxiu’s guess correct.

So Coulson nodded, convinced. “Yes, I’ve experienced that firsthand.”

Seeing his new backstory accepted, a trace of satisfaction flickered in Zhong Shenxiu’s eyes as he went on, “It was thanks to this ability that, at first glance, I could sense that Tony had a gaping wound in his chest.”

“And inside, he had an electromagnet. That immediately reminded me of a news story I’d once read—a description of a small village in the Middle East. It detailed a victim known as the ‘living dead,’ someone who’d had shrapnel from a Jericho missile embedded in their bloodstream, surviving only with an electromagnet in their chest to keep the fragments at bay.

“I then continued sensing Tony’s condition and found that the blood flow in his body was different from normal—there seemed to be foreign objects in his veins.

“I guessed that must be the shrapnel.”

Coulson listened intently, falling into deep thought before asking, somewhat perplexed, “But what does that have to do with Tony holding a press conference?”

“Which company developed the Jericho missile?” Zhong Shenxiu countered.

“Stark Industries…” Coulson replied almost reflexively, then stopped, startled, realizing he was only just catching up with Zhong Shenxiu’s line of reasoning.

“So,” Zhong Shenxiu continued, “Tony was wounded by a weapon manufactured by his own company. Moreover, the electromagnet in his chest, though smaller and more advanced than the one in the news story, was installed by the same technique.

“That leads me to believe Tony was saved by a doctor who had treated those ‘living dead’ survivors, using the same method.

“Add to that Tony’s disappearance in the Middle East—after spending three months in a war-torn region, he would have gained a profound understanding of the devastation his inventions had wrought.

“From what I’ve gathered about Tony through various reports, I don’t think he’s a completely heartless arms dealer. So, I speculated that upon his return, he might choose to reform the weapons division.”

Zhong Shenxiu explained unhurriedly.

As his reasoning became clearer, Coulson’s eyes grew brighter. This methodical unraveling of clues was electrifying for an agent like him.

“In fact, I had little confidence that he would outright shut down the weapons division—after all, that’s the lifeblood of Stark Industries.

“But when Tony said he had urgent business, that there were only two things he wanted to do—one about food, which we can set aside—what else could be so pressing the moment he returned? Surely, it had to be something he’d thought about constantly during those three months in the Middle East.

“So I made a bold guess: that Tony’s greatest wish upon his return was to shut down weapons development and manufacturing—cutting off Stark Industries’ lifeblood with his own hands.”

He paused, then added, “Of course, much of this is subjective. I was just lucky this time.”

But Coulson, listening beside him, was utterly dumbfounded—practically stunned.

“Amazing… truly amazing…” Coulson couldn’t help but mutter.

This was like a sparrow pecking an ox’s backside—unbelievably sharp.

He suddenly felt that, compared to Zhong Shenxiu, all his years as an agent seemed wasted on a dog.

Keen insight, clear logic, daring predictions… These were all the hallmarks of a top-tier agent at work.

It was a pity, he thought, that Mr. Zhong wasn’t an agent himself.

Coulson looked at Zhong Shenxiu with a new glint of respect in his eyes. Previously, it had been Zhong Shenxiu’s formidable abilities that impressed him; now, it was entirely the mind that outstripped nearly every agent he’d ever met.