C41: Prove
Luke Cage had always gone out of his way to hide his abnormality.
Working double shifts between Pop's Barber Shop and sweeping floors at Genghis Connie's, refusing any involvement with vigilantes, gangs, or even everyday crime, even if he could crush a man's skull with one hand. Keeping a low profile was survival. Ever since Seagate Prison and the unethical experiments run by Dr. Noah Burstein for IGH, Luke's life had been about staying invisible.
But he never expected the strange young man who strolled into Pop's barbershop just yesterday would casually expose the very secret he'd buried under years of routine.
Now, staring at the quiet figure in the alley behind the shop, Luke's thoughts spun like the turbine inside a Stark Industries arc reactor.
"Who are you really?"
"My name is A Xing. I come from Penglai—an Eastern sanctuary hidden from the mortal world."
> [Famousness from Luke Cage +85]
[Famousness from Henry +40]
As expected, narrative world-building always worked best in staggered doses. Dump too much lore at once, and you lose all suspense. But drop it piece by piece? That's when the panel lights up with legend points.
Glancing at the system UI, Li Ran was briefly distracted. Not for long, though he was aiming beyond just numbers. The system was a tool. Harlem, on the other hand, was real.
"Penglai?" Luke repeated, lips tight, voice uncertain.
He'd seen strange things in New York. Men flying in armored suits. Norse gods descending on Times Square. Even shook hands once with Jessica Jones after she tore a car door off. But nothing about this kid screamed alien or Avenger and yet, the way he carried himself felt... ancient.
He still wore that same knockoff red Champion hoodie with a haircut Pop could only describe as "unforgivable," but the aura around him had changed, less street, more scroll.
"Guess I haven't seen everything after all," Henry muttered, folding his arms. "You think you've seen enough in Harlem—gang wars, vigilantes, even Luke catching bullets with his damn chest but then this happens."
"So tell us," he continued, "what kind of place is Penglai?"
"Penglai is a legendary island off the coast of China like Themyscira, but older. We don't chase fame or glory. We safeguard balance. Most people will never even know we exist, and that's by design."
His voice rang with myth. In a way, it reminded Henry of the time Matt Murdock wandered into the shop half-dead, mumbling about "The Hand" and mystical cities like K'un-Lun.
Luke furrowed his brow. "Hidden island, mystical legacy... what, like Shang-Chi's Ta Lo? Or is this some kind of East Asian Wakanda?"
Li Ran smiled faintly. "Call it what you will. Penglai is not a myth. I wouldn't have left it if not for something critical, something tied to what I mentioned yesterday."
"You mean the Evil God of Fire Cloud?" Luke repeated, uneasy. "You actually weren't kidding about that guy?"
The term had sounded ridiculous at first like some bad anime villain. But something about the name stuck in Luke's mind. Maybe it was the way Li Ran said it, or how Harlem had been attracting more supernatural weirdness since that thing with Dormammu in Greenwich Village.
"The ultimate murderer," Luke muttered. "Even that name's... off."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Li Ran's tone was innocent, but there was a quiet edge behind it. He might as well have said: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Henry gave Luke a look—uncertain. "Listen, Ah Xing, it's not that I don't believe you. But one minute it's dumplings and mops, the next it's demon gods and secret cities? Kinda hard to follow."
Li Ran nodded. Reasonable skepticism. That's what made humans more grounded than gods.
But words alone couldn't carry proof. He scanned the barbershop then his eyes landed on the vending machine in the back corner, stocked with Luke's favorite Grape Soda.
"Since I can't open a dimensional rift and summon Penglai into the alley," he said, "I'll just have to prove it my way."
—
Harlem Paradise – Noon
In the light of day, the club had none of the usual jazzed-up ambiance. No live sets. No champagne towers. Just the low hum of tension and the stench of blood lingering on concrete.
Willis Stryker—Rattlesnake, as the streets called him, stood near the stage where Diamondback once declared Harlem his. He wore a snakeskin jacket and a perpetual sneer. A Glock 19 rested loosely at his hip.
Before him, a dozen gangbangers lined up. Most were fresh out of Ryker's or worse—Blackgate, over in the DC boroughs.
He turned to his enforcers. "Bring him out."
A thug dragged Shamik forward, his jaw shattered, face swollen like he'd gone three rounds with Colossus. He could barely stand.
"You're lucky I didn't feed you to Killer Croc," Willis muttered, slapping his bruised cheek with mock tenderness. "But let me be clear, if I find out even one word of your story's fake, I'll make what Penguin did to that stool pigeon last month look like a handshake."
"I swear, everything I said was real."
Shamik's voice was ragged, but his eyes held nothing but fear-backed honesty.
"Then good."
Willis turned, facing the crowd. "Gentlemen, Harlem used to be our sanctuary. Ever since the Bushmaster went down and the damn vigilantes started playing sheriff, we've been losing grip."
He stepped onto a chair like a preacher in a pulpit.
"Yesterday, some outsider—Asian, no rep—stepped into our backyard and stomped three of our boys like they were roaches. That's a damn insult to everything Cottonmouth built. That's a damn insult to me."
He raised his hand.
"For the new Harlem!"
"For the new Harlem!!" the men roared in unison.
"Then move out!"
—
Back Alley, Pop's Barbershop
Henry raised an eyebrow. "So... this is where Penglai reveals itself?"
He and Luke stood next to the dumpster, watching Li Ran balance a soda can on his palm with an almost meditative focus.
Li Ran gave a small, almost theatrical nod. "The true Penglai is thousands of miles away, protected by spells, sea fog, and spirit guardians. I can't bring you there but I can show you why I am who I say I am."
Luke folded his arms. "Go on, then. Impress me."
Li Ran exhaled, then dropped the can.
He took a step back, twisted his right leg, and unleashed a strike—Vajra Kick.
The air cracked with a sharp sonic pop. The can exploded upward like a rocket, vanishing into the midday skyline.
For a moment, even the pigeons paused.
"That was...," Henry muttered, watching the can disappear somewhere above the Empire State Building.
"Proof," Li Ran said simply, turning around with a smile.
Luke and Henry exchanged a long look.
They didn't say anything.
But they didn't laugh either.
> [Famousness from Luke Cage +55]
[Famousness from Henry +25]
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