The slamming of the Cadillac's door echoed the simmering hostility of Agent Barbara Morse. She had been used, not as a threat, but as an unwilling prop in a bizarre and humiliating performance for her surveillance teams.
Zhou Yi simply shrugged, settling back into the driver's seat as he began the trip back toward his remote property.
The dynamic was clear: he was playing a high-stakes, mild-mannered game of cat and mouse, and she was the captive messenger. His current actions—the forced grocery run—were the mildest possible expression of dominance.
It served as a non-violent, yet undeniable, demonstration of his ability to infiltrate and control S.H.I.E.L.D. assets at will. By complying, her handler, Director Hill, tacitly accepted this impromptu armistice, valuing Barbara's safety and the opportunity to gather passive intelligence over a direct confrontation.
Pulling up to the same roadside position where he had initially ambushed her, Zhou Yi parked. He turned to the professional agent, his expression neutral.
"We've reached the agreed-upon location, Agent," Zhou Yi announced, cutting the engine. "The charade is over. You are now free to go."
Morse unclipped her seatbelt, her movements precise. She chose her words carefully, attempting to salvage a diplomatic foothold. "Mr. Zhou, I maintain that there is no fundamental antagonism here. Our organizations—yours and mine—share the objective of public order. There is a clear avenue for cooperation."
Zhou Yi raised a hand, stopping her. "I will reiterate my position for your superiors, Agent. When I am prepared to engage in formal dialogue, I will do so with a decision-maker—not an operative assigned to a covert breach. Furthermore, your organization has a profound lack of respect for personal space and territorial boundaries."
His voice dropped, the cold edge of the Dawn Knight replacing the amiable civilian.
"Your constant, clumsy surveillance around my private residence is an annoyance I will not tolerate. More critically, my family, those closest to me—they are off-limits. If S.H.I.E.L.D. makes any move, however subtle, to endanger or inconvenience them, our professional relationship will immediately become hostile. I trust you understand that only you and your Director know my location and identity right now. I advise you to make sure nothing happens to those boundaries."
With that final, chilling declaration of territory, Zhou Yi exited the car and walked with calm deliberation toward his villa. The heavy door hissed shut behind him.
Outside, Agent Morse stood motionless for a moment, absorbing the weight of the threat. She activated the discreet, protected communication channel hidden beneath the crown of a tooth.
"Commander Hill, I believe you heard his message clearly," she whispered into the transmitter.
Commander Hill's voice, tight with frustration and tactical reassessment, immediately responded.
"Loud and clear, Barbara. The target has established non-negotiable boundaries. His immediate concern is the safety of his family—his leverage. Get out of there. All teams: immediate and silent withdrawal from the Long Island sector. I will handle the contact directly."
Morse replied with a terse "Understood," and moved swiftly toward her own sedan. As she drove away, she watched in her rearview mirror as the six hidden surveillance teams packed up their specialized gear and vanished into the landscape.
Satisfied that the agents had retreated—a fact he confirmed by running a final, high-intensity super-scan of the area—Zhou Yi allowed himself a sigh of relief. He then began the therapeutic process of unpacking the spoils of his forced shopping trip.
The refrigerator, minutes ago a symbol of his domestic failure, was now jammed with world-class ingredients: the blue lobster still feebly waving its antennae, the massive sea bass glistening, and the twenty kilos of prime beef promising rich, fatty goodness. The bounty was excessive, even for him.
"I may have slightly overbought to make a point," he mused, a small smile playing on his lips.
His craving for dumplings remained paramount, but the sheer quantity of food demanded company. Zhou Yi found an unexpected solution: a casual family dinner.
This decision served a dual purpose: fulfilling his social needs and subtly reinforcing his protective net around Sharice and Ororo (Storm)—making them highly visible and connected to him, thus subtly discouraging S.H.I.E.L.D. from attempting to use them as points of entry.
He first dialed Sharice's mobile. The time coincided perfectly with the end of classes at the X-Academy.
"Zhou Yi! You actually remembered my number?" Sharice's voice crackled with mock indignation. "After all the trouble you caused, getting me grounded for a whole week and banning my powers! I trust you're calling to apologize profusely."
"Of course, dearest sister," Zhou Yi replied, carefully setting his phone down as he tied on his apron. "I never forget when my favorite sibling is suffering the consequences of her own… enthusiasm. It's a date I mark on the calendar."
"I knew you wouldn't say anything nice! If you have a request, just spit it out, you old menace!" she challenged fiercely.
"Simple. I just acquired an absurd amount of fresh food, including ingredients I haven't used in years. I'm preparing a massive spread of authentic Chinese cuisine tonight. Come over. We haven't had a proper dinner in ages. Bring your friends, too—I'd like to finally meet the people you spend all your time with."
A moment of genuine longing entered her voice. "I really want to, Yi, but the curfew here is strict, and my powers are still on probation. The staff won't let me leave the grounds, especially not after the last incident."
Zhou Yi's mind worked quickly. "If that's the sole concern, I'll call the Academy myself. I'll personally invite Ororo and Jean Grey to accompany you—as chaperones and guests. I think a dinner invitation from me is significant enough to warrant a temporary waiver for the weekend."
"Wait," Sharice interjected softly, the playfulness gone. "If Ororo and Jean are coming, that's different. Fine. If your plan to lure them here works, then I'm in. I knew you'd find a way to make this happen." Her soft sigh indicated her acceptance of his inherent manipulations.
Next, he called Ororo.
"Yi? Oh, hello," Ororo answered, her voice containing an immediate, wary tension. "I was just about to call you. About the other night, listen, I don't think we should rush anything. I definitely had a little too much to drink, and I need to be clear that the dynamic between us is… well, it's complicated."
Zhou Yi chuckled, recognizing the standard 'post-awkward-encounter' cleanup. "Hey, my dear. Relax. I'm just having a family dinner tonight, nothing more. I've just called Sharice's. I was hoping you, Jean, and her friends could all come over. I made an unreasonably large purchase of Chinese ingredients. Consider it a thank you for keeping my sister out of trouble."
"Are you certain?" Ororo pressed, her suspicion clear. She had known Zhou Yi for years, intimately aware of his cunning and his tendency to create chaos—a temperament she often compared to the infamous Tony Stark. "I trust you about as far as I can throw one of your armored cars."
"I'm hurt, truly," Zhou Yi feigned distress. "Ask Sharice. She's already accepted. Besides, with both you and Jean here, what trouble could I possibly cause? It's just a quiet dinner." His voice shifted to an unusual tone of sincerity.
"Alright, fine. I'll come," Ororo relented, then couldn't resist a final jab. "But I'm bringing an umbrella, just in case you try to make Scott Summers jealous again. That was cruel, even for you."
Zhou Yi laughed, a genuine, warm sound this time. "Think whatever you want, my dear. I'll see you tonight."
Finally, he called the person whose presence would cause the most intriguing friction: Jean Grey.
The phone was eventually answered by Jean's calm, intellectual voice. "Hello, this is Jean Grey."
"The incomparable Jean Grey," Zhou Yi purred. "This is Zhou Yi. Will you do me the honor of joining my table for a little family gathering tonight?"
Jean hesitated. "A family dinner? I think you should direct that invitation to Ororo, Zhou Yi. My schedule is currently quite demanding."
"Nonsense. I've invited everyone—Ororo, Sharice, and her friends. However, I'd much prefer to have dinner with you alone," he countered smoothly, reversing the pressure. "But since that would be inappropriate tonight, consider this a strategic necessity. Plus, I need your presence to ensure the Academy allows the students out."
"I'm quite busy in the lab," Jean instinctively declined, her voice tight. Since she had allowed her feelings for Zhou Yi to become undeniable, the desire for his presence was constantly warring with her sense of loyalty to her long-time partner, Scott Summers, and her deep friendship with Ororo. The internal betrayal and the magnetic pull of Zhou Yi's powerful presence left her emotionally fractured.
"Is that lab work or a rendezvous with Scott? If it's the latter, please, I won't interfere," Zhou Yi said, using his knowledge of her existing emotional conflict as a lever.
"Of course not! It's purely professional. I'm coordinating new sensor data," Jean retorted, rising to his bait.
"Then there's no conflict. Our relationship is deep enough now, is it not, that you wouldn't reject such a simple request for a meal?" Zhou Yi's voice was persuasive, confident in his ability to push her psychological boundaries. Like an ancient, velvet-tongued entity, he offered the forbidden fruit of passion wrapped in the necessity of polite obligation.
Jean surrendered with a long, weary sigh. "Fine. I'll be there." She ended the call quickly, before she could change her mind.
Zhou Yi smiled, a look of profound satisfaction on his face. He and Tony Stark shared a common core of arrogance, power, and a possessive nature.
While Stark had found a singular, anchoring love, Zhou Yi was still exploring the divisibility of affection—admiring, challenging, and conquering these powerful women through intellectual and emotional means. For him, the feelings were complex: admiration, protectiveness, and the profound satisfaction of conquest.
The invitations were complete, and Zhou Yi immediately turned to the core of his evening: the food. For a man of his abilities, the simple act of cooking was elevated to a form of kinetic art and chemical perfection. With his superhuman precision and speed, a traditional meal that might take hours was reduced to minutes of focused activity.
He retrieved the high-protein flour and water. Using his micro-kinetic powers, he did not merely mix the ingredients; he mandated the hydration. He subtly manipulated the water molecules, ensuring they were instantly and perfectly absorbed by the flour particles.
Then, applying micro-vibrations and rapid, focused kneads—at hundreds of strokes per second—the flour transformed into a perfect, elastic, and chewy dough. The gluten structure was optimized, a state achievable only by his powers.
With the speed of a machine, he sectioned the large dough mass into three perfectly sized, long ropes:
A thick, robust rope for pan-fried and large boiled dumplings (the heartier style).
A thinner, silkier rope for delicate, small boiled dumplings (for a lighter texture).
A large, finely stretched rope for steamed xiao long bao-style skins.
The batter complete, Zhou Yi moved to the star ingredient: the New Zealand crayfish. Known for its delicate texture and subtle sweetness, it was ideal for shrimp dumplings.
His movements became a surgical blur. The cleaver in his hand was no longer visible; it was a silver streak of kinetic energy. He executed a single, perfect cut along the back of the first crayfish, removed the vein with a twist, and then, using precise diagonal strokes, separated the flesh while preserving the head and tail structure.
He used the flat of the cleaver to lightly flatten the meat, maintaining its shape while tenderizing the fibers with rapid micro-taps.
In less than a minute, the entire 2.5 kilograms of live crayfish were prepared, the meat lying on a steel platter, meticulously cleaned.
Next came the meat base. He selected the Grade A prime beef—marbled, tender, and perfect for flavor. Using the cleaver, he trimmed excess fat with chemical-level precision and then began the delicate work of mincing. The chopping motion was a controlled sonic force, reducing the beef to a perfect, consistent texture without bruising the muscle fibers or generating friction heat.
The final filling mixture involved the chopped beef, the crayfish, and finely diced Sichuan bamboo shoots for texture. He seasoned it carefully: a pinch of ginger powder to neutralize any residual fishiness, a measured splash of cooking wine, fresh-ground black pepper, sea salt, and a dash of olive oil.
He then used his telekinetic power to knead the mixture itself, using internal pressure and vibration to achieve a uniform, elastic texture—a state impossible to reach by hand alone. The filling was ready, placed in a precise, temperature-controlled cool-zone to await assembly.
Zhou Yi paused, the entire kitchen already organized, his expression one of calm, focused anticipation. The next steps—the folding of the skins and the preparation of the soup stock—required a different kind of finesse. The stage was set, not just for dinner, but for the next, inevitable chapter of his complicated life.
The X-Women are on their way. Given Zhou Yi's detailed preparation, which main Chinese dish (besides dumplings) do you think he will create using the Blue Lobster and Sea Bass, and what kind of powerful conversation will he aim to have with Jean Grey and Ororo?