Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

"Ding! The host will begin dimensional travel in fifteen minutes. Please prepare accordingly."

The system notification sounded in Wang Huanbo's mind, which excited him, as he hadn't heard a system notification about dimensional travel for almost a year. He wondered which dimension this time he would be traveling to.

However, to prevent outsiders from discovering his secret ability to travel between dimensions, Wang Huanbo summoned his wife, Lou Xiao'e.

"Xiao'e, I have a technical problem that requires a quiet environment to study and think about. I will bring some food and drinks to my study to work on it. I don't know how many days it will take, but Xiao'e, you must not let anyone enter the study to disturb my research." Wang Huanbo instructed Lou Xiao'e very seriously.

"Huanbo, I promise I won't let anyone disturb your research!" Lou Xiao'e replied to Wang Huanbo with a serious expression.

Wang Huanbo pretended to take some food and drinks to the study, and then used the phone in the study to call the factory, explaining that he needed to study some important technologies and would be doing the research in his study at home. He told Lou Xiao'e to send everything to him, and he would take care of it after he finished his research.

After completing all preparations, Wang Huanbo locked the study door from the inside and waited for the dimensional travel to begin...

January 15, 1941, 4:00 AM, off the coast of New York Harbor.

The thick, impenetrable Atlantic fog, like a damp, cold gray blanket, enveloped the vast, dark sea. The massive silhouette of the ocean liner "Queen Mary" appeared only as a blurry, sparsely lit shadow in the fog, silently plowing through the waves at twenty knots toward New York Harbor, the last dream of the American continent.

Inside the first-class suite A-12, however, was a dry and warm atmosphere, a stark contrast to the damp and cold outside. Heavy velvet curtains drew the portholes, blocking out the fog and darkness. Soft light from the wall lamps illuminated the living room, which was covered with a Persian carpet. The air lingered with the rich aroma of cigars and a faint, subtle scent of sandalwood from the East.

Wang Huanbo stood in front of the full-length mirror in the living room, examining his reflection one last time.

The man in the mirror appeared to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, about 1.82 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a straight back. He wore a perfectly tailored, high-quality dark gray three-piece British suit, with a crisp white shirt collar and a dark red silk tie. His hair was meticulously combed back with hair wax, revealing a full forehead and a pair of eyes as calm as a deep pool. His facial features were clearly defined, with a high nose bridge and lips pressed into a straight line. His skin was a healthy tan, gleaming warmly under the light. Standing there, he didn't exude the fatigue of a long journey, but rather a restrained composure honed by good upbringing and strict self-discipline, and a calm and profound quality beyond his years, as if he had seen it all.

However, if someone could see through it, they would be horrified to discover the terrifying energy hidden within this seemingly ordinary body, which appeared no different from any other elite of the era: the awakened light gene flowed slowly deep within the cells, Ultraman's psychic power converged like invisible tentacles in the sea of ​​consciousness, and the system space quietly contained Ultraman armor, Ironblood armor, the Demon Blade Thousand Blades, and enough supplies and gold to ignite a small war. His current "identity" was, in the eyes of the other passengers on the ship, the young heir of a mysterious Chinese business family from "Southeast Asia"—Wang Huan Bo—who was taciturn but elegant in demeanor, and extravagant in spending.

"System, confirm the current plane anchor point and the time flow ratio with the main world (courtyard plane)," Wang Huanbo silently recited in his mind.

"Command confirmed." A cold, electronic voice rang out directly in his mind. It was Pangu. "Current anchor point: Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), Captain America 1 timeline, January 1941. The time flow ratio with the main world (1956) is approximately 365:1, meaning one year in this world is approximately one day in the main world. The dimensional portal is stable and can be opened at any time without observation. Warning: This world contains multiple high-energy reactions and potential rule interference. It is recommended that the host use supernatural abilities with caution to avoid attracting the 'watchful eye' of this world (such as the Ancient One, Odin, etc.)."

"365:1...that's enough." Wang Huanbo nodded slightly. This meant he had relatively ample time to plan his moves. As for "observation," he had his own plans. This trip wasn't about fighting and killing, but about "taking" and "making connections." He wanted to acquire the Ark Reactor technology, acquire serum samples; make friends, and invest in the future. Low-key, precise, and quietly making a fortune was the guiding principle of his actions.

He walked to the porthole and gently pulled back a corner of the curtain. Thick fog still lingered outside, but in the distant horizon, a faint grayish-white hue had begun to emerge. In another hour or two, the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty would appear in the morning mist, followed by Manhattan's suffocating skyline of concrete jungles and countless windows. In 1941, the shadow of World War II loomed over Europe, and war clouds hung heavy over the Pacific, yet this "world capital" remained immersed in a distorted prosperity akin to apocalyptic revelry. Jazz music played all night, the stock market was booming, and countless ambitions, wealth, technology, and espionage converged, collided, and fermented here.

"Howard Stark..." Wang Huanbo murmured the name, a sharp glint in his eyes. This future founder of Stark Industries, one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., a genius inventor and playboy, was probably currently in a New York laboratory, at a ball, or in a beautiful woman's bed, squandering his talent, money, and energy. He was Wang Huanbo's primary target on this trip, the most direct and legitimate bridge to Arc Reactor technology.

"Sir," came the respectful knock on the door and a slightly accented English voice from outside, "we are about to arrive at the quarantine anchorage. Please have your passport and entry documents ready. Breakfast will be delivered to your room in an hour."

"Understood," Wang Huanbo replied in fluent English with a slight Oxford accent. This accent was the result of over twenty days of deliberate practice on the ship, through listening to the radio, talking with British passengers, and with the help of Pangu to correct his pronunciation. In this era, a pure "high society" British accent was an excellent stepping stone to integrating into certain circles in New York.

He sat back on the sofa and opened the exquisite crocodile-skin briefcase. Inside, neatly arranged, were all the documents for his new identity: a passport issued by the British Malayan colony, bearing his slightly youthful photograph and the English spelling of "Wang Bo"; large sums of money certificates issued by HSBC and Citibank (laundered and deposited through Hong Kong channels using gold from the system space); a "graduation certificate" and transcript for Mechanical Engineering and Biochemistry from the "Technical University of Berlin" (a Pangu forgery, perfect in detail, able to withstand the general scrutiny of this era); several recommendation letters from "business partners in the Nanyang family," vaguely worded but full of praise, hinting at substantial wealth and a mysterious background; and several appointment letters from top New York law firms, accounting firms, and private clubs.

All of this took him nearly a month of preparation in the main world, as well as a small portion of gold in the system space. But it was worth it. A wealthy, knowledgeable, and somewhat obscure young overseas Chinese talent eager to contribute to the "free world"—this was the role he had tailored for New York in 1941.

Breakfast was a refined continental affair: fried eggs, bacon, roasted tomatoes, croissants, and a pot of strong black coffee. Wang Huanbo ate slowly and deliberately, but his mind raced. Historically (or rather, according to the movie plot), the final experiment with the Super Soldier Serum and Dr. Erskine's assassination occurred in July 1941. He had approximately six months to solidify his identity, make contact with Howard, acquire a stake in Stark Industries, infiltrate the periphery of the Strategic Scientific Corps (SSR), and lay the groundwork at the recruiting office in Brooklyn.

Time wasn't plentiful, but it was enough.

At nine o'clock in the morning, as the thick fog dissipated slightly, the massive hull of the "Queen Mary" slowly approached Pier 54 on the Hudson River. A long blast of the ship's horn startled countless seagulls into flight. The pier was already bustling with activity; crowds waving handkerchiefs and hats awaited the ship, vendors hawked newspapers and cigarettes, and uniformed porters and customs officials moved about. The air was thick with the stench of the river, coal smoke, perfume, sweat, and a restless, hopeful scent characteristic of a metropolis.

Wang Huanbo, carrying his seemingly small but unusually heavy suitcase (containing several gold bars and important documents), disembarked first with the first-class passengers. He declined the waiter's offer to call a taxi and walked alone across the long gangplank to set foot on the soil of the United States of America.

The sounds and sights that greeted us bore the distinct mark of 1941. Most men wore wide-shouldered suits and felt hats, while the women wore knee-length skirts, padded-shoulder jackets, and exquisite headdresses. Huge GG signs displayed the logos of Camel cigarettes, Coca-Cola, and General Electric. Trams clanged past, and black Ford V8s and gleaming Cadillacs slowly made their way along the narrow streets. A newsboy's shrill voice pierced the noise: "Read the news! Read the news! President Roosevelt has submitted a new budget! The war in Europe is escalating! The Japanese fleet is conducting exercises in the South China Sea!"

Wang Huanbo stood by the dock, squinting slightly as he adjusted to the landscape, so different from the world of traditional courtyard houses, filled with industrial power and consumerism. He took a deep breath; besides the smell of the city, he seemed to faintly detect a hint of… the flamboyant atmosphere of the future “Stark Expo,” a mix of engine oil, electrical sparks, and dreams.

A brand-new, black 1940 Cadillac Series 62 silently pulled up in front of him. The window rolled down, revealing the face of a shrewd and capable middle-aged Chinese man, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a well-tailored suit.

"Mr. Wang? I am William Chen, and I have come to pick you up on behalf of Attorney Li. Your suite at the Plaza Hotel is ready, and the car is the best from the rental company. The driver, Lao Zhou, is reliable." The middle-aged man said in English with a slight Cantonese accent, while handing over a business card: William Chen, Chen's Law Firm, 44 Wall Street, New York.

This is a local Chinese lawyer whom Wang Huanbo contacted in advance through his Hong Kong connections. He has a clean background, is skilled in handling immigration and business matters, and has some connections in the Chinese community and some white elite circles.

"Thank you, Attorney Chen." Wang Huanbo nodded, handed the briefcase to Mr. Zhou, the Chinese driver who got out of the driver's seat. Mr. Zhou was also wearing a uniform and had a kind face. He then got into the spacious and comfortable back seat. The leather seats were soft, and the car had the unique smell of a new car and a faint scent of leather air freshener.

The Cadillac smoothly drove away from the dock area and merged into the Manhattan traffic. Attorney Chen, sitting in the passenger seat, began a brief overview: "Mr. Wang, as per your instructions, anonymous accounts have been opened at Citibank and Chase Manhattan Bank under the name of the 'Wang Family Trust,' and the initial deposit of one million US dollars has been received. The Royal Suite at the Plaza Hotel is on a six-month lease; it boasts an excellent view overlooking Central Park. Additionally, I have gathered information regarding the recent developments at Stark Industries, which you requested to monitor."

He handed over a folder. "Mr. Howard Stark is currently preparing to attend the World's Fair in New York next month. He will be showcasing some 'future concepts' at Stark Industries' booth, reportedly including a prototype of a new 'anti-gravity propulsion device,' which has attracted interest from the military and some media. Stark Industries has recently secured several defense contracts, but also seems to be seeking private investment for some 'long-term' but costly basic research. In addition," Attorney Chen lowered his voice, "there are rumors that Mr. Stark is getting close to a newly established department in the Department of the Army—I think it's called 'Strategic Science something'—and collaborating on some sensitive projects."

Wang Huanbo flipped through the clippings and brief reports in the folder, the contents of which largely matched what he knew. Howard was currently in a state of brilliance, spending money like water, and actively preparing for war. He needed money, recognition, and partners who could support his ingenious ideas. And his cooperation with the Strategic Scientific Corps (SSR) was the prelude to the Super Soldier Project.

"Very good. Attorney Chen, two things." Wang Huanbo closed the folder, his gaze fixed on the rapidly receding streetscape outside the window. "First, find a way to get a VIP invitation to the 'World Expo Tomorrow,' preferably one that grants access to the backstage area or allows communication with exhibitors. Second, gather all information about Stark Industries' equity structure, recent financial reports (non-confidential sections), and Howard Stark's publicly available technical presentations, patents, and articles. The more detailed, the better."

"Understood, Mr. Wang. The invitation letter may require some time and... networking, but I will do my best. The materials will be ready for you within three days." Attorney Chen agreed without hesitation. This young employer's background was unfathomable, his requirements were clear, and he paid promptly. He was a rare high-quality client in his career, and he had to serve him well.

The car drove onto Fifth Avenue, flanked by rows of upscale department stores and hotels. Soon, the magnificent, castle-like Plaza Hotel came into view. A doorman eagerly opened the door. Wang Huanbo got out of the car, looked up at the landmark building, and, accompanied by Attorney Chen and Lao Zhou, entered the resplendent lobby.

The marble floors gleamed, the crystal chandeliers sparkled, and smartly dressed men and women moved about. The air was filled with the scents of piano music and expensive perfumes. This place was a completely different world from No. 95 Nanluoguxiang. But Wang Huanbo remained composed, expertly signing his name at the front desk and accepting the heavy brass key. His royal suite was on the top floor of the hotel, boasting a separate living room, bedroom, study, and a spacious balcony overlooking Central Park.

Entering the suite and dismissing the waiter, Wang Huanbo stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the Central Park, which appeared somewhat desolate in the winter sun but was still vast and magnificent, and on the other side of the park, the Midtown skyscrapers were beginning to take shape, forming the world's first skyline. The sunlight of 1941 streamed through the glass, casting a long shadow on him.

"The first step, to take root and settle down, is complete," he murmured to himself.

Over the next few days, Wang Huanbo didn't rush into anything. Like a typical newly arrived rich kid, he familiarized himself with New York life, accompanied by Attorney Chen. He had several suits made to better suit New York fashion, bought some clothes at the Saks Fifth Avenue boutique, went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, attended two concerts, and even spent an evening at the famous Savoy Jazz Club in Harlem, feeling the most vibrant musical pulse of the era. He was well-mannered and witty, and his occasional insights, especially on topics like machinery, energy, and chemistry, secretly alarmed Attorney Chen, who increasingly felt that his employer was unfathomable.

Meanwhile, he had Pangu subtly infiltrate the still-primitive electromagnetic environment of the era through a slightly modified radio in the hotel room and collected newspapers, gathering broader information, particularly regarding technological advancements, military enterprises, and government movements. As the information converged, the landscape of New York gradually became clear in his mind.

A week later, Attorney Chen delivered the requested documents and an exquisite gold-embossed invitation.

"Mr. Wang, this is your VIP pass for the 'World Expo Tomorrow,' granting you access to the backstage areas of all exhibition areas and a place to attend the pre-opening charity gala dinner at the Waldorf Hotel tomorrow evening. The chairman of the organizer is a friend of Mr. Stark, and I secured it for you through some connections under the name of 'Nanyang Emerging Industrial Investors,'" Attorney Chen reported with a hint of pride. "Stark Industries' information is also here. Furthermore, there's some news," he lowered his voice, "I've learned that Mr. Stark himself is very interested in an 'antique' that will be auctioned at the gala dinner. It's said to be a metal artifact from the East, related to early alchemy or energy theory. The description is vague, but Mr. Stark seems determined to acquire it."

Wang Huanbo accepted the invitation and a thick folder of documents. On the invitation, the logo of tomorrow's World's Fair—an arrow pointing to the future encircling the globe—shone brightly. The date was February 14, 1941. The location was Corona Park in Flushing Meadows, New York.

Valentine's Day. A day full of metaphors.

"Well done, Attorney Chen." Wang Huanbo showed a satisfied expression. "I will attend the dinner. That 'antique'... what is the specific description?"

"It's said to be a palm-sized, dark silver metal disc, neither iron nor copper, with extremely complex and intricate etchings on its surface, unlike anything from any known civilization, and a small groove in the center. It was discovered at an ancient site in Turkey and eventually ended up in the hands of a New York collector. It's believed to be related to the legends of the 'Eternal Flame' or the 'Philosopher's Stone.' The starting bid is expected to be quite high," Attorney Chen recalled the information he had gathered.

A dark silver metal that is neither iron nor copper? Complex etching? Wang Huanbo's heart stirred slightly. This description... it's somewhat like... a fragment of an extremely rudimentary energy focuser or information storage medium from an alien or prehistoric civilization? Such a thing would undoubtedly be a fatal temptation for a genius like Howard Stark, who is obsessed with unknown energy and ancient black technology.

"Interesting." A slight smile appeared on Wang Huanbo's lips. Perhaps this could serve as a nice, extra "gift," or at least a topic of conversation that would pique his interest.

He flipped through Stark Industries' documents, his gaze quickly sweeping over the shareholding structure: the Stark family held over 60%, with the remainder dispersed among early investors and Wall Street institutions. The financial reports showed the company was profitable, but with huge R&D investments and relatively tight cash flow. Howard's personal patent list was astonishingly long, ranging from improved aircraft engines to new types of radios, but regarding "arc reactors" or similar high-density energy devices, only a few very early, purely theoretical academic articles mentioned them vaguely, clearly still at the conceptual stage.

"The Ark Reactor... is still just a dream." Wang Huanbo closed the documents, walked to the window, and gazed at Manhattan as the city lights began to twinkle. Countless lights represented countless electricity demands. And in the remote northwestern desert, that project, crucial to the nation's destiny, would also require a massive and stable energy supply in the future. Howard's dream must be realized as quickly as possible, and the key technological sparks must be brought back in a controlled manner.

His gaze deepened. Tomorrow's World's Fair, the Waldorf dinner, Howard Stark, the mysterious metal disc... the chess pieces were already on the board.

The curtain is about to rise.