Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

Wang Huanbo's lips twitched slightly beneath his helmet. Tony's sharp tongue was indeed legendary; even after escaping death and being carried through the air by a stranger, his吐槽 (tu cao, a Chinese internet slang term for sarcastic or witty remarks) skills remained undiminished. The armor's diamond-shaped visors glowed with blue light, scanning the distant terrain and potential pursuers behind.

"First of all, that's not magic; it's personal space technology, based on a dimensional folding principle that you can't yet understand." Wang Huanbo's voice came through the armor, resonating with a metallic quality, steady and clear. "Your Mark I is very safe inside; not a single part will be missing. Secondly, this 'antique armor' is the original Ultraman armor. Its energy core and structural strength far exceed your imagination, allowing it to fight in extreme environments. Noise and agility aren't primary considerations in actual combat. As for your father…" He paused, "Howard didn't mention it, because our 'old friend' relationship was established in a timeline he couldn't tell anyone about."

"Can't mention it? Ha! Another mysterious excuse!" Tony scoffed, trying to turn his head to glare at Wang Huanbo, but the wind pressure from high-speed flight forced him to barely turn his head to the side. "And stop with that ridiculous address! 'Nephew'? Hell! I, Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, need to call some guy who looks younger than my brother 'uncle'? That's more laughable than Obadiah's bald head!"

"Age means nothing to time travelers, Tony," Wang Huanbo replied calmly, his eyepiece locked onto a blurry black dot on the distant horizon. "Just like you can't understand personal space right now. As for how to address me, your father readily accepted me as 'Brother Wang' back then. By seniority, it's perfectly reasonable for you to call me uncle."

"That's perfectly reasonable..." Tony's swearing was interrupted by a violent jolt.

"Hold on tight, preparing for landing." Wang Huanbo's voice interrupted Tony's thoughts. The thrusters' lights began to dim, and the flight altitude rapidly decreased. Below them were no longer the continuous barren mountains, but the edge of a relatively flat Gobi desert dotted with a few drought-resistant shrubs. In the distance, the outline of a small oasis could be vaguely seen, shimmering faintly in the scorching sunlight.

"Landing? In this godforsaken place?" Tony looked down at the monotonous scenery and curled his lip. "Not even a decent road, let alone a five-star hotel. I say, Mr. Time Traveler, shouldn't your navigation system be upgraded? Or do you have a spare luxury RV in your 'time pocket'?"

Ignoring Tony's complaints, Wang Huanbo chose a leeward sand dune as his landing spot. The thrusters on the back of the armor shot downwards, the powerful recoil kicking up clouds of yellow sand. Amid Tony's protests of "Slow down! Slow down! My hairstyle! Although it may be gone by now!", the original Ultra Armor landed steadily on the soft sand, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Tony's feet finally touched solid (though a little soft) ground. He immediately broke free from Wang Huanbo's arm, staggered a couple of steps, and gasped for breath, his face still pale. Ethan, on the other hand, slumped onto the sand, greedily inhaling the relatively fresh air, his face showing a relieved exhaustion.

After Wang Huanbo looked around and confirmed that it was safe, the energy core of the timer on his chest shone brightly, and the armor covering his entire body quickly receded, folded, and shrank like a tide, eventually returning to the Beta Magic Wand.

Wang Huanbo was wearing the bespoke suit that Tony Stark's father, Howard, had given him in the Captain America 1 universe. His young yet composed face was bathed in the blazing sunlight.

Tony straightened up, rubbing his ribs that were aching from being constricted, and his gaze immediately fell on Wang Huanbo—especially his face, which looked no older than thirty. Tony's eyes instantly became incredibly complex, a mixture of shock, doubt, inquiry, and a hint of awkwardness from being deeply offended by the title "uncle."

"Okay," Tony dusted himself off, trying to appear calm. He walked up to Wang Huanbo, hands on his hips, head tilted back (Wang Huanbo was slightly taller than him), and stared intently at him with his piercing eyes. "You've seen the flight show and the weapons demonstration, eaten the hamburger, and you saved my life. Now, it's time to get down to business, Mr. Wang..."

He deliberately avoided being called "uncle".

"First, thanks for the burger and... uh... ride." Tony's tone didn't sound very sincere; it was more like a programmed opening. "Second, about your identity. That photo, my father Howard Stark, 1943. Time traveler? Co-developer of the Arc Reactor? Logically, it makes a passable argument, after all, the old man does have some rather mysterious projects. But!"

He suddenly raised his voice, extending a finger almost to poke Wang Huanbo's nose: "Age! Your face! And your voice! Tell me, how can someone who's been on friendly terms with my father since 1943 look younger than me? Don't give me that spacetime paradox or relativity theory stuff, that won't fool me! Either you used some kind of biotechnology we don't yet understand, or... that photo is fake! Or, you're actually an agent sent by some organization, using some advanced disguise technique to get close to me! Like S.H.I.E.L.D.? Or a Hydra remnant?"

Tony spoke rapidly, like a machine gun, each question hitting the nail on the head, carrying his characteristic aggressiveness and distrust of strangers. His eyes were sharp as an eagle, trying to catch any trace of guilt or weakness on Wang Huanbo's face.

Wang Huanbo calmly met Tony's scrutinizing gaze, his face expressionless. He raised his hand and pointed to Tony's chest—there, through the sweat-soaked, tattered T-shirt, the miniature arc reactor was emitting a steady, soft blue light.

"Tony, that thing on your chest," Wang Huanbo's voice was steady and clear, "its original design drawings were completed in 1943 by your father Howard and me in an underground laboratory in Brooklyn, using pencils and draft paper. The first prototype was only the size of a palm, with an output power of less than one percent of what it is now, and it was extremely unstable, almost blowing us both up."

Tony's body stiffened abruptly! He instinctively clutched the reactor in his chest, his eyes filled with disbelief. These details weren't even recorded in Stark Industries' most confidential files! His father, Howard, had never mentioned them to him!

Wang Huanbo continued, his gaze seemingly piercing through time: "Your father said, 'Wang, if my son can see this in the future, tell him it's the future.' The future he referred to wasn't the reactor itself, but the infinite possibilities it represented." He paused, looking at Tony's shocked expression, "As for my age... the mysteries of time and space are far more complex than you imagine. Time isn't a single river. Some journeys leave traces; others don't. My very existence is a paradox."

He opened his hand, palm up, and a small, incredibly complex and precise silver cube appeared out of thin air, hovering a few centimeters above his palm, slowly rotating and emitting faint, mysterious spatial fluctuations. "Personalized space technology, based on the folding and manipulation of microscopic dimensions. This was also one of the crazy ideas your father came up with back then. However, he was limited by the technological barriers of his time, while I... happen to be able to overcome those barriers."

Tony stared intently at the suspended cube, then glanced at Wang Huanbo's youthful face, and recalled the writing on the back of the yellowed photograph and the past his father had never mentioned... His proud logical thinking was undergoing an unprecedented storm of shock. The chain of evidence before him seemed to be growing more complete, but the title "uncle" still felt like a fishbone stuck in his throat.

"So..." Tony's voice was a little hoarse. He swallowed hard, trying to process the massive amount of information. "You really are... my dad's friend? That... Wang Huanbo?"

Wang Huanbo put away the cube, nodded, and a very faint, tolerant smile, like that of an elder looking at a younger person, appeared on his lips: "The real deal. So, Tony..."

"Stop!" Tony interrupted him abruptly, as if burned, his face instantly reverting to that mix of arrogance and awkwardness. "Friends are friends! Hamburgers are hamburgers! I, Tony Stark, will remember your life-saving grace, and I will repay you double with Stark Industries shares in the future! But! The title 'Uncle' is absolutely out of the question! Don't even think about it! At most... at most I'll call you 'Old Wang'!" He stiffened his neck, as if defending some inviolable dignity.

Wang Huanbo looked at Tony, who was clearly wavering but stubbornly refusing to admit it, and finally couldn't help but chuckle. He shook his head and looked towards the distant oasis, where there seemed to be the reflection of water.

"Call me whatever you want. But Tony," he said, his voice carried on the wind as he strode forward, carrying an undeniable air of authority, "you'd better stick close until we find safe transportation to leave this desert. Also, Dr. Ethan needs to rest and rehydrate."

He paused, turned to look at Tony, who was still standing there with a troubled expression, and added, "By the way, your Mark I design, although the materials were rough, had a very reminiscent style of your father in terms of the joint transmission structure and the power amplification module. It's just that the energy efficiency was too low, and the cooling system was a disaster. Maybe we can work on improving it together after we leave here."

This statement hit Tony right where it hurt. As a tech fanatic, nothing was more appealing to him than discussing and improving his inventions. His eyes lit up, and he temporarily forgot the argument over address, instinctively following Wang Huanbo's lead. He began his habitual retort: ​​"Inefficient? A disaster? Hey! I hammered that out of a pile of scrap metal in a cave! Do you know how harsh the environment was? Besides, that cooling system was a temporary solution! Once I get back to the lab, I can design something like that in no time..."

Ethan watched the two ahead of him, bickering again as they walked (or rather, Tony was unilaterally launching into the argument), smiled helplessly, struggled to his feet, and followed them. A mix of relief at surviving the ordeal, uncertainty about the future, and the satisfaction of the hamburger in his stomach mingled together. At least for now, they were alive, and it seemed they had encountered…a very special person.

The scorching sun beat down on the desert, casting long shadows of the three men across the dunes. Wang Huanbo walked ahead, his steps steady. Tony followed closely beside him, incessantly criticizing the Mark 1's "design philosophy" and the armor's "technical flaws," trying to regain his composure verbally. Ethan followed silently behind, his gaze occasionally sweeping over Wang Huanbo's retreating figure with deep gratitude and a hint of awe.

As Wang Huanbo listened to Tony's "technical analysis," he would occasionally respond with a word or two, always accurately pointing out a key point or hidden danger in Tony's design, causing Tony's complaints to come to an abrupt halt, and he would fall into a brief period of thought, which would then erupt into an even more intense debate in an attempt to prove his innocence.

The oasis drew closer, and a damp mist began to fill the air. Wang Huanbo stopped, looking at a small, clear puddle and a few tenacious palm trees ahead.

"Let's rest here for a bit," he said, his gaze drifting beyond the oasis to the distant Gobi Desert horizon, where dust seemed to be rising. "We need to hydrate and regain our strength. The real trouble may have just begun."

Tony followed his gaze and saw the unusual dust storm. He frowned. "Pursuers? Or a sandstorm?"

"Hopefully it's just a sandstorm." Wang Huanbo's voice was calm and even, but his hand had already quietly rested on the Decade Driver at his waist, and the original Ultra Armor could cover his entire body again at any time.

Tony watched Wang Huanbo's actions, then glanced at the approaching sandstorm in the distance, and finally shut his critical mouth for the time being. He quickly walked to the puddle, scooped up water, and splashed his face with it. The icy water invigorated him and temporarily suppressed his unease about being called "uncle" and his criticism of the armor technology. The instinct for survival once again took over.

He shook his wet hair, looked at Wang Huanbo who was on guard, and his tone unusually serious: "Hey, Lao Wang. Once we get out of this hellhole and back to my lab, you have to tell me all about... my dad, and that prototype arc reactor. And the technical details of your 'iron suit,' not a single one can be missing!"

Wang Huanbo did not turn around, but nodded slightly, his eyes reflecting a sharp light in the sunlight.

"Of course," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "nephew."