Courtyard House: My Time Travel is a Bit Too Strong

The following morning, Zhong Guohong submitted his application to skip a grade to the Academic Affairs Office.

Two days later, he passed the test and officially entered his senior year of high school.

"Howard Stark murdered? Iron Man's father?"

He glanced at the old newspaper headline, his fingertip paused, and he stared blankly for a few seconds.

"You have to keep a close eye on the newspapers and news—missing even one piece could mean missing a turning point."

The timelines in the Marvel universe are already intricate and intertwined: Howard and Steve were both born before World War II and were of similar age, but Tony turned out to be Howard's biological son.

Realizing he was in this predicament, Chung Kwok-hung became even more anxious.

In the Marvel universe, many characters are ridiculously resilient; they can get back up after dying, it's just a matter of time.

The relationships between the characters are even more intricate: Wanda is Quicksilver's older sister in the comics, but becomes his younger sister in the movie; their backgrounds and ultimate fates seem to have been rewritten by different screenwriters, resulting in vastly different outcomes.

In the following months, apart from attending school as usual, Zhong Guohong devoted all his time to the Dragon Elephant Imperishable Skill and mental cultivation.

Having cultivated the ability to "multitask" in his previous life, even now, while eating, lying in bed, or closing his eyes to sleep, the majestic image of the Great God Pangu automatically appears deep within his consciousness.

"An acceptance letter from the University of California? That's the closest one I'll take."

In just two years, Chung Kuo-hung earned three doctoral degrees from the University of California: Physics, Genetics, and Mechanical Engineering.

"We're still a ways off right now; going out to make things difficult could easily lead to disaster—we'll go back to Abraham first."

Upon returning to Abraham, the first thing he did was to reopen the Sichuan restaurant left by his adoptive parents.

The building is a two-story building, with each floor measuring about 200 square meters. The downstairs is for dining, and the upstairs is for living.

"We practice martial arts in the morning, and only open for lunch and dinner, while also listening to some street gossip."

He moved in several large-screen TVs and installed them, then hand-wrote a job posting and taped the edges of the paper firmly to the brick wall next to the shop door.

"The average American earns $1,600 a month? Then I'll set it at $1,200, not too high, not too low, just right."

In the United States, where the average person earns $1,600, less than 30% actually receive more than $1,300.

With a thought, the floor, stove, tables, and chairs were spotless, and the Sichuan restaurant reopened.

"Xiao Zhong, have you found him yet?" Neighbor Zhang Xiangbei sauntered in.

"Uncle Zhang, there's still no sign of him," Zhong Guohong replied casually.

"You're handling everything by yourself?" Zhang Xiangbei raised an eyebrow. "Can you cook?"

"I learned a few tricks from my elders, so dealing with foreigners is more than enough." Lin Quan grinned—with a whim of the Treasure Basin, preparing and chopping ingredients was done in a flash; washing dishes and scrubbing pots? A quick sweep with his mental power and they were sparkling clean.

"Just let me know if you need anything." Zhang Xiangbei waved his hand, turned around, and left.

The shop was so quiet you could hear the clock ticking. Chung Kwok-hung strolled into the kitchen, tapped his fingertips, and several steaming plates of Sichuan cuisine appeared out of thin air.

The neighbors had long regarded him as a "parachuted gigolo," and no one believed he could actually cook. Nobody was willing to pay to try and fail.

He brought the food to the cashier, sat down alone, and slowly ate his rice.

Before six o'clock, the roller shutter door slammed shut, and he carried the kettle upstairs, meditated, took a shower, and lay down—all in one smooth motion.

The Pangu visualization technique has long been ingrained in people's minds; the Dharma image flows naturally with each breath, without the need for deliberate breathing.

After leaving the Vandaag Mountains, the Maksilov family, a Gypsy clan, scattered and wandered.

That evening, Pierno Maxilov lowered his voice and said, "Sister, I saw my adoptive father touch someone else's wallet."

Wanda Maxilov froze, her fingers clenching the hem of her clothes—the man who always smiled and taught her how to make flower garlands had actually stolen something.

"Sister, let's go find our biological father." Piteno grabbed her wrist.

Wanda bit her lip for a moment, then finally nodded, took her brother's hand, and turned to step into the twilight.

Two teenagers traveled between the north and south, making a living by doing odd jobs: washing cars, moving goods, handing out flyers... they did all kinds of dirty and tiring work.

Mutants are being hunted – some want to extract bone marrow and their genes; others want to put collars and chains on them.

From a young age, their adoptive parents kept them firmly under control: "Ability is a source of trouble; if you show even a little, you'll lose your life."

That morning, Wanda and Pitnor walked into Abraham, bathed in the dappled sunlight.

"Sis, look! That Sichuan restaurant is hiring, room and board included, 1200 a month pay."

Piteno's eyes lit up as he pointed to the red sign with white lettering on the street corner.

After more than two years of fruitless searching for their relatives, with all leads exhausted, the two had almost given up hope.

"Okay, I'll give it a try." Wanda nodded slightly.

Pushing open the door to enter the store, Pieteno asked, "Boss, are you still hiring?"

Chung Kwok-hung originally planned to hire one head chef and two waiters.

But after waiting for several days, the place was deserted, and not a single person even asked about the price.

"Hello, my name is Chung Kwok-hung. You can call me Little Chung or Brother Chung, it's up to you." He greeted us with a smile.

"Peteno Maxilov." The boy straightened his back.

"Wanda Maxilov." The girl smiled faintly, her eyelashes trembling slightly.

"Wanda... Pietnor... Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver?" Chung Kwok-hung's heart skipped a beat, his gaze sweeping over Wanda—she was only eighteen or nineteen years old, with a slender yet curvaceous figure, a stunningly beautiful woman.

"Mr. Chung, please give your orders..." Piteno said, forcing himself to speak, his voice filled with ingratiating enthusiasm.

"Can you cook twice-cooked pork?" Chung Kwok-hung asked casually without even lifting his eyelids.

Peteno was immediately speechless—even frying steak often resulted in burning the pan, let alone the Sichuan-style skill of stir-frying fermented soybeans and flipping the pan over high heat.

"If you can't cook twice-cooked pork, then start by serving dishes. Room and board included, monthly salary of 1,200. Are you in?" Chung Kwok-hung made his offer straightforwardly.

"Damn!" Piteno blurted out without the slightest hesitation.

Chung Kwok-hung glanced down at his watch; the hands had just passed four. "It's getting late. I'm going to cook."

"Boss, I'll help out!" Wanda immediately followed him into the kitchen.

With no other option, Chung Kwok-hung rolled up his sleeves and took charge of the cooking himself: braised pork ribs, spicy diced chicken, steamed sea bass, plus Mapo tofu, garlic water spinach, and finally a pot of pickled radish and old duck soup. The rice was also cooked until each grain was distinct.

If Wanda weren't around, he could pull out a treasure bowl and whip up a Manchu Han Imperial Feast in the blink of an eye.

"Boss, this tastes amazing!" Piteno picked up a piece of pork rib, his eyes lighting up.

"It smells so good, but why is the entrance so deserted that not even a fly lands?" Wanda frowned, full of doubt.

"Look at you two, you're not even adults yet, are you?" Chung Kwok-hung didn't respond, but instead threw out a remark.

"I just turned eighteen and had my birthday," Pieteno answered quickly.

"Never been to school?" Chung Kwok-hung asked again.

The two looked gloomy—since they could remember, they had been living a life of constant displacement with their adoptive parents, and had never even touched a textbook.

"Sorry." Chung Kwok-hung paused, then suddenly smiled. "You can become successful through self-study. If you have a quick mind, books are not a barrier."

In the time it takes to eat a meal, he had roughly figured out the two men's backgrounds.

After they washed the dishes, Chung Kwok-hung led them upstairs to the second floor and assigned them rooms.