134. Red Prodigy School, H-X-Men

Su Ye’s decision to establish the headquarters at Nung could be described as a sudden impulse or, perhaps, a fortunate coincidence. It just so happened that the Great Wall Guardians were preparing to build their headquarters here; the Ma Buli Beach environment was pleasantly comfortable; and conveniently, this place was across the sea from the Dragon Kingdom, making it closer to home.

The purpose of constructing this castle was to prepare for the future establishment of a school.

Since Su Ye had inherited Professor X’s abilities, it would be unreasonable not to open a school. The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters was located within a castle, so it wouldn’t be fitting if Su Ye’s school lacked the grandeur of Xavier’s.

Professor X came from a wealthy family, and the castle used for his school was his family estate. Now, Su Ye’s wealth far surpassed Professor X’s, so naturally, his school should not appear inferior.

However, for this new castle, Su Ye wished it to be built in a traditional Chinese style, modeled after the classical architecture of temples from the Dragon Kingdom. On this side of the vast ocean, in Los Angeles, he wanted to introduce a wave of Dragon Kingdom aesthetics and cultural consciousness, offering the mutant children who would soon enroll a form of cultural immersion.

Later, subtly and gradually, whether Su Ye himself came or with the help of Zheng Xian, they would provide ideological education—red education—to the children, combining cultural and physical education to flourish simultaneously.

At that time, Su Ye’s school would be called the Red School for Gifted Youngsters, and his codename would be Red Professor, abbreviated as Professor H.

Similarly, the X-Men could be renamed the Red Sentinels, abbreviated as Sentinel H.

Professor H, Sentinel H—just ask, could there be a name more imbued with revolutionary fervor?

Who wouldn’t love the letter H?

When it came to naming, Su Ye felt he had a certain talent, after all, Old Su had once been a master in the art of naming.

Just as Su Ye was preparing to build, Los Angeles began to experience an increasing number of chaotic explosions, causing widespread panic.

Then, a figure appeared on television.

The Mandarin.

To explain, “Mandarin” or “Man Da Ren”—the variation in translation—was originally a term used by Western colonial powers to refer to Eastern officials with a sense of disdain and stereotyping, often accompanied by derogatory caricatures representing the so-called “Yellow Peril.” These are historical insults that persist even today, making any widespread use of such imagery controversial.

Hence, even though the movie "Shang-Chi" featured over 50% of its dialogue in Chinese, it was never officially released in certain markets. Similarly, “Iron Man 3,” which introduced the Mandarin, was now effectively erased from the internet.

These are matters of principle.

The Mandarin who appeared on TV was the same one from "Iron Man 3," a poorly regarded minor Hollywood actor manipulated behind the scenes by Aldrich Killian.

He was a manufactured persona, created to claim responsibility for recent bombings and attacks on U.S. overseas military bases, serving as a figurehead to instill terror.

Aldrich Killian’s team had impressive technical skills, hacking into the entire American television network to replace broadcasts with images of the Mandarin.

“Some say I’m a terrorist, but I see myself as a mentor!”

“In 1864, in the Sand Creek region of Colorado, the U.S. Army massacred the elderly, women, and children left behind while the Cheyenne warriors were out hunting…”

On the screen, the short man performed his spiel, lamenting past atrocities committed by Americans against Native Americans, thereby justifying his attacks on U.S. military sites.

Such a justification was easy to find, given that the history of America’s conquest of North America was soaked in blood.

“Thirty-nine hours ago, a U.S. overseas base was bombed. That was me!”

“…”

“You know who I am, but you don’t know where I am.”

“You could never guess what I’m going to do next!”

After his words, the broadcast signal returned to normal, and major networks began airing emergency news reports: airports attacked, bases assaulted, facilities bombed—scenes of chaos everywhere.

Following the Mandarin’s appearance, the S.H.I.E.L.D. phone rang at the Guardians’ headquarters.

“Uncle Su, we need your help. This Mandarin must be found. He’s not only connected to the terrorist attacks but we also suspect he’s linked to the recent series of random explosions in Los Angeles.”

When Nick Fury’s call came, Su Ye was inside a massive underground chamber—a facility he had proposed and had recently completed under the supervision of Dr. Fox.

The space was a gigantic sphere, tens of meters in diameter.

At its center, a broken bridge extended to the heart of the sphere, where a cluster of devices and a highly technological helmet were placed.

Indeed, this was a brainwave amplifier modeled after Professor X’s design, meant to enhance Su Ye’s telepathic abilities.

Wearing this helmet, Su Ye could project his telepathy directly into the minds of every human on Earth, monitoring their actions, conversations, and even thoughts.

If he wished, he could enter the minds of one or several individuals, controlling them to do anything he desired.

Because of the consciousness link, he truly saw, heard, and felt through those he controlled.

Honestly, when first designing this brainwave amplifier, Su Ye had contemplated some less conventional uses.

For example, experiencing the operation of a twelve-cylinder engine, or the ultimate thrill of piloting a multi-engine aircraft at top speed.

Of course, as a person of noble character who had long transcended base interests, Su Ye would never settle for the thrill of driving a secondhand car—he could pilot one himself.

Incidentally, theoretically, Su Ye could use the brainwave amplifier to observe the consciousness of every human. Yet, upon donning the helmet, he discovered a region he could not penetrate.

The Dragon Kingdom on the opposite side of the globe.

There seemed to be an unknown force blocking his telepathic reach.

As he prepared to forcibly break in to investigate, a familiar reprimanding voice rang out.

“Go back and play with what you have. Stop wandering around making trouble. If you cause any more mischief, don’t blame me if I come over and make an orphan out of you!”

Hearing that voice and its familiar self-deprecating tone, Su Ye understood that the Dragon Kingdom neither needed his protection nor allowed him to probe freely.

He was likely just some unnamed old bigwig, casually sent over to America as a troublemaker.

Maybe this elder was old, maybe he was bored, or perhaps he disliked the title of “troublemaker” and so just tossed Su Ye across.

What could Su Ye do but obediently tuck his tail and behave?

That person on the other side probably wasn’t intending to make Su Ye an orphan—more like lamenting his own loss of orphans. In his early forties, in the prime of life, he could still father more children.

In any case, Su Ye knew better than to provoke him.

After hanging up with Nick Fury, Su Ye put on the brainwave amplifier.

He wanted to find that lousy B-list actor—not because of Fury’s urging, but merely out of a desire to locate the man himself.

At Su Ye’s place, the name “Mandarin” was forbidden.

If you wanted to commit terrorist acts, attack U.S. military bases, assault American airports, or hijack airlines, that was your business. But why attach the name Mandarin to it? It was like lighting a lamp in the restroom.

Once wearing the amplifier, Su Ye’s vision shifted instantly; the scene dissolved into a misty expanse filled with countless black-and-white human figures. After scanning through many, he finally found the short actor playing the Mandarin.

Around him, multiple cameras were set up, makeup artists worked on his face, others rehearsed lines, and technicians arranged camera angles and extras.

Beyond this, Su Ye saw Aldrich Killian—a middle-aged man dressed like a successful businessman—overseeing the operation.

The group was discussing the next shooting schedule; the script was ready, and the short actor only needed to recite his lines.

At that moment, the entire U.S. television signal was hacked again, switching to a live feed of the shooting set.

Those inside the studio remained unaware.

“Hey director, why do I have to use the name Mandarin? Look at me—I don’t even look Asian.”

On the live screen, the previously arrogant Mandarin now wore a pleading expression toward the camera.

Soon, an offscreen voice—presumably the director—responded sharply.

“The script is set like this. You’re a small-time actor; you do as you’re told. No more nonsense!”

“I just feel I’m more suited to playing Lao Ben or Lao Zha,” the short man muttered quietly.

“Shut up!” the director barked. “There’s a reason for this character design. ‘Black Old Dragon’ is our symbol of righteousness and correctness. Don’t waste my time. One more word and I’ll write you out—your son will take your place!”

“I have a son?” the short man looked surprised.

“I said you do, so you do. Use… Bruce Lee’s image. The pride of the Dragon Kingdom becomes the Mandarin’s son. Don’t you think that’s ironic? Ha ha ha.”

The director seriously discussed the feasibility of this idea with the screenwriter.

The screenwriter thought for a moment. “I think Jack Chan’s image would be better. Bruce Lee’s era is too far gone; many young people know Jack Chan better.”

Others joined the discussion. “Come on, we’re trying to vilify them, why pick such positive figures? Let’s just find someone with a big flat face and slanted eyes.”

“That’s right. We should ask if any Asians—no, they must be from the Dragon Kingdom—are willing to play this role. Let them disgrace themselves; that’s the real irony.”

“Also, cast the female lead. Find someone with slanted eyes, big mouth, protruding lips, hunched back, and chest; that fits the stereotype of Dragon Kingdom women.”

Watching the lively debate, the short actor sighed helplessly, “Actually, I can play the Mandarin well. No need to change the character.”

“No, you’re replaced!”

Aldrich Killian appeared on camera, suddenly drawing a gun and shooting the short actor between the eyebrows.

The actor’s role abruptly ended.

Killian then sat in the actor’s previous spot, facing the camera.

“Alright, that was a joke. Now, let’s get serious.”

Viewers across America, watching the live broadcast, were puzzled by the sudden turn but instinctively stopped their activities, focusing intently on the screen.

Killian chuckled lightly and took a puff from a cigar handed by an assistant.

“Politicians and officials watching this broadcast, I didn’t intend to meet you so soon. But as you’ve seen, a little conflict occurred, exposing my disguise. So, I have no choice but to step into the open.”

“Though the Mandarin was a disguise, what he said was not false. Our target is clear: the United States!”

“Don’t think about running or hiding. I will teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, so you’ll know who truly owns this land!”

At that moment, Killian’s expression shifted abruptly, as if overtaken by madness. He seemed to be possessed by another personality, speaking and acting unpredictably—doing things even he didn’t understand.

“I will make you feel pain. Believe me!”

His harsh expression flashed briefly before he suddenly rose, rushed toward the camera, and with a flash of red light on his hand, punched the lens, plunging the screen into darkness.

Viewers were stunned.

What was going on? Was this a live broadcast or a staged farce? Had the self-proclaimed Mandarin really died?

And who was this man? What did he want? Was he a supervillain?

Before the screen went black, everyone saw the fiery red glow on the man’s hand, resembling a branding iron.

Clearly, this was no ordinary human.

A massive public debate erupted instantly, while official sources tracked the broadcast signal’s origin.

“Signal source is Pakistan, sir!”

Pakistan had long been a restless hotspot for terrorism, so it made sense the signal came from there.

Soon, the war machine James Rhodes was dispatched, crossing half the globe to strike the source.

Meanwhile, in the studio, Killian was bewildered.

He felt as though he had just experienced a nightmare—lying in bed fully conscious but unable to move.

His mind was clear, yet another consciousness had taken control, compelling him to behave irrationally, including shooting the short actor and revealing himself on camera.

At the same time, the director, screenwriter, and film crew in the studio experienced interference to varying degrees—from their discussions about casting Asians in villain roles to the persistent live feed and continuously running cameras.

What had happened? Had they been possessed by a ghost?