Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics Chapter 5756 - 4779: X Royal Family: Rebirth (19)

Shiller’s expression remained unchanged. "Herbs are meant to be bitter. Are you expecting modern flavor enhancers? There's an ancient Chinese saying: ‘Good medicine tastes bitter.’ Drink it quickly."

Stark coughed forcefully. "What do you mean 'supposed to be bitter'? The one Steve gave me was definitely sweet..."

Shiller turned to gaze at Steve, who produced an already emptied bag. Shiller noted the Chinese characters on it and mused: SWORD shows considerable foresight, understanding that mutants often possess a youthful mindset, hence they provided children's cough syrup.

"Have I done something to offend you?" Stark appeared even more frail, "Wait, who did you say prescribed this medicine?"

"Steven. However, he possesses no knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine. Do you truly believe he would sift through all those herbs merely to select the bitter ones for your specific concoction?"

"Could that be something he would do?"

"Cease your slander." A shimmering portal materialized in the room's center, and Strange emerged. "I didn't procure these specifically; they are pre-packaged medicinal packets readily available in Hong Kong pharmacies. Regardless of who consumes it, the taste will be identical."

"Then drink it yourself and let me witness it!" Stark resolutely declared, "Is something this intensely bitter intended for human consumption?!"

Strange, his face impassive, retrieved the cup before him and drank its contents in one swift motion. Following the draught, he offered only a slight frown. "Do you imagine we rely on antibiotics to combat ailments in Kamar-Taj?"

Stark was utterly bewildered, questioning incredulously, "Do you lack a sense of taste?!"

"In the context of traditional Chinese medicine, this is not considered truly bitter," Shiller explained. "After all, this particular formula is for treating common colds, not for purging internal heat. Were it the latter, you would then experience genuine bitterness."

"Is there any more available?" Steven inquired with genuine curiosity. "The weather has been quite erratic lately, and I fear I might catch a cold myself. I wouldn't object to having a packet."

"I happened to prepare a few extra batches," Shiller responded. "Once you leave, make your way to the back entrance. You'll find a jar hanging near the fireplace. Decant the contents; it should be sufficient for two bowls. If there is an excess, allow it to simmer a little longer to reduce."

Steve departed to retrieve the medicine. Stark remained seated nearby, fidgeting restlessly, akin to a condemned prisoner awaiting execution. Strange emitted a cold snort, intending to jeer, but suddenly recalled Stark's weakened state due to illness. He ultimately restrained himself and proceeded to locate Matt, intending to review documents.

"If you weren't so opposed to antibiotics, none of this would be necessary," Shiller remarked, shaking his head. "While the misuse of antibiotics is indeed detrimental, completely discarding them is not advisable. If you cannot tolerate the taste of herbal remedies, how will you manage the Clarkia flower-based medicine later on?"

"I am seriously beginning to contemplate resorting to antibiotics," Stark lamented, sounding genuinely pained. "How did the Chinese manage to meticulously select these incredibly unpalatable plants to formulate their medicines? If they have been consuming such remedies for illnesses over the years, perhaps their sense of taste has indeed deteriorated..."

"You have it backward. People endure the taste of these plants because they are effective. Your body possesses minimal drug tolerance; a single bowl of this Chinese medicine will undoubtedly lead to a significant improvement in your condition."

Stark recognized the veracity of Shiller's statement. On one hand, he had always enjoyed robust health and rarely fell ill, even with common colds. On the other, he seldom utilized modern medicine, including herbal treatments. The last time he had taken antibiotics was upon his return from Afghanistan, when he had replaced the Ark Reactor to address his inflammation.

It was precisely due to this infrequent usage that he lacked any significant drug tolerance for any medications. At this juncture, even a simple dose of two anti-inflammatory tablets would likely suffice for his recovery. Nevertheless, he remained somewhat reluctant to take them.

He was aware that many among his peers struggled with addictions to alcohol or drugs. Some had even experienced such debilitating episodes during their time in Battleworld. These occurrences appeared utterly disgraceful and unsightly, and he was determined never to become such a figure.

Before long, Steve reappeared, carrying two bowls filled with a dark, viscous liquid. Perhaps due to further concentration, it appeared even more formidable than before. As the bowls were brought closer, Stark commenced drinking with frantic haste.

Steve selected one of the bowls and proposed, "A toast?"

Stark vigorously shook his head, responding, "You go first, Uncle Rogers."

Steve erupted in hearty laughter. He could clearly discern that Stark was utterly terrified, even addressing him as 'uncle' with a discernible lack of sarcasm. Had he realized this method could subdue him so effectively, he would have brewed medicine day and night specifically for Stark.

Steve raised a bowl and took a deep, prolonged drink. Midway through, his brow furrowed; by the time he had finished, his features were subtly distorted with a grimace.

For those unaccustomed to this brew, it presented an entirely novel sensation. Beyond mere bitterness, there were notes of sourness and astringency, even a hint of spiciness. This complex combination acted almost like a numbing agent for the senses. Only the initial sip and the final swallow offered a discernible taste; in between, perhaps as a defense against the potent stimulus, the brain conveniently wiped the sensation away.

Steve smacked his lips, remarking, "It's quite tolerable. It reminds me of the stale, expired coffee from the military rations I had on the battlefield, the kind that was left after much evaporation. This is simply more potent."

"More potent than expired, stale concentrated military ration coffee?" Stark exclaimed, nearly leaping from his seat.

"Don't act like you have any experience with that," Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "It's just a comparison, not entirely accurate. It *has* been a long time, I'm almost forgetting the specifics."

Observing Stark's pained expression, Shiller addressed Steve with a sigh, "Stop frightening your nephew. Before you know it, he'll be aging into your grandson."

Stark found the concept utterly baffling. His very soul felt as though it had been largely extracted by this dark elixir. After a moment, he still shook his head, saying, "Just give me two anti-inflammatory pills. I'm serious."

"I'm afraid that's not feasible," Shiller replied with a shrug. "Antibiotics are considered strategic resources by every nation. If SWORD could supply them in abundance, we wouldn't be dispensing these cold remedies. Mutants are severely lacking in antibiotics; obtaining anti-inflammatory drugs is likely impossible."

"Nonsense, you just want me to keep drinking this," Stark retorted, leaning back in utter despair, a pose eerily reminiscent of a famous crying cat meme.

Nevertheless, sensing the growing weakness in his body, the faint soreness in his throat, and the rising fever, Stark gritted his teeth, stamped his foot, seized the bowl, and downed its contents.

He shut off his mind and took several large gulps until the bowl was empty. As he instinctively gagged, Steve quickly moved to cover his mouth, while Shiller also assisted in holding him steady. After a tense period, Stark finally managed to sit up from the sofa.

"You two rascals! Get me some water!"

"No, you absolutely cannot drink water right now," Shiller stated, shaking his head. "Drinking water now would dilute its effect and render it useless. If you don't wish to repeat this ordeal later, you'll need to endure it."

Just then, Strange entered, presenting a paper bag. "I specifically bought this outside a drugstore and completely forgot to give it to you."

Shiller opened the bag, revealing preserved fruits. Indeed, Hong Kong is known for its numerous traditional pharmacies that sell preserved fruits at their storefronts. Since consuming water is prohibited after taking many types of traditional Chinese medicine and herbal teas, and simple rinsing fails to eliminate the lingering bitterness in the throat, many people opt for candy or preserved fruits when purchasing medicine. Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme residing in Kamar-Taj, certainly demonstrated his extensive knowledge of traditional remedies and thoughtful consideration.

Stark picked one up and examined it, his expression radiating pure distrust. Shiller, unconcerned, tossed a piece of dried apricot into his own mouth and chewed. "Not bad. A bit too sweet for my preference, though; I still favor something with a touch more sourness."

"Are you certain this isn't sour?" Stark inquired earnestly, glancing at Strange. "None of the unique items he brings back from Kamar-Taj are particularly palatable. I can't quite get used to those barley-based concoctions or the salted milk tea. Are you absolutely sure this is considered sweet?"

Steve, reaching his limit, promptly took a preserved prune and pressed it into Stark's mouth. As Stark prepared to expel it, he paused, chewed hesitantly, then chewed more thoroughly before finally swallowing.

"It's actually quite decent," Stark conceded, nodding and looking at Strange. "So, you do possess a shred of conscience after all."

Strange simply rolled his eyes before departing. Shiller let out a soft chuckle; despite their constant bickering, their underlying relationship was quite strong. It was true that the specialties Strange occasionally brought from Kamar-Taj were difficult for Western palates to adapt to. Shiller himself wasn't particularly fond of many barley-based items; while milk tea and cheese were enjoyable, the regional flavors were often too intense for everyday consumption, only suitable for an occasional treat.

As Stark reached for more preserved fruit, Shiller quickly intervened: "These are excessively sweet, don't overindulge, or you'll be facing dental issues."

A genuine sense of hopelessness washed over Stark. "Why must I endure living among you all, like some sort of cyborg collective? I yearn to return to the world of ordinary people, to catch a common cold and fever like them, instead of feeling like a fragile weakling in your presence!"

"Why would you think that?" Steve inquired, a hint of surprise coloring his voice. "I informed you that I take precautions against catching a cold by consuming medicine. Otherwise, why would I endure the agonizing bitterness of these herbal remedies?"

"You get sick too?"

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. "If you were to hurl a cyborg into the sun, it would perish. Any organism composed of carbon will react negatively to shifts in temperature. Given a sufficiently low temperature, any carbon-based lifeform is susceptible to catching a cold."

Lest Stark doubt his words, Steve offered an illustration: "Consider the night of the recent storm; had I remained exposed outdoors for the entire night, I would have surely succumbed to a cold. Our teasing of you stems solely from the fact that you have a daughter, yet neglect to secure your windows tightly when you sleep."

"Do not direct your gaze at me," Shiller interjected. "I possess an intrinsic, constant-temperature Outer God, thus rendering me immune to colds. However, without the presence of the gray mist, I too would fall ill like any ordinary individual."

"Steven is even more so," Shiller elucidated. "You mistakenly believe his resilience to sickness is due to magical bodily transformation; this is inaccurate. It is, in fact, a consequence of his bland diet, consistent warmth, rigorous martial arts practice for physical fortification, and meticulous attention to health. Yet, he has undeniably experienced illness; how else would he recognize the taste of traditional Chinese medicine?"

"Within the entirety of The Avengers, it appears no one has remained perpetually untouched by the common cold... Ah, but there is an exception. Natasha has never contracted a cold, not due to cybernetic augmentation, but rather her superior tolerance for frigid conditions."

"However, she endures menstrual discomfort," Shiller divulged. "During her last episode of abdominal pain, she feigned a PTSD flare-up to avoid a mission, seeking refuge in my office for a considerable portion of the day."

"Why did she not simply state her condition?" Stark, easily diverted, seized upon this new topic.

"In that case, you would need to inquire why, under the prevailing American labor laws, menstrual pain does not qualify for compensated leave."

"Yet, PTSD is also not covered?" Steve asked, his curiosity piqued. "My application was denied by Nick the last time."

"Had she declared an episode, and I had proceeded with her treatment, I could have billed for travel expenses and collected overtime pay; we would have shared the proceeds equally, treating it as her remuneration."

A simultaneous curse escaped both Steve and Stark. Yet, their condemnation was not directed at each other, but rather at the intricacies of American labor law.