Shiller remained expressionless: "Herbs are supposed to be bitter. Are you still hoping for modern spices to flavor them? There’s an old Chinese saying that goes ’good dicine tastes bitter.’ Hurry and drink it up."
Stark coughed violently: "What do you an ’supposed to be bitter’? The one Steve gave was definitely sweet..."
Shiller turned to look at Steve, who took out a bag that had already been emptied. Shiller glanced at the Chinese characters on it and thought: SWORD is quite thoughtful, knowing that mutants usually have a young psychological age, they sent children’s cold syrup.
"Have I done sothing to offend you?" Stark appeared even weaker, "Wait, who did you say prescribed this dicine?"
"Steven. But he has no understanding of Chinese dicine. Do you really think he’d go through all those herbs just to pick out the bitter ones for your prescription?"
"Could it be sothing he’d do?"
"Stop slandering ." A teleportation portal appeared in the center of the room, and Strange walked out, saying, "I didn’t specially get these; they’re ready-made dicinal packs sold in Hong Kong pharmacies. No matter who drinks it, it’ll taste like this."
"Then drink it and let see!" Stark stiffened his neck, "Is sothing this bitter ant for human consumption?!"
Strange remained expressionless, picked up the cup in front of him, and poured it directly into his mouth. After drinking, he rely frowned slightly and said, "Do you think we rely on antibiotics to treat diseases in Kamar-Taj?"
Stark was dumbfounded, speaking incredulously, "Do you not have a sense of taste?!"
"This isn’t considered bitter in Chinese dicine," Shiller said, "After all, this formula is cold dicine, not sothing for reducing internal heat, otherwise, they’d show you what real bitterness is."
"Is there any more?" Steven asked curiously, "The weather’s been unpredictable lately, I’m afraid I might catch a cold too. I wouldn’t mind having a pack."
"I happened to brew a few more," Shiller said, "After you go out, loop around to the back door, the jar hanging by the fireplace is there. Pour it out; it should be just enough for two bowls, if there’s too much, brew it for a while longer."
Steve went to get the dicine. Stark sat nearby, like a convict awaiting the gallows, truly restless. Strange snorted coldly, wanting to sneer, but suddenly realized Stark was still sick, ultimately holding his tongue, and went to find Matt to look through docunts.
"If you weren’t so resistant to antibiotics, there wouldn’t be all this fuss." Shiller shook his head, "Although misuse of antibiotics is bad, you shouldn’t discard them entirely. If you can’t handle the taste of herbs, how would you drink the Clarkia flower-based dicine later on?"
"I’m seriously starting to consider using antibiotics." Stark said painfully, "How did the Chinese manage to precisely choose these awfully tasting plants to make into dicine? If they’ve been drinking this for illness over the years, maybe their taste has already degraded..."
"You’re getting it backwards. People endure the taste of these plants because they work. Your body barely has any drug tolerance, one bowl of Chinese dicine, and your illness will definitely improve."
Stark knew Shiller was speaking the truth. On one hand, he’s always been in good health and rarely falls ill, even with colds. On the other hand, he hardly uses any modern dicine, including herbal redies. The last ti he used antibiotics was coming back from Afghanistan, when he changed the Ark Reactor for his inflammation.
Precisely because of this, he has no drug tolerance for any dicines. At this point, just taking two anti-inflammatory drugs and his illness would naturally heal. Yet, he remains sowhat resistant to doing so.
He knows among his counterparts, many are addicted to alcohol or drugs. They’ve even had episodes in Battleworld. That looks truly disgraceful and ugly; he absolutely wouldn’t want to beco such a monster.
It wasn’t long before Steve returned, carrying two bowls of dark concoction. Perhaps because it was getting more concentrated, it looked even more terrifying than before. Just as it was brought over, Stark began swallowing wildly.
Steve chose one of the bowls, saying, "Want to toast?"
Stark shook his head like a rattle, saying, "You drink first, Uncle Rogers."
Steve laughed heartily. He could see Stark was already scared to the extre, even managing to call him uncle audibly, and it didn’t sound as thick with sarcasm. Had he known this could subdue him, he would have brewed dicine day and night for Stark.
Steve lifted a bowl, drinking deeply. Midway through the drink, his brow furrowed; by the ti he finished, his features were slightly contorted.
This stuff for those who’ve never drunk it is a completely new experience. Because it wasn’t just bitter, there was so sourness and astringency, even a tiny bit of spiciness. All these flavors together felt like an anesthetic to the brain. Only the first sip and the final swallow had a little taste; in between, possibly due to the strong stimulus, the brain’s protection chanism kicked in, fully forgetting it all.
Steve smacked his lips saying, "It’s actually okay. It’s similar to the expired and spoiled military ration coffee I drank on the battlefield, where only a little remained due to evaporation. This is just more intense in flavor."
"Stronger than the taste of expired spoiled concentrated military ration coffee?!" Stark almost jumped.
"Don’t pretend you know what that’s like," Steve shook his head, "It’s just a taphor, not entirely accurate. After all, it’s been a long ti, I’m nearly forgetting it."
Looking at Stark’s grimace, Shiller helplessly said to Steve, "Don’t scare your nephew. Otherwise, soon he’ll turn into your grandson."
Stark couldn’t comprehend it at all. His soul had already been drained mostly by this black concoction. After a mont, he still shook his head and said, "Give two anti-inflammatory pills, I’m serious."
"I’m afraid that’s not possible," Shiller shrugged and said, "Antibiotics are considered a strategic resource in every country. If SWORD could provide them on a large scale, we wouldn’t have to give out these cold redies. Mutants are really lacking antibiotics; we probably can’t get anti-inflammatory drugs."
"Nonsense, you just want to drink this." Stark leaned back in despair, resembling that crying cat .
However, feeling the weakness in his body and the vaguely painful throat, along with the rising temperature, Stark gritted his teeth and stamped his foot, picked up the bowl, and dumped it into his mouth.
He shut off his brain and gulped down several large mouthfuls until the bowl was empty. Instinctively wanting to vomit, Steve quickly rushed over and covered his mouth, while Shiller also helped hold him down. After a while, Stark finally climbed up from the sofa.
"You two bastards! Get so water!"
"No, you can’t drink water," Shiller shook his head and said, "Drinking water now will dilute it, and it won’t work. If you don’t want to do this again later, just bear with it."
Just then, Strange ca in, handed over a paper bag, and said, "I specifically bought it outside a drugstore and just forgot to give it to you."
Shiller opened it, and it turned out to be preserved fruit. Hong Kong indeed has a lot of old pharmacies that sell preserved fruit outside. Because after taking many Chinese dicines and herbal teas, drinking water isn’t allowed; simply rinsing won’t suppress the bitter taste in the throat. So, many people buy so candy and preserved fruit when buying dicine. Strange indeed lives up to being the Supre Magician living in Kamar-Taj, as he is knowledgeable about Chinese dicine and quite considerate.
Stark picked one up and looked at it, fully expressing distrust through his expression. Shiller didn’t care, directly threw a piece of dried apricot into his mouth, chewed, and said, "Not bad. But it’s a bit too sweet; I still prefer sothing slightly sour."
"Are you sure this isn’t sour?" Stark asked earnestly, looking at Strange, "None of the specialties he brought back from Kamar-Taj are tasty. I can’t get used to any of those barley-made things or salted milk tea. Are you sure this is sweet?"
Steve really couldn’t stand him anymore, directly took a piece of preserved prune and stuffed it into Stark’s mouth. As Stark was about to spit it out, he stopped, chewed it a bit, then chewed more and finally swallowed it.
"It’s actually pretty good." Stark nodded, looked at Strange, and said, "You have a bit of conscience after all."
Strange rolled his eyes and then left. Shiller chuckled; despite them acting at odds all day, they actually have a good relationship. It’s just that the specialties Strange brought from Kamar-Taj are indeed not sothing Westerners can easily adapt to. Shiller himself isn’t very fond of barley-made things either; milk tea and cheese are nice, but the regional flavor is too strong, only good for an occasional taste.
Stark was about to grab more preserved fruit to eat when Shiller quickly stopped him: "This stuff is too sweet, don’t eat too much, or you’ll have to worry about your teeth."
Stark was genuinely feeling a bit hopeless: "Why do I have to live with you people, like cyborgs? I want to return to the society of ordinary people, catch a cold and fever like them, instead of acting like a fragile wimp in front of you all!"
"Why would you think that?" Steve said, sowhat surprised, "I told you I’m afraid of catching a cold, so I take so dicine to prevent it. Otherwise, why would I drink those terribly bitter herbal dicines?"
"You catch a cold too?"
Steve struggled to resist the urge to roll his eyes: "If you throw a cyborg into the Sun, they’ll die too. Any carbon-based organism will react adversely to temperature changes. As long as the temperature is low enough, any carbon-based organism can catch a cold."
Afraid Stark wouldn’t believe him, Steve even gave an example: "Just like the night of the storm the other day, if I stood outside all night, I’d catch a cold. The only reason we mock you is because you have a daughter and don’t know to close the windows tightly when you sleep."
"Don’t look at ," Shiller said, "I have an innate constant-temperature Outer God, so I won’t catch a cold. But if the gray mist isn’t there, I’ll get sick like ordinary people either."
"Steven is even more so," Shiller explained, "You think he doesn’t get sick because magic transford his body; it’s actually not true. It’s because he eats blandly, keeps warm, practices martial arts to strengthen his body, and pays great attention to health care. But he has definitely been sick; otherwise, how could he know the taste of Chinese dicine?"
"In the whole The Avengers, it seems no one has never caught a cold... Oh, wait, there is one. Natasha has never caught a cold, but not because she’s a cyborg, but because she can withstand the cold."
"But she has nstrual pain," Shiller said, "The last ti her abdon hurt, she didn’t want to go on a mission, so she pretended her PTSD was flaring up and hung out at my office for half a day."
"Why didn’t she just say it?" Stark was easily distracted by the topic.
"Then you’ll have to ask why according to Arican labor law, nstrual pain isn’t eligible for paid leave."
"But PTSD isn’t either?" Steve said curiously, "Last ti I applied, Nick didn’t approve it."
"If she said she was having an episode, and I rushed over to treat her, I could claim travel expenses and get overti pay; we’d split it fifty-fifty, treating it as her salary."
Steve and Stark simultaneously cursed. But they weren’t cursing each other; they were cursing Arican labor law.
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