A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the soft hiss of the hot pot burner. Uncle Zhong eventually broke the quiet, a gentle smile returning to his face. "Alright, enough melancholy. That's still a future problem. Zhong Qiang still has a couple of years left before he's done with his degree."
"Exactly, and time flies!" Huang Wen countered, seizing the opening he'd been searching for. "Uncle Zhong, I have a fantastic idea. I remember Xiao Qiang was studying something in Public Relations and Management, right? Why not have him come work with me at the Hall?"
He leaned forward, trying to sound genuinely enthusiastic, not manipulative. "He could handle the business side, the marketing, the image. I'll focus on the martial arts legacy. If I eat, he eats. I guarantee it. What do you say?"
"Get lost with that nonsense!" Uncle Zhong scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Your family's savings are meant for you to settle down and start a family! Besides, he'd be better off folding napkins for me than watching dust collect at your gym!"
"But Uncle Zhong, they're not the same thing!" Huang Wen pressed, pouring a ladle of steaming broth. "Yours is catering; mine is the Culture and Sports Industry. It's the perfect field experience for his degree! When he needs to fulfill his internship credits, he can come to me. I'll make sure he gets the best possible certificate and real-world experience."
Uncle Zhong narrowed his eyes, the shrewd business owner peering through the concerned neighbor. "Oh, and my hot pot restaurant doesn't need publicity management? Spit it out, Xiao Wen. You need Zhong Qiang for something specific, don't you? If it's a job, I'll call him right now."
"Heh, you got me, Uncle Zhong," Huang Wen admitted, scratching his cheek awkwardly. He should have known better than to try and fool an Old Fox who ran a small business in Chinatown for thirty years. "It's about some marketing strategies I need advice on for the martial arts hall. Something... unorthodox."
"I knew it!" Uncle Zhong threw his hands up in mock exasperation, then nodded seriously. "Alright, I'll call Zhong Qiang later today. But be warned: don't expect miracles! He's just book-smart; he doesn't have any practical experience. You're his testing ground, not his dream job."
"Don't worry, Uncle Zhong, I understand," Huang Wen quickly replied, relief washing over him. The groundwork for Task 3 was laid. "Thank you so much. When Xiao Qiang comes back, I'll treat you both to the finest meal—"
"Better than my hot pot?" Uncle Zhong interjected, glaring playfully. "Sit down, you ridiculous kid. What's your real plan for that gang? The Goren animals?"
The playful mood vanished. Huang Wen's eyes flashed with a cold, terrifying intensity that was a direct blend of his own calculated resolve and the original host's burning resentment.
"Anyone linked to Sifu's death will pay the price," Huang Wen stated, his voice flat and absolute. "The shooter, the man who ordered it, the cop who took the bribe—none of them are exempt."
Uncle Zhong flinched, startled by the sheer, unadulterated murderous intent that emanated from the young man. He took a long moment to recover, shaking his head wearily. "You martial artists... you're always so final about problems."
He sighed, stirring the contents of the pot. "Huang Hong once told me that the old masters didn't train for sport; they trained to kill. To protect their homes, to enforce justice with their own hands. They practiced for decades just to unleash that one, killing blow."
Uncle Zhong looked at Huang Wen, his face a mixture of fear and awe. "It seems he wasn't lying. I've seen you practice, but I never imagined the power could be so... terrifying when you truly let it out."
"I apologize, Uncle Zhong," Huang Wen said, quickly tempering the expression of sheer power. "But please don't worry. I will not be caught. I'm going to finish this first. Don't call Xiao Qiang yet. Give me some time to deal with the Goren Gang, and then you can contact him, okay?"
Uncle Zhong hesitated, his loyalty warring with his fear. If Huang Wen failed, and his son were pulled into the resulting mess, it would destroy his family.
"Xiao Wen, listen to me closely," Uncle Zhong urged, leaning across the table and placing a firm hand on Huang Wen's shoulder. "You are the last of the Huang lineage. The Wing Chun name dies with you. Do not act impulsively. You must have absolute, total confidence before you make your move."
Uncle Zhong didn't try to dissuade him from revenge; he knew better. He saw the fire in Huang Wen's eyes—a fire that could only be extinguished with blood. He was worried, but he was also profoundly relieved that Huang Hong's unjust death would not be ignored.
"I know, Uncle Zhong. Don't worry, I know," Huang Wen nodded, the absolute certainty of the Tuxedo's protection giving him an undeniable confidence. "Come on, let's eat. This meal is on me, too! We're celebrating the end of a difficult chapter."
"You're paying for this one too? You didn't even cover the last one, you stingy brat!" Uncle Zhong laughed, trying desperately to keep the atmosphere light. "I've started a tab for you, and when you return from avenging your father, you're going to pay every cent, plus interest!"
"Perfect! When I return successfully, we'll calculate the bill, and I'll put it all toward Xiao Qiang's salary!" Huang Wen clapped his hands together. "How about that for a boss? Paid internship!"
"Tch! Back in my day, an apprentice got room and board and was lucky not to be flogged! Now get eating," Uncle Zhong scoffed, but his eyes were soft. "I'm not opening the doors today. I'm doing business only with you."
They ate for a full hour, the best hot pot Huang Wen had ever tasted, despite the grim weight of the task ahead.
Finally, Uncle Zhong opened the locked door, watching Huang Wen depart. He didn't offer any more warnings, merely a final, silent nod of profound understanding. He watched until the young man disappeared into the afternoon crowd.
Uncle Zhong turned, re-entered the quiet restaurant, and without hesitation, picked up the phone.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!"
"Hello? Dad? What's going on? I was planning to come home this weekend anyway," a young, energetic voice answered.
"It's Thursday, son. Try to come back tomorrow night," Uncle Zhong said, checking the calendar. "Dad misses you. And I need you to check on your Brother Wen."
"What's wrong with Brother Wen? He still hasn't left the martial arts gym, has he? We need to find a specialist, Dad, someone to talk him through this..." Zhong Qiang's voice was full of concern.
"Your brother... he just found out who killed your Uncle Hong," Uncle Zhong sighed, his hand trembling slightly. "He's not waiting, son. He's going after them. I couldn't stop him, and maybe I shouldn't have. I need you to come home quickly. Just in case..."
"Dad, Wen is a martial arts Grandmaster!" Zhong Qiang interjected, his voice firm with youthful conviction. "You saw him in high school! He took on the entire basketball team and wiped the floor with them! Wen will be fine!"
"Okay, Dad, I'm requesting leave right now. If everything goes smoothly, I can be back in Chinatown by tomorrow morning."
"Good. Come back soon, son," Uncle Zhong finished, a sense of anxious relief finally settling over him. He knew Huang Wen was decisive, but he had just accelerated the timeline for his return.
"He asked me not to call you until after he was finished," Uncle Zhong whispered to himself after hanging up, "but I don't think he's got twenty-four hours to spare."