Back in the quiet solitude of the Wing Chun Martial Arts Hall, Huang Wen stripped off the Extraordinary Tuxedo and his clothes. He caught his reflection in the mirror and winced.
His body was a map of deep, blossoming purple and green bruises. The shock-dampening properties of the Tuxedo had prevented any external bleeding or broken bones (apart from the self-inflicted finger injury), but the sheer kinetic force from Fist Stone's blows had ravaged his underlying muscle tissue. Without the amazing material of the suit, he would have been critically injured.
His finger, though forcibly reset, was still throbbing, its healing a slow, painful process even with his superhuman constitution.
"I need that medicinal wine," he muttered.
He remembered the ancestral liniment his father, Huang Hong, and even the original Sifu Ip Man, had relied on—a secret blend passed down through the Wing Chun lineage for rapid recovery from sprains and heavy bruising. Without it, intense martial arts training was impossible.
He walked to Huang Hong's small, simple bedroom. Huang Hong believed in austerity; his room contained only the essentials: a bed, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a recliner. The medicinal wine was easily found—an unlabeled, opaque bottle tucked away in the bookcase.
Huang Wen opened it. The pungent, herbal scent was immediately familiar, exactly like the liniment used by the young Ip Man in his memories. He poured some onto his palm.
He took a quick, scalding shower to cleanse the sweat and dust, then began the painful application process. He gritted his teeth, rigorously patting and rubbing the medicinal wine into the worst of the bruises, forcing the deep tissue recovery. The pain was sharp, but necessary.
Finally, exhausted and smelling strongly of herbs, he collapsed onto his bed. With a thought, he summoned the System Screen.
Current Task: 0/1 (Incomplete)
Promote the martial arts school and reward outstanding individuals with one chance to win a prize.
Mission Complete: Avenge the original host. Reward: One Draw for an Extraordinary Skill. Would you like to draw?
"Draw," he commanded instantly. He had placed his life on the line for this, and the reward was finally his. His heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and necessity. The Extraordinary Tuxedo had been an Item draw; a Skill draw promised a different kind of advantage.
The familiar, dizzying white light enveloped his vision.
Ding! Congratulations, you have acquired an Extraordinary Skill:
Gunfighting (Origin: Anti-Japanese War Drama Mastery)
Description: The mastery of firearm physics bending, allowing the user to precisely curve the bullet's trajectory mid-flight via a rapid wrist flick upon firing. This is the legendary, causality-defying Gun-Fu technique.
Special Note: Due to system optimization, Gunfighting hits targets within your perception range. Even if the opponent is hiding behind hard cover or in a complete blind spot, the bullet will bend and hit the designated point.
Special Bonus: Gunfighting technique comes with a free Standard Pistol (9mm).
Huang Wen blinked, trying to process the skill's origin. "Gun-Fu… from anti-Japanese war dramas?"
He couldn't help but crack a small, dry smile. The Marvel Universe was certainly embracing the most absurd, physics-breaking forms of power. While martial arts films had popularized 'Gun-Fu' (like Equilibrium or The Matrix), the concept of curving the bullet via a wrist flick was pure, unadulterated fantasy—or rather, a specialty of over-the-top, low-budget war dramas known for their disregard of scientific reality.
"Well, this instantly solves my long-range deficiency," he acknowledged.
He manifested the free weapon—a generic, unmarked 9mm standard issue pistol. It felt balanced in his hand.
He immediately considered the implications of the physics-defying skill. A normal pistol has an effective range of about fifty meters. But if he could apply the tremendous, 34-Essence power of his Wing Chun stance and Inner Force to the initial velocity of the bullet during the flick, could he extend its range?
If I give the bullet a superhuman shove, and the system handles the trajectory and curve, maybe I can make a pistol shot travel hundreds of meters, he reasoned. Newton's grave is definitely spinning, but who cares? This is the Marvel world.
He checked the magazine: nineteen rounds. That brought him back to the practical problem: ammunition conservation.
"I need unlimited bullets," he muttered longingly. He recalled the mythical protagonists of those very dramas, like the legendary Captain Yan Shuangying, who were defined by their bottomless Mauser pistols, casual bullet-dodging, and complete control over causality itself.
"If I could draw Captain Yan Shuangying, I'd be truly invincible," he mused. But he knew that level of power would be reserved for an Extraordinary Person Lottery, a reward far beyond what he could currently earn.
He put the pistol away into the system's convenient inventory storage.
He now had one last open task: Promote the Wing Chun Martial Arts Hall. The standard for success was frustratingly vague.
Vengeance was clear: Kill the gang leaders. Promotion is not.
If the standard was merely "better than the current state," recruiting a few students would suffice. But if the standard was "better than the golden age," when Huang Hong had made enough money to buy property and retire comfortably, that meant achieving significant financial and cultural success during a period when the Kung Fu craze was dead. That was a vastly higher bar.
He knew he couldn't take any chances. He had to go big.
The exhaustion from the terrifying fight with the mutant finally overtook him. His heavy eyelids drooped. The world faded, the pain of his finger easing as he drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep. He was no longer just a fighter; he was a newly equipped warrior in a world rapidly filling with Mutants, super-agents, and inexplicable Gun-Fu.