Huang Wen awoke to the bright morning sun of the next day. Despite the massive exertion and trauma of the night before, his Extraordinary Physique meant he was already functional. He felt a deep soreness, a residual ache that reminded him of every punch he took, but his spirits were high.
He inspected himself in the mirror. The deepest bruises had taken on a dark, almost black hue—a sign that the trauma was being rapidly processed. His finger, though, was still a point of concentrated agony if he applied force.
I won't be punching stone for a while, he decided.
Meanwhile, in the bustling heart of Chinatown, a young man with a slight hunch from a heavy backpack walked with determination. This was Zhong Qiang, Uncle Zhong's son. He looked tired but energized by the urgency of his unexpected trip home.
He reached the Wing Chun Hall, finding the front door secured and locked.
"He hasn't opened up yet?" Zhong Qiang mumbled, frowning. "Dad said Brother Wen wasn't training, he was planning something serious. Maybe he's still sleeping."
Zhong Qiang turned away and headed the short distance to his family's restaurant, the Bayu Hot Pot. The door was unlocked, though not officially open for business.
Inside, the aroma was heavenly. Uncle Zhong, anxious for his son's arrival, had risen before dawn to prepare a huge pot of traditional Chaoshan-style clay pot porridge. The Chongqing Hot Pot owner had clearly diversified his culinary loyalty for his son.
"Dad, I'm home!" Zhong Qiang called out, dropping his heavy backpack with a weary sigh.
Uncle Zhong poked his head out from the kitchen, a relieved, slightly tearful look in his eyes. He merely nodded. "You're back. Good. Go on, it's hot." He wasn't one for Western displays of affection.
Zhong Qiang ignored the subtlety, walking over to his father and enveloping him in a tight hug. "Mmm, what's cooking? It smells incredible!"
Uncle Zhong feigned disgust, but the smile on his face was genuine. "Alright, alright, you reek of the highway. Go shower first, then you eat. It's porridge." He gently pushed Zhong Qiang toward the stairs.
"Hehe, sorry, I rushed out of the dorm," Zhong Qiang laughed, picking up his bag. "I'm going to shower, then I'll go wake up Brother Wen. We need to talk before he does anything crazy."
"Don't waste your breath trying to dissuade him," Uncle Zhong sighed, returning to the kitchen. "You know your Brother Wen. He already had his mind made up days ago."
"I know, but I have to try," Zhong Qiang replied, heading up the stairs to their family apartment on the second floor. "It's ridiculous the police haven't done a single thing. But I heard some things from school that might help him."
Refreshed from a quick shower, Zhong Qiang walked back out and headed straight for the Wing Chun Hall.
"Brother Wen! Brother Wen, I'm here! Are you up?" Zhong Qiang shouted, knocking loudly on the front door.
Huang Wen, who was just finishing his own ablutions, was momentarily startled. "Xiao Qiang?" The image of his future Marketing Strategist appeared in his mind. Uncle Zhong couldn't wait, could he? Huang Wen felt a surge of satisfaction. The timing was perfect.
"You're here!" Huang Wen called back, quickly descending the stairs. He unlocked the door and pulled Zhong Qiang inside. "You're back so soon? Was the situation really that urgent?"
"I was worried I'd miss my chance to say goodbye before you ended up in a ditch," Zhong Qiang punched Huang Wen lightly on the shoulder in a familiar gesture. "Since I went to all the trouble to rush back, you should pass on your family's secret kung fu before you leave!"
"Hiss!" Huang Wen sucked in a sharp breath. The lighthearted punch had landed squarely on a new, dark bruise on his deltoid.
Zhong Qiang immediately snatched his hand back, concern replacing his smile. "Whoa! What's wrong, Brother Wen? I didn't even put any force into that!"
"I'm fine, you idiot, I'll still be standing when you've fallen over," Huang Wen glared playfully, concealing the pain. "You think you can learn the family secrets? Start with a year of basic Wing Chun stance training first!"
The "family secrets" were simply the deeper, reserved principles of Wing Chun that Huang Hong only taught his heir—the kind of nuanced martial philosophy that kept the school's true essence protected.
"Basics are boring!" Zhong Qiang complained, rolling his eyes. "Those basic forms are too repetitive. Look at the Taekwondo and Karate places. They teach simple forms, practice twice a week, and give out colored belts for 'leveling up.' Most Americans don't care about practical power; they want a good workout, simple moves for occasional defense, and a sense of progression."
Huang Wen stared at him, impressed. "You've done more research on the local market than I have! Are you really ready to take that internship? I'm hiring, starting now. Name your price."
Zhong Qiang's face turned serious, and he lowered his voice. "Brother, forget the job for a minute. Listen up."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "My classmate's family is tied to one of the gangs. He told me the Goren Gang had a serious expert—a Mutant. Some kind of big, powerful guy who was completely unbeatable in a fight. He said this Mutant was way tougher than any normal martial artist. He advised me to tell you to wait for the Goren boss to be alone before you move."
"Oh, him," Huang Wen said, shrugging off the warning. "He's already dead."
Zhong Qiang's jaw dropped. "What?" He frantically scanned the street, then stepped closer, whispering harshly, "You... you already handled it?"
"Yes," Huang Wen confirmed, smiling warmly. "It's finished. I've avenged Sifu. Now, it's time to honor his last wish: We are going to make this Wing Chun Hall famous."
Zhong Qiang opened his mouth to press for details, then stopped himself. "Come on. My dad made breakfast—that porridge. He sent me to drag you over. Let's eat and you can tell me exactly how you took down a whole gang, and then we need to talk business strategy."
"Lead the way," Huang Wen agreed. He needed to tap into Zhong Qiang's business acumen for the looming second mission. The promotion phase had officially begun.