Zhong Qiang, still buzzing with excitement, closed the door of the Bayu Hot Pot restaurant and enthusiastically ushered Huang Wen inside. Uncle Zhong, carrying the beautiful clay pot casserole, looked up, surprised by their energy.
"What's all this excitement?" Uncle Zhong asked, placing the casserole down. He eyed Huang Wen suspiciously. "Xiao Wen, you didn't actually agree to teach Xiao Qiang the family secrets, did you? You need a proper successor, or at least document the lineage."
"Dad! What kind of father are you?" Zhong Qiang pouted dramatically. "You're saying I have bad aptitude?"
"Aptitude?" Uncle Zhong chuckled, a warm memory softening his eyes. "I know your aptitude too well. You tried the horse stance for ten minutes and collapsed from exhaustion. The worst part? The next day you couldn't walk!" He laughed heartily, until Zhong Qiang quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Brother Wen, ignore him! Porridge time!" Zhong Qiang awkwardly forced Huang Wen toward the table.
"Seafood porridge first thing in the morning is a luxury," Huang Wen smiled, enjoying the rich aroma. "But Uncle Zhong, did you boil any eggs? A couple of eggs are always good for the health in the morning."
"Pickiness, even with perfect porridge!" Uncle Zhong playfully rolled his eyes, but his affection was clear. "Yes, I boiled some. I'll get them."
"Heh, he's totally pretending," Zhong Qiang whispered quickly as his father left for the kitchen. "I saw him boil those eggs especially when I said I was coming to get you—Ouch!"
Uncle Zhong returned, gently patting Zhong Qiang's head, placing a perfectly peeled egg on the table. "Eat!"
"Don't be mad, Dad, we have good news for you!" Zhong Qiang quickly stood up, serving the first bowl of porridge to his father, his face radiant with an infectious smile.
"Good news? What could possibly be good news after all this tension?" Uncle Zhong asked seriously, noting the genuine relief in both young men's eyes.
"Brother Wen has already taken care of the revenge," Zhong Qiang announced with a triumphant grin.
Uncle Zhong froze, looking at Huang Wen. "You took revenge? Already?" Just yesterday, the plan was still forming.
"It's true. I went to the Goren Gang's base last night," Huang Wen confirmed calmly. "Every high-ranking member involved in Sifu's death is gone. The Goren Gang is finished."
"And the Mutant!" Zhong Qiang interjected, his voice still vibrating with excitement. "Brother Wen fought a Mutant and won, even though he got hurt!"
Uncle Zhong waved off the mutant detail; his mind was focused on his surrogate son. "Are you injured? Seriously? Are you absolutely certain you left no witnesses or evidence?"
"Don't worry, Uncle Zhong. Everyone who saw my face is permanently gone," Huang Wen reassured him, nodding. "The cameras were dark, and I'm clean. The debt is settled. Now, I need to rest up and then fulfill the final wish: making the Wing Chun Hall flourish."
He grinned at Zhong Qiang, then back at Uncle Zhong. The meaning was crystal clear: he needed Zhong Qiang's help now.
Uncle Zhong was deeply relieved. Having lived through his share of the rough side of immigration, he cared little for the body count. He was simply grateful that the terrible burden was lifted from Huang Wen. He also had enough faith in Huang Wen's abilities and the general disarray of the local police to believe the matter would stay buried.
"Xiao Qiang," Uncle Zhong said, now entirely composed. "When does your course end?"
"About two more weeks," Zhong Qiang replied, slightly confused. "Dad, you don't want me to take the internship and come work here, do you?"
"Go work for your brother," Uncle Zhong confirmed, glaring at his son's comparatively slight build. "You need the exposure, and when you're not busy with the business side, you can get some practical training. Look at your brother's physique! I don't expect you to be a master, but you need to be stronger."
"Help Brother Wen?" Zhong Qiang's eyes lit up. He immediately turned to Huang Wen. "Brother Wen, you must have a plan, right? Let me advise you..."
"I'll skip the salary, but you absolutely have to teach me some of those Wing Chun secrets. Just a couple of practical self-defense techniques, please?" Zhong Qiang pleaded.
"You'll be covered, financially and martially," Huang Wen said, shaking his head with a laugh. "The money is easy. The martial arts will be difficult. Get ready to sweat."
"So, what's the plan, Brother Wen?" Zhong Qiang pressed, his mind already shifting into marketing mode. "What do you think of the simple routines and belt system I mentioned?"
"I think that's the absolute minimum, but it's not enough to draw a crowd," Huang Wen analyzed. "We can certainly categorize Wing Chun into six logical progression stages: Apprentice, Beginner, Proficient, Master, Grandmaster, and Wing Chun Grandmaster. Each level gets increasing difficulty in forms and sparring. But doing just that makes us exactly like every other Karate or Taekwondo place. We need a unique selling point."
"Agreed," Zhong Qiang nodded, thinking deeply. "Publicity is key. Flyers and local TV ads are boring and expensive. We need a huge boost in exposure that speaks to the American public's love for combat sports."
Huang Wen leaned back, a cold, calculating grin spreading across his face. "I have a simple, aggressive idea: Hype. We hire a major TV channel and a few major newspaper outlets, and we stage a spectacular public event."
"What kind of event?"
"I challenge a professional fighting champion—UFC, Kickboxing, or even a mixed martial arts star—to a public match. When I win, the sheer novelty and effectiveness of Wing Chun will make our school the most famous dojo in the city overnight."
Zhong Qiang's eyes widened, not in doubt, but in exhilaration. "A champion fight?" He didn't even pause to question Huang Wen's ability. He had just heard the man solo a Mutant and a gang. A mortal fighter was certainly no match. "Brother Wen, that's not just publicity; that's a declaration of war on the established fighting community! It's genius!"