Yuanlou and Yuanhua stayed to chat with Wang Xiaohu for a while before taking their leave. Yuan Biao went out with them as well, and Xiaohu knew they were surely off to have some fun. He sighed, then picked up the paper and pencil that Yuan Biao had bought.
The manuscript paper was rough, far from the smooth surface of the A4 sheets of later generations, and it felt coarse to the touch. The writing tool was a pencil—at this time, a fountain pen was still considered a luxury.
Spreading the paper before him, Wang Xiaohu sank into deep thought. The Big Boss marked the rise of Bruce Lee's fame. After that, he would shoot his second classic kung fu film, Fist of Fury, under Golden Harvest. Xiaohu remembered that the credited screenwriters were Lo Wei and Ni Kuang, but the reality was that script development at the time was painfully slow—edited on the fly during filming. What they called a "script" was little more than a rough storyline, simplistic to the point of being crude. Bruce Lee himself complained more than once: such scripts were terrible, and films made from them had no box-office guarantee.
Bruce Lee had often struggled over finding a good script, and he frequently flew into rages over how to design fight scenes that could properly express the philosophy of Jeet Kune Do. So Xiaohu's plan was very straightforward: to handwrite a complete script for Fist of Fury, prepare a storyboard, and even sketch out the action choreography on that coarse manuscript paper with his pencil.
The dream was full, but reality was harsh. Having grown accustomed to computers, Xiaohu now found handwriting a painful ordeal. Fortunately, thanks to fusing with part of Yuanhu's memory, he could at least write in traditional characters, though drafting from right to left still felt terribly awkward.
Fist of Fury tells the story of Shanghai in 1906, with Bruce Lee playing Chen Zhen. Upon returning to Shanghai, Chen hopes to marry his childhood sweetheart (played by Nora Miao), only to learn of his master Huo Yuanjia's death. At the funeral, members of the Japanese Hongkou Dojo insult them with a plaque calling the Chinese "the sick men of Asia." Unwilling to swallow the humiliation, Chen secretly returns the plaque and single-handedly defeats a hundred Japanese fighters with Mizongquan and his signature nunchaku. He also delivers the iconic flying kick that shatters the "No Dogs and Chinese Allowed" sign in the park.
Though urged by his peers to flee Shanghai, Chen discovers that Japanese spies inside Jingwu were the very ones who poisoned his master. After killing them, he chooses to stay and seek vengeance. His quest leads him to uncover that the culprits were the Japanese from the Hongkou Dojo, and in his fury, he storms the dojo in a bloodbath. Just then, the colonial police arrive. Refusing to implicate Jingwu, Chen walks out heroically to meet his fate.
It could be said that Fist of Fury was Bruce Lee's defining masterpiece. Coming right after The Big Boss, it once again proved his worth to the world. The film broke free from the narrow revenge-driven narratives of traditional kung fu films, elevating the story to the level of national pride and patriotic spirit. It resonated deeply, stirring the hearts of audiences with its themes of resistance and dignity. This was the core reason why generations of Chinese people loved the film—and loved Bruce Lee.
From Wang Xiaohu's perspective as someone with knowledge of the future, Bruce Lee's choreography might not seem particularly elegant, but in that era and cultural environment, his fighting style was nothing short of groundbreaking—pure cinematic shock and power.
It took Wang Xiaohu about two hours to outline the story, not because his memory was fuzzy or he had forgotten the plot, but because his mind was fully occupied with how to integrate multiple versions of Chen Zhen's story. He was caught up in weighing the choreography differences between Bruce Lee's version and Donnie Yen's. Undoubtedly, Donnie Yen's later TV adaptation of Chen Zhen offered better action in terms of spectacle and practical combat, but that superiority only existed on the foundation of the martial arts path pioneered by Bruce Lee.
Without Lee's Fist of Fury, Donnie Yen's Chen Zhen alone could not surpass all other portrayals of the character. Even the ultimate trailer of Fist of Fury that Xiaohu had seen before his rebirth—showing Chen Zhen's life after escaping—was only a reworked version of the TV series, refining the Hongkou Dojo's scale and action design, but it still did not surpass the essence of Lee's original.
After careful consideration, Xiaohu decided to boldly modify the action choreography for Fist of Fury. After all, Lee hadn't filmed it yet, the script was still in its infancy, and Xiaohu could "borrow" freely.
Bruce Lee had extremely high standards for action design. He wanted to convey his Jeet Kune Do philosophy on screen: concise, direct, non-traditional. On film, this meant every punch, every kick, every move had to be functional—no flashy tricks, every strike decisive.
Xiaohu's plan gradually became clear. He would not alter the main story framework; after all, within ninety minutes, there was limited time to convey too much. What he would focus on was the Hongkou Dojo scene, integrating Donnie Yen's action techniques on top of Lee's foundational moves.
He knew Lee despised auxiliary devices like trampolines. High-flying stunts were beneath him, a point clearly demonstrated in Way of the Dragon and Enter the Dragon, and later when Lee directed independently, he abandoned all such showy gimmicks.
Having studied this, Xiaohu grew more confident about the Hongkou Dojo fight—the scene that would ignite patriotic fervor among Chinese audiences. Moves like triple flying kicks, aerial splits, super explosive kicks, invincible inch-power punches, and the ferocious double nunchaku were all incorporated. He was confident that Lee would accept these enhancements: after all, they all derived from Lee's own style, now refined and amplified for both visual impact and practical combat appeal.
He first recalled these classic moves in his mind. As his recollection deepened, his excitement grew, as if he were Chen Zhen himself, facing hundreds of Japanese warriors in the Hongkou Dojo. When Chen leapt into the air and shattered the "Sick Man of Asia" plaque, making the Japanese swallow their humiliation, Xiaohu let out a shout and opened his eyes wide, blood pumping with adrenaline.
"That's it!" Wang Xiaohu declared, nodding decisively, and began sketching on the manuscript paper. From the moment Chen carried the plaque into the Hongkou Dojo, a flowing series of fight sequences streamed from his hand onto the paper like water, graceful yet fierce. He was still lost in the act of creation when Yuan Biao pushed open the door at dusk, finding Xiaohu fully immersed in his work.
If you want, I can also polish this into a more "cinematic novel" version in English, emphasizing the fight choreography visually and rhythmically, so it reads like a real martial arts novel chapter. It would make the action feel even more thrilling to English readers. Do you want me to do that?