A curious quiet had settled over the city. The great explosion in the suburbs of New York, which had briefly dominated headlines, was already receding into the realm of strange urban legends.
The general public remained divided: some faithfully believed the military's hastily constructed "ice meteorite" fable, while others, more cynical, firmly believed the military had unveiled a terrifying, secret "energy bomb."
Regardless of the public's confusion, the crucial fact remained: no one suspected Huang Wen. The entire event was filed away as either a geological oddity or a state secret. Even Logan, sitting across the table, was none the wiser about the true origin of the three perfectly-formed craters.
A full month had elapsed since the incident. Life at the Wing Chun martial arts school had returned to a comfortable, rigorous rhythm. Huang Wen had proudly awarded the student-level medals to those disciples who had demonstrated sufficient persistence and mastery of the basics.
Zhong Qiang, under the twin pressures of rigorous training and Huang Wen's specialized, high-calorie diet plan, was showing progress, though perhaps not in the way Huang Wen had initially hoped. He had managed to gain eight liangs—about 8.8 pounds—in the last four weeks, bringing his weight from a dangerously light 110 pounds to 118.8 pounds.
"Eight pounds is good, but you're still a noodle, son," Uncle Zhong cheerfully noted, stirring a fresh broth base. "You look much healthier, though, your skin has color, and you've got muscle. But you're putting on strength, not just mass! Xiao Wen, you're training him like an Olympic athlete!"
"Don't worry, Uncle Zhong," Huang Wen responded with a confident smile. "It's all part of the plan. And Zhong Qiang, your training load is going up this month. But you can handle it. Your body is feeling lighter, more energetic, right?"
Zhong Qiang nodded enthusiastically. "That's the crazy part! I feel like I'm eating constantly, and I'm stronger than ever, but I can still move faster. I feel like I could run all day."
Huang Wen had set a difficult, long-term goal for Zhong Qiang to reach 150 pounds, but the rate of gain was slowing. It was an uphill battle against Zhong Qiang's naturally high metabolism.
In the past month, Huang Wen had also tried to leverage Logan for additional side missions, carefully crafting two small tasks that seemed perfect for the Mortal-level item lottery. Unfortunately, either because Logan now respected Huang Wen too much, or perhaps because the system's luck calculation was simply trolling him, both tasks yielded disappointing results.
The first was a long umbrella, derived from Zhou Xiaolong in the movie Descendants of the Dragon. Its only notable feature was its association with the legendary boast: "Let's see if my umbrella is faster or your gun is faster." It was marginally better than the hammer—at least it could keep the rain off.
The second item, however, was in a league of its own. It was a humble, wooden Folding Stool, sourced from the movie God of Cookery, a film that immortalized it as "the number one of the seven great weapons."
And Huang Wen had to admit, the Folding Stool earned its reputation. It was currently supporting Logan's considerable, nearly 300-pound frame without so much as a creak. It was sturdy enough, certainly, but its usefulness as a secret weapon was debatable.
After these two hilarious lotteries, Huang Wen had achieved a Zen-like acceptance of the system's humor, deciding to simply let Zhong Qiang's weight gain mission proceed naturally.
"Aren't you two going to eat or just chat?" Logan groused, eyeing the last few pieces of meat in the hot pot. He reached for his chopsticks, his appetite showing no sign of abating.
Uncle Zhong laughed heartily, shaking his head at the hungry mutant, and went into the kitchen to retrieve more ingredients. Zhong Qiang, now filled with boundless energy, quickly followed to help.
Logan stretched languidly in his seat, the aforementioned Folding Stool holding firm beneath him. "Life's pretty easy right now," he grumbled, though his tone was pure contentment.
"Don't stretch while you're eating, you savage," Huang Wen said with a gentle, chiding smile, pressing lightly on Logan's shoulder to keep him in place.
"This is not ease, this is just waiting for the next round!" Logan rolled his eyes, but his focus instantly snapped back to the kitchen door as the steam billowed out, signaling the return of food.
It was at that exact moment a voice rang out from the entrance to the hot pot section of the restaurant.
"Finally found a real Hong Kong hot pot place!" The voice was slightly excited, carrying the clear cadence of someone newly arrived from overseas.
Huang Wen, Logan, and the returning Zhong family all turned to look. Standing in the doorway was a boy, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking no older than fifteen, his face alight with genuine excitement. He spotted them and gave a shy but friendly grin.
Zhong Qiang, ever the dutiful host, quickly hurried forward. "Welcome! Are you alone, little friend?" he asked gently, handing the boy a menu. "Where are your parents?"
"I'm not a little kid, I'm fifteen years old," the boy corrected him earnestly, pushing up his backpack straps. "And yes, I'm alone. I just flew in from Hong Kong for school. Don't set out extra bowls or anything."
Zhong Qiang's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hong Kong? You came all the way to the States, alone, at fifteen, just for school?" Huang Wen and Uncle Zhong exchanged glances. That took guts. Logan, however, remained impassive; he'd been wandering the Canadian wilderness at thirteen.
"My family fought me on it, but I told them I could handle it," the boy said, a determined glint in his eyes that belied his youthful appearance. "So, they finally agreed. It was a lot of convincing."
Uncle Zhong walked over, placing a fresh platter of thinly sliced beef on a nearby table. "What a determined young man!" he said warmly. "Tell you what, whatever you order tonight, it's on the house. And if you ever have any trouble in Chinatown, you come straight to me. We overseas Chinese have to stick together!"
The boy scratched his head, slightly embarrassed by the unexpected generosity. "Thank you, Uncle, but I can manage my own bill!"
"Nonsense! I mean, you can come by anytime if you have trouble, or just if you want a bowl of hot pot!" Uncle Zhong laughed, clapping the boy gently on the shoulder. "But look at you, eating alone. That's no good. Come sit with us, share our table!"
The boy's face lit up instantly. "Seriously? That would be great! I don't have to wait for my own pot to boil!" He eagerly accepted, pulling the new Folding Stool up to the table next to Huang Wen.
"What's your name, young man?" Uncle Zhong asked, watching the boy happily dive into the shared pot without pretense.
"My name is Huang Liang," the boy replied, pausing only long enough to chew a mouthful of beef.
Uncle Zhong's smile broadened. "Oh? Your surname is Huang? Then you're the same clan as Xiaowen here! What a coincidence!"
"Indeed, it must be fate," Huang Wen nodded, a friendly expression on his face as he looked at the eager newcomer. "Welcome to New York, Huang Liang. I'm Huang Wen, and I run the Wing Chun martial arts school right next door. If you need any help with anything at all, seriously, you can come find me."
Huang Liang's chopsticks suddenly stopped, hovering over the pot. He looked at Huang Wen with genuine shock, then quickly scrutinized the muscular young man. "Wing Chun?!" His voice was laced with disbelief and excitement. "You actually run a Wing Chun school? Which lineage are you from?"
Huang Wen smiled internally. While he was, in a cosmic sense, a peer of the legendary Ip Man, he couldn't exactly state that. He provided the lineage of the body's previous owner, Huang Hong.
"The Chen Huashun branch, through the lineage of Grandmaster Ip Man," Huang Wen explained smoothly. "My lineage is through Ip Man's direct disciple, Chen Huashun. That makes Huang Hong, the original owner of this school, a grand-disciple of Ip Man."
Huang Liang suddenly pushed his stool back, standing up and performing a formal, quick cup-hand salute. His excitement was palpable.
"My great-grandfather was also a disciple of Grandmaster Ip Man. His name was Wong Shun Leung—he was one of the most famous challengers! I've been practicing Wing Chun with my grandfather since I was tiny, back in Hong Kong."
Huang Liang looked at Huang Wen, a light of reverence in his eyes. "Since you're a grand-disciple of the Grandmaster, and I'm a fourth-generation student, are you technically a generation senior to me?"