At Georgetown University, Washington, D.C., Reece Fisk, a surprisingly amiable-looking young man, hung up with Zhong Qiang. He paused, considering the bizarre request, then dialed another number.
After a brief wait, James Wesley's crisp, respectful voice answered: "I'm not busy, young master. Is there anything you need? Should I arrange for a driver to bring you back this afternoon?"
"Yes, I'll need to head back this week," Reece confirmed. "First, could you ask my father if we have any spare champion-level boxers? I need to 'borrow' one. Second, I need you to do a deep dive into the Goren Gang. Specifically, their entanglement with Chinatown's Wing Chun Martial Arts Hall."
Wesley, ever efficient, responded immediately: "Yes, young master. I'll arrange the investigation right away and confirm with the Boss."
Reece hung up and headed to class.
Wesley looked across the table at his superior, a man who resembled a massive, impeccably dressed mountain of flesh—Wilson Fisk.
"The Goren Gang?" Fisk's deep voice was dangerously calm, his gaze falling squarely on Wesley.
"A minor syndicate near Chinatown, Boss. They were essentially wiped out last night," Wesley explained quickly. "The young master's college roommate is a Chinese man from Chinatown. The Goren Gang incident seems directly related to the roommate's neighbor, a martial artist named Huang Wen."
"Go check it out," Fisk commanded. "As for the boxer, wait until Reece returns, and we'll discuss the terms."
"Understood, Boss." Wesley nodded and left to handle the logistics.
That evening, a sleek black SUV collected Reece Fisk outside the university. Wesley was waiting for him inside.
"Thank you for the effort, Uncle James," Reece said warmly as he got in. "What's the verdict? Did Father agree? And what did the investigation turn up about the Goren business?"
Wesley handed over a slim folder containing documents and photos. "The matter involving the Goren Gang and Chinatown has been fully clarified, young master."
Wesley explained the timeline: "Huang Hong, the master of the Wing Chun Hall, died some time ago, clearly at the hands of the Goren Gang. Shortly after, the gang's surface manager, a Karate instructor named Benson, went to the Hall to provoke them."
"Then, Sifu Huang's son, Huang Wen, seemed to vanish. Surveillance lost him. Two days later, Benson disappeared. The same night, every high-ranking Goren executive died. Crucially, a Mutant enforcer named Fist Stone, whose body was essentially weaponized rock, was beaten to death."
Wesley paused for emphasis. "The body was immediately confiscated by a military team—General Stryker's men, we believe. However, despite the intense carnage, no one—not the gang clerks, not a single security camera—recorded anyone entering or leaving the meeting room, let alone infiltrating the building."
Reece slowly flipped through a photo showing the destroyed conference room, his brow furrowed in thought. "Just how skilled is this Huang Wen?"
"According to reports from Chinatown, he is exceptionally capable," Wesley replied, pointing to the file. "His father, Huang Hong, easily handled Benson, but Huang Wen's reputation is even stronger. In high school, he apparently took down the entire rugby team in under a minute."
"No wonder he's so confident challenging a champion," a calculating glint flashed in Reece's eyes. "Does Father know the details?"
"The Boss has been informed. He agreed to provide a fighter, but he insists that Huang Wen's skills must be vetted first," Wesley stated. "The Boss wants you to arrange a meeting to gauge his ability."
"Perfect. I want to see the quality of this 'plaster-removing' martial art the Alarm Clock raves about," Reece said, a subtle, cold excitement in his voice. "And if he truly handled an evolved Mutant single-handedly, his strength demands respect."
Meanwhile, back in the Wing Chun Hall, Huang Wen was giving Zhong Qiang a brutal, introductory lesson in the basics: the "Two-Character Clamping Sheep Stance."
Zhong Qiang was in agony. Huang Wen was constantly moving around, slapping his thigh, hip, and waist—not out of malice, but to force the proper tension and relaxation needed to achieve the stance's power.
Zhong Qiang was physically weak. If a well-conditioned athlete rated a 10 and a healthy civilian a 7, Zhong Qiang was barely a 5. Even Uncle Zhong probably had more stamina.
Every ten minutes or so, Zhong Qiang would inevitably collapse in a panting heap. He only forced himself up because Huang Wen had demonstrated a glimmer of his hidden, terrifying power, convincing the business-minded Zhong Qiang that this truly was the legendary, secret "family martial arts."
Suddenly, Zhong Qiang's phone rang. He sprang up, grabbing the distraction like a drowning man clutching a life raft.
"Ring ring!"
"Reece Fisk," Zhong Qiang whispered quickly to Huang Wen, immediately answering. "Hello, Reece, what's the news?"
"My father has agreed," Reece Fisk's voice, still polite but with a new edge of curiosity, came through. "But he wants to bring the champion with us to meet your Brother Wen. My father and I both want to witness this Wing Chun firsthand. Would he mind showing us a little of his skill?"
Zhong Qiang looked at Huang Wen, who gave an easy, confident nod.
"No problem at all," Zhong Qiang affirmed, a huge smile forming. "When are you thinking?"
"Tomorrow, around noon," Reece said after a quick consultation off-line.
"Perfect! I'll treat you to the best meal at the hot pot restaurant!" Zhong Qiang laughed, relieved. "See you tomorrow at noon."
Zhong Qiang hung up and immediately looked at Huang Wen with concern. "By the way, Brother Wen, your injuries! Are you okay for tomorrow?"
"It's nothing," Huang Wen dismissed the concern with a smile, flexing his hand. "Barring my finger, which is still a little stiff, all my bruises are healing fast. Even the finger won't stop me from clenching a fist or punching a light strike."
"That's a relief," Zhong Qiang sighed. He then cast a hopeful, pained look at Huang Wen. "Brother Wen, now that the meeting is set, can I finally rest? I genuinely feel like if I keep this up, I won't be able to stand up tomorrow."
Huang Wen grinned. "Don't worry. Just have Uncle Zhong slather on that medicinal wine. You'll be fine."
"Now," Huang Wen clapped his hands together, "let's continue. Half an hour until dinner!"
"No, Brother Wen!" Zhong Qiang cried out in despair as he reluctantly struggled back into the agonizing posture, his mind already calculating how to make the Wing Chun Hall millions. The pain was unbearable, but the potential profit was even stronger
-------------------------------------------------------
Hope u can atleast check my p@treon account, I will be grateful. It needs much more time and resources to upload these chapters. I wish u can understand and support me there to maintain this motivation.
I also updated a separated Marvel fanfics tier there. Within a day all 50 extra chapters will be uploaded.