"Xiao Qiang mentioned that your semester wraps up in two weeks. During that time, you can come and practice with him on the weekends," Huang Wen instructed Reece Fisk. "After the course is complete, Xiao Qiang will officially start helping me manage the business here."
"I want to help the Master too!" Reece Fisk quickly interjected, beaming. "I can intern alongside the Alarm Clock! We'll keep each other honest and focused."
"In that case, Reece, your new focus will be assisting Mr. Huang," Kingpin declared, giving his son a sharp look. "Making this Wing Chun Hall a success is now your internship goal. See it through to completion. Do not disappoint me."
"Don't worry, Father, I will work diligently with the Alarm Clock to ensure Master's martial arts school is carried to great heights," Reece Fisk promised with a seriousness that matched his father's.
"Excellent, Mr. Huang, I have pressing matters to attend to now. I will immediately contact the appropriate newspaper and television outlets to initiate the publicity campaign," Kingpin said, offering a final, smooth smile. "Once the arrangements are finalized and the timing is perfect, I will have Reece inform you."
"I thank you for your assistance," Huang Wen replied, offering a respectful fist-and-palm salute. "Mr. Kingpin is welcome to return and exchange skills whenever the opportunity arises."
"I shall take you up on that offer," Kingpin nodded. He turned, retrieved his tailored suit jacket that Terry had been clutching, and smoothly put it on. He then focused his gaze on the champion, who was still trying to recover his breath. "Terry, how are you? Can you stand?"
"Ugh! Yes... Boss, yes!" Champion Terry gritted his teeth, forcing his body to obey, but he remained hunched over. He avoided eye contact with everyone. Fear was etched into his face—fear of Huang Wen's impossible speed and power, and crippling fear of his own boss for acting without permission.
Kingpin gave a curt nod and walked toward the waiting RV. Terry, battling agonizing pain, sprinted ahead to open the door for his boss. The two men got inside, and the luxury vehicle silently pulled away from the quiet street of Chinatown.
Inside the RV, Terry remained silent, head bowed in shame, his body trembling.
Kingpin, however, was in high spirits. He slowly flexed and rubbed his hands together, a dangerous excitement dancing in his eyes.
"Incredible," Kingpin chuckled, the sound deep and dry. "I truly never imagined that Chinese martial arts possessed such effective power. Is it some unique internal technique he possesses? He has managed to train his physical capabilities to nearly match my own, without the benefit of my specialized conditioning."
He continued, musing aloud: "More interestingly, he doesn't seem to possess the esoteric, magical energy of someone like Madam Gao. It's pure physical ability, refined to an extraordinary degree. Fascinating. Allowing Reece to follow him will undoubtedly be beneficial."
"Boss, I apologize for my weakness..." Champion Terry finally managed to raise his head, genuine terror in his eyes.
"That you were incapacitated by a single strike is expected," Kingpin said with a chillingly faint smile, shaking his head. "You are merely an ordinary man, Terry. Compared to individuals like us, who have broken the limitations of the human body, you are significantly inferior. However..."
A flash of arctic coldness crossed Kingpin's eyes, and his aura intensified, making Terry instinctively flinch, his respect and fear for his boss undiminished despite the earlier loss.
"Next time," Kingpin's voice dropped to a lethal whisper, "if you interfere with my affairs without explicit instruction, you will cease to be useful, and therefore, you will cease to exist. Do you understand your error?"
"Thank you, Boss! Thank you for your mercy!" Terry stammered, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his forehead, grateful for his life.
"It's clear now," Kingpin mused, looking out the window as Chinatown receded. "Though we cannot determine his ultimate limits, he certainly was the one who destroyed that gang and the Mutant. I hear others are also beginning to poke around the Mutant's demise... they will be disappointed."
Terry remained silent, knowing that these details were for James Wesley to handle. He was just a weapon, not a strategist.
Back in the Wing Chun Hall, Huang Wen gently massaged his right hand. A dull, throbbing pain resonated from the bone. His earlier, incomplete injury from the fight with Fist Stone was exacerbated by the sheer force exchange with the Kingpin, but it was nothing severe.
A narrow margin, Huang Wen reflected. The sparring session confirmed his fears: the Kingpin was incredibly strong and ruthlessly skilled. If it had been a true, no-holds-barred fight, even if Huang Wen won, it would have been harder and more costly than the fight with the enhanced Mutant.
And a mob boss of his stature certainly has more tricks up his sleeve than just brute strength, he reminded himself, knowing the full story of Wilson Fisk.
"Alright, let's head to dinner now. It's late," Huang Wen announced, looking at his two new students. "After we eat and everything settles, I'll introduce you two to some deeper Wing Chun theory. Then, you can both practice the basic stance together!"
"Yes, Master," Reece Fisk replied instantly and respectfully, his eyes shining with newfound purpose.
"Let's go, Brother Wen! Dinner time!" Zhong Qiang, happy to be temporarily relieved of the horse stance, led the way.
The three left the martial arts hall and headed back to the hot pot restaurant.
Uncle Zhong, already setting the table, observed the newcomers. He intuitively sensed that Kingpin was a figure of immense influence, so he didn't press for details on the missing giant. He was simply relieved the man was gone.
As for Reece Fisk, watching the chubby young man devour the hot pot with uninhibited gusto and genuine praise, Uncle Zhong's vigilance faded. He was just a boy, exactly as Zhong Qiang had described: harmless and hungry.
After dinner, Zhong Qiang and Reece Fisk were immediately put through the paces of the agonizing basic Wing Chun stances and drills.
Meanwhile, Kingpin instructed Wesley to execute the publicity plan.
A few days later, Champion Terry, his injuries mostly mended, gave a high-profile interview where he publicly disparaged traditional Chinese martial arts. He scoffed, claiming techniques like Wing Chun were "all show, no substance" and utterly useless in real-world combat scenarios.
Terry explicitly called out the Wing Chun Hall in Chinatown, mockingly suggesting he observed their training and deemed it "too light and airy," nothing more than an expensive scam.
Major television networks and prominent newspapers immediately seized upon Terry's sensational comments, and editorial columns largely echoed his skeptical viewpoint.
The ensuing online firestorm was instantaneous. Terry's words, amplified by what seemed like a massive wave of anonymous accounts, sparked heated debate. Although a few authentic voices defended Chinese Kung Fu, citing its historical influence on fighting, they were quickly buried under a deluge of aggressive comments and paid trolls, all orchestrated by James Wesley's network.
The trolls aggressively pushed a simple challenge: The Wing Chun Hall must fight Champion Terry publicly. If they lose, they must shut down immediately.
The narrative was successfully framed: Traditional Martial Arts (Scam) vs. Modern Combat (Reality).
The stage was set. Despite being cast as the underdog in the court of public opinion, the public's appetite for a clash was at a fever pitch.
The Kingpin's masterful, ruthless hype machine had successfully engineered the perfect spectacle for Huang Wen to deliver a perfect knockout—the ultimate proof that Chinese Kung Fu was not just real, but terrifyingly effective. The Wing Chun Hall was about to become famous, whether it liked it or not.