Huang Wen remained completely unmoved by Zhong Qiang's dramatically loud complaints. He wasn't some naive, inexperienced tutor; his memory streams contained the detailed, refined training knowledge of both the legendary Master Ip Man and the highly skilled martial artist Huang Hong, coupled with the esoteric internal and external conditioning techniques of Bai Zhantang.
He knew precisely how to push Zhong Qiang to his physical limits without causing permanent injury or burnout.
The task of improving Zhong Qiang's physical constitution, specifically forcing him to gain weight and bulk up his notoriously light frame, was entirely manageable. It required discipline, diligent practice of the forms, and a relentless eating schedule.
That's why Huang Wen had delegated the Hall's operational chores entirely to Reece Fisk; Zhong Qiang's only focus needed to be his martial arts and his caloric intake.
Even Uncle Zhong, a man whose primary concern was his son's health, wholeheartedly supported Huang Wen's demanding regimen when informed during dinner. He saw his son's naturally wiry frame as a sign of weakness, and anything that promised to build strength and resilience was fine by him.
Zhong Qiang, utterly abandoned by every sympathetic figure in his life, could only surrender to his fate. He was doomed to be perpetually sweaty and constantly stuffing his face.
That evening, after the last apprentice had been swept out and the Wing Chun Hall was locked down, Huang Wen led Logan upstairs.
"We have three spare rooms here," Huang Wen gestured toward the available doors. "This one, the smallest, was my father's room—it's cozy. The other two are slightly larger. Take your pick."
Logan didn't hesitate. He pointed to the room closest to the staircase, the one positioned to hear everything happening in the Hall and to give him the fastest egress to the outside. "I'll take that one." He moved toward the door, then paused, turning back to face Huang Wen.
"Consider this a professional courtesy warning, kid. You're tough, maybe the strongest human fighter I've ever met, but my instincts are sharper than anything you've got. I can smell trouble coming a mile away."
"I'm counting on it, Uncle Wolf," Huang Wen replied, offering a slight bow of genuine respect for the mutant's prowess. "That's part of the package. May you find some peace in your new quarters."
Logan simply nodded and disappeared inside, the door clicking shut. He didn't bother checking the furniture or the state of the bedding. He was used to sleeping in ditches. He walked straight to the window, checked the fire escape, and then lay down on the mattress.
He had no luggage, no change of clothes—just the worn-out jeans and leather jacket he'd been wearing, having walked straight into Huang Wen's trap after chasing a rumor of quick money.
He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing. The sounds of the city—the sirens, the distant shouts, the rumbling traffic—were immediately processed and filtered by his preternaturally sharp hearing.
Twitch.
Just as his consciousness was beginning to drift into the shallow sleep of a predator, Logan's ears twitched violently. He didn't just hear something; he heard a discontinuity. A disturbance in the air currents that shouldn't exist, followed by the faintest possible sound of fabric moving on plaster.
His eyes snapped open. He instantly knew the source of the anomaly was coming from the Grandmaster's room, and it was moving out the window, onto the roof.
"Something strange is definitely afoot," he muttered, leaping out of bed and heading straight for his own window. "What in the hell are the odds? Trouble finds me even when I'm getting paid to sit on my ass! This kid is going to prove valuable after all."
Ten minutes earlier, Huang Wen had watched Logan enter his room, then returned to his own. The moment he crossed the threshold, he summoned the black Magical Tuxedo and the new Slow Motion Glasses.
He slipped the tailored suit on—it felt like a second skin, comfortable and powerful. He put on the glasses. They do look cool, he thought. The reason for wearing sunglasses late at night was pure aesthetics, coupled with the system's note that they were the perfect complement to the suit.
Huang Wen didn't activate the slow-motion function yet. He opened his window, smoothly vaulted onto the fire escape, and then, after ensuring the area was clear, he engaged the tuxedo's Invisibility Mode.
He climbed onto the roof, moving with the practiced, silent flow of Bai Zhantang's lightness skill. He was a shadow within the shadows, a truly invisible phantom traversing the concrete tiles.
Or so he thought.
He stopped suddenly, sensing—or rather, feeling a sudden, intense shift in the atmosphere behind him. He looked back, utterly bewildered, as he saw the unmistakable silhouette of Logan appearing on the roof, having just climbed out of the window.
What in the actual hell? Huang Wen thought, panicking slightly. I'm invisible! I'm completely invisible right now! How did he—
The realization hit him like a physical blow, a sudden, cold dose of reality: his invisibility was purely optical. His body was still moving; it was still displacing air, generating microscopic heat (even if the tuxedo suppressed the large infrared signature), and creating the most subtle sounds of friction and movement.
Logan's senses weren't limited to his eyes. His beastly radar could detect the movement of air currents and the tiny acoustic signatures that even the highest-level lightness skill couldn't completely eliminate. Logan was a walking, talking, nearly two-hundred-year-old sensory apparatus.
God help me. That's terrifying, Huang Wen realized. The suit is only stealthy against humans and low-level tech. Against a true predator, it's just a cool party trick.
Logan stopped about fifteen meters away, his posture low, every muscle coiled. He was staring directly at the space where Huang Wen was standing.
"Can't see squat," Logan growled, his voice a low rumble. "So, you're one of those sneaky types, huh? An invisible freak. What's your game, coming to the Wing Chun Hall? Trying to cause trouble? Are you another one of Erik's scouts?"
Logan extended his claws. SNIKT. The sound of Adamantium sliding free of bone was brutally loud in the night air.
"I'd advise you to drop the cloaking device, whatever it is," Logan continued, his voice dangerously soft. "Your invisibility means nothing to me. I can hear your damn heart beating, and I can smell the trace of cheap cologne you're wearing. Show yourself, right now!"
Huang Wen sighed, utterly defeated. His big dramatic reveal was ruined by his employee's freakishly superior hearing.
"It's me, Uncle Wolf," he murmured, allowing the tuxedo to slowly fade out of the optical invisibility mode.
Logan watched the space in front of him shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt, until Huang Wen materialized—standing there, looking entirely too suave and ridiculous in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, complete with slick black sunglasses in the middle of the night.
The moment of tension was instantly replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated awkwardness. Logan was holding razor-sharp metal claws at his boss, who was dressed like a superspy with a bizarre penchant for late-night fashion.
Logan slowly retracted his claws. SHLUKT.
"Well, I'll be damned," Logan drawled, shaking his head. "The boss has a full-on vigilante fetish, huh? What in the actual hell were you doing, sneaking out the window in that suit? And what's with the shades, tough guy? You look like a budget secret agent who lost his ride."
Logan squinted, his suspicion immediately pivoting back to the mutant question. "And more importantly, you told me you weren't a mutant! What kind of power is that? Invisibility? That's sneaky, but I gotta give you credit for the fancy wardrobe."
"It's not a mutant power, Uncle Wolf," Huang Wen explained, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. He tapped his jacket. "It's technology. High-grade material science, courtesy of a… generous sponsor. And these sunglasses? Also high-tech. Perfectly match the suit, don't they?"
"Handsome, yes. But ridiculous, absolutely," Logan retorted, stepping closer. "Who wears sunglasses when there's no sun out? Wait a second…" Logan paused, his eyes narrowing again, this time with a lecherous, knowing look.
"High-tech sunglasses in the middle of the night? Can they, uh… see through things? Like walls? Or… clothes? Boss, you're supposed to be a martial arts master, not some kinda creepy perv with X-ray glasses, are ya?" Logan let out a long, exaggerated, contemptuous sound.
The accusation stung. Huang Wen's cheeks flushed slightly under the judgment of the two-hundred-year-old warrior.
"Don't talk nonsense!" Huang Wen snapped, genuinely indignant, though he couldn't deny the tempting possibility of the upgrade. "My glasses are for tactical vision only! They do not have any lewd functions! I'm a man of honor, Uncle Wolf!"
"Oh, sure you are," Logan scoffed, clearly enjoying the Grandmaster's discomfort. "So, if they don't have those… functions," he smirked, "then why are you wearing a stealth suit and tactical specs up here instead of being in bed? You gotta be doing something shady, or something… vigilante-like."
"That's not far off," Huang Wen conceded, dropping the playful facade and adopting a serious expression that instantly silenced Logan. "I'm not a typical vigilante, but I am hunting a ghost right now. I have an enemy I need to track down, a target that won't be visible during the day."
Logan's gaze sharpened, the teasing gone, replaced by the grim focus of a hunter. "Ah. The man responsible for your father's death."
He nodded slowly. "I understand. You're scouting. Looking for weaknesses, patterns, a safe way to strike. That makes a lot more sense than the midnight fashion show." Logan took a deep breath, his expression hardening. "I owe your old man for giving me a fight, and I owe you for the job. You were about to do some dangerous work—a good way to get yourself killed before you even draw blood."
Logan retracted his last remaining claw. "Look, I know what you're doing. You go do what you need to do, Boss. But next time you sneak out, try to remember I don't rely on my damn eyes. I'll be inside, keeping the Hall clear. Don't worry; I didn't see anything, and I certainly didn't hear you mention any invisibility or high-tech glasses. Understood?"
"Understood, Uncle Wolf. Thank you." Huang Wen appreciated the professionalism and the unexpected, fierce loyalty.
Logan gave him one final, appraising look—a look that said, You're a weird kid, but you're also strong —then turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the window frame.
Left alone on the rooftop, Huang Wen let out a genuine, helpless sigh. He shook his head at the embarrassment of his foiled stealth mission. He adjusted his glasses, engaged the tuxedo's Invisibility function once more, and this time, he moved with agonizing slowness and precision, relying more on his knowledge of air currents than his own speed, as he finally melted into the New York night.