CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!
A thunderous cascade of applause erupted in the Wing Chun Kwoon. It wasn't the polite, measured clapping of onlookers; this was the raw, uninhibited reaction of the students, whose eyes were wide with shock and exhilarating awe.
The sparring session, brief as it was, had been a visceral, electrifying display of power and effortless control. They had seen a terrifying force (Logan) turned into a sprawling heap on the floor by the sheer, calculated efficiency of their Master (Huang Wen).
Huang Liang, however, wasn't clapping. He was staring, his mouth slightly agape, the hot pot meal entirely forgotten.
He watched as the fearsome 'Uncle Wolf' picked himself up, frustrated but unharmed, and realized he wasn't looking at a master of Wing Chun; he was looking at a living legend. This was the pinnacle of martial arts, the rumored 'no-style' fighting philosophy made manifest.
Huang Liang walked directly up to Huang Wen, his eyes alight with a singular, consuming hunger. His voice, usually confident, was laced with fervent longing.
"Uncle-Master," he asked, dropping his formality for sheer urgency, "I just… I have to ask. Can I train here under you, truly learn your Wing Chun?"
"Of course you can, little one," Huang Wen said, his smile genuine and reassuring. He recognized the burning passion in the boy's gaze—it mirrored the passion he himself had once possessed.
"You belong to the same lineage as me; you are my junior. There's no question of if you can train here. The real question is how deeply you are willing to commit. I'll need to test your foundations first. No shortcuts, even for family. Does that sound fair?"
"Absolutely! I can do it!" Huang Liang's eyes blazed with confidence. For a teenager who had come all the way from Hong Kong to America, a simple skills test was merely a formality.
Huang Wen stepped back slightly, folding his arms. "Show me what you've learned. Start with Siu Nim Tao."
Huang Liang immediately stood tall, his stance perfectly poised. He executed a formal cup-hand salute to his potential mentor, then, with a deep, steadying breath, began the foundational routine of Wing Chun: the Little Idea.
The difference between Huang Liang and the rest of the students was immediately stark. While all of Huang Wen's current disciples had grasped the basic mechanics of Siu Nim Tao—the precise, economic movements, the centered structure, the meditative stillness—Huang Liang possessed something intangible.
His movements weren't just correct; they were alive. His posture was iron, his movements fluid yet controlled, and his breath, the source of his internal Qi, was deep and stable. There was a martial spirit behind every movement, a sense of quiet power that spoke of thousands of hours of diligent practice under a strict master.
Huang Wen watched, his composite mind—the combined wisdom of Ip Man's genius and Bai Zhantang's refined skill—analyzing every millimeter of the boy's form. This is a true talent, Huang Wen thought, a rare feeling of excitement stirring within him. A natural martial arts genius.
Soon, Huang Liang seamlessly transitioned from the static beauty of the Little Idea into the dynamic, powerful movements of Chum Kiu (Bridge-Seeking Technique). He drove his fists and elbows forward, testing the range and power of his stance, his structure remaining rock-solid even as he turned and shifted.
He's already proficient by most Kwoon standards, Huang Wen calculated quickly. If he were a little older, mastering the finer point of the Biu Jee Finger Style would push him into the 'Master' tier. At this age, he already surpasses the original Huang Wen. This isn't just a student; this is a true successor. The thought of guiding such unrefined talent was intensely appealing.
When Huang Liang completed the last move, his face was flushed not from exhaustion, but from sheer concentration. His breathing was hardly labored.
"Excellent, Huang Liang," Huang Wen praised, nodding slowly. "Now, let's see the sensitivity. Come, let's feel hands."
Huang Liang's eyes widened slightly, understanding the implication. Chi Sau (Sticky Hands) was the ultimate test of sensitivity, balance, and immediate reaction. He stepped forward eagerly, placing his hand in light contact with Huang Wen's.
The moment their forearms touched, Huang Liang felt an immediate, overwhelming force. Not physical pressure, but an immense, profound aura emanating from Huang Wen. His grandfather's touch was always solid, grounded, and skilled.
Huang Wen's touch, however, felt like touching a mountain rooted to the earth while simultaneously sensing the boundless energy of the ocean. It was unfathomable, serene, yet utterly immovable.
For a fatal second, Huang Liang was lost in awe, his mind momentarily detached from the task at hand, consumed by the sheer depth of his Uncle-Master's power.
Thump!
That flicker of distraction was all Huang Wen needed. With a subtle, almost imperceptible shift of his weight and a fractional rotation of his wrist, he didn't strike or push. He simply leveraged Huang Liang's structure and gently guided the boy's entire center of gravity away from him. Huang Liang's feet lifted, his balance utterly destroyed, and he tumbled backward.
Before he could fall completely, Huang Wen caught his wrist, steadying him instantly.
Huang Liang blinked, his dazed expression slowly clearing. The speed and effortlessness of the deflection were the final, irrefutable proof of Huang Wen's supreme skill.
Huang Wen held his gaze, his expression changing from that of a master examiner to one of genuine, paternal earnestness. "Huang Liang," he asked, his voice low and serious,
"Seeing your talent, I don't want you to be just another student in the school. I want you to be the continuation of my lineage. Would you be willing to formally take me as your Master—to become my first, official disciple?"
Huang Liang needed no further convincing. He snapped out of his daze and, without a second thought, dropped to his knees in a deep, traditional gesture of respect.
"Disciple Huang Liang formally greets Master!" he declared, his voice ringing with absolute sincerity.
"Alright, alright, get up, kid!" Huang Wen laughed, pulling him back to his feet. "Kneeling is a bit old-school, even for us. Just get me a cup of tea, and we'll make this official. We're not that far apart in age, so don't be stiff with me. Listen, you are a prodigious talent, and I know everything. As long as you show commitment, I will hold nothing back. You are my family and my successor. Now go, get the tea!"
Huang Liang, filled with infectious joy, hurried toward the stairwell, where Zhong Qiang stood, dumbfounded, pointing toward the kitchen.
Taking Huang Liang as an official, inner-door disciple was a significant step, distinct from accepting him as a general student. The students of the Kwoon had to earn the "Apprentice" level before Huang Wen would even consider them for formal discipleship. Huang Liang had skipped the entire process, becoming Huang Wen's very first, and officially, his Eldest Disciple.
Even Zhong Qiang, who shared the same generation as Huang Wen through his father, hadn't received this treatment.
Moments later, Huang Liang returned, breathless but reverent, bearing a simple cup of tea. He bowed deeply and presented it. "Master, please have some tea."
"Excellent." Huang Wen smiled, accepted the cup, and took a slow, deliberate sip. "From today forward, you are officially my Eldest Disciple, the Senior Brother of this entire Kwoon. I have high expectations for you, Huang Liang. Don't disappoint me."
"Disciple Huang Liang will certainly not disappoint Master!" the boy vowed, his voice ringing with renewed purpose.
"Good. There are spare rooms upstairs. You can stay here on weekends when you don't have classes," Huang Wen instructed, placing the teacup aside. "But listen to me, your martial arts training must never interfere with your studies. That's a promise you must keep."
Huang Liang puffed out his chest with confident pride. "Hehe, Master, don't worry about that! I'm a straight-A student! I'm already well-ahead of my courses. Practicing martial arts is my greatest passion, and frankly, acing my studies is just another fun hobby!"
"Academic genius and a martial arts prodigy," Zhong Qiang muttered from the side, shaking his head. He hadn't yet achieved the apprentice medal and felt a familiar, comedic deflation. This boy was the epitome of the dreaded "other people's child"—good at everything, everywhere.
The other students watched with a mixture of envy and respect. The power Huang Liang displayed, coupled with the Master's immediate, formal acceptance, was a clear demarcation of talent.
"Wow, the kid can barely shave, and he's already sparring at that level. And I've been trying for a month just to get the apprentice medal…" a lanky, spectacled Black man mumbled to himself, looking slightly dejected. This man was Max, a part-time student and full-time electrician. "I only get a little time to practice after I get off work, and then maybe on weekends like today…"
Ring! Ring!
Max's cellphone blared, interrupting his self-pity. He glanced at the screen, his shoulders immediately slumping as he saw the caller ID: his demanding boss. He answered with a weary, resigned "Hello?"
"Hey, Max, you! The main circuit breaker on the 4th floor just blew out again. Get over here right now and fix it!"
"Yes, I'm on my way…" Max's voice was filled with reluctance. He bowed apologetically toward Huang Wen. "I'm sorry, Master. I have an emergency call from work. I have to leave now."
"Go ahead, Max," Huang Wen said, nodding. He looked directly at the man. "When you're done, you can come back anytime you have the time. You know, Max, your progress is a little slow, but you are the most dedicated man here."
Max froze, staring wide-eyed at Huang Wen. His mouth hung slightly open. "T-Teacher… you know my name?"
"Of course I know your name, Max Dillon," Huang Wen replied, a gentle smile touching his lips. "You may not come often, but you are always the last one to leave, and you practice every form with an intensity the others lack. I notice dedication. Keep that fire burning, and strive to get that Apprentice Medal soon. I believe in you."
The simple, sincere recognition from the man who had just effortlessly defeated Wolverine struck Max with the force of an actual electric shock. He felt a surge of validation and raw determination unlike anything he had ever felt before.
"Thank you, Master! I will! I promise, I will!" Max bowed deeply, almost frantically, and then, galvanized by the rare, kind word, he sprinted out the door, the urgency of his repair job momentarily eclipsed by the promise of his potential.
"It seems being an ordinary person here isn't easy," Huang Liang commented softly, watching Max's hurried departure with a look of youthful pity. He turned back to his Master, his mind eager to return to the real topic. "Master, when will you start teaching the techniques of the advanced Finger Style?"
"The Finger Style can't wait, can it?" Huang Wen laughed, feeling a distinct warmth at the boy's eagerness. He glanced around the bustling hall, his smile fading slightly. The Kwoon is getting too small.
The training space was adequate for basic forms, but for advanced lessons, secret techniques, and the occasional battle with a superhuman—not to mention the sheer noise of Logan's hot pot consumption—the current setup felt restrictive.
"Come upstairs with me now, Huang Liang. We'll start your first lesson immediately," Huang Wen instructed, turning toward the private quarters stairwell.
I need more space, he decided internally, a new, architectural ambition taking root. The hall needs to be partitioned, and perhaps… perhaps it's time to seriously look into building a dedicated, state-of-the-art basement training facility.
A man needs a private, hidden space to train his Eldest Disciple and fight the odd immortal wolf, after all.