The massive, looming presence of Benson in the shattered doorway was the trigger.
Subconsciously, a wave of scalding, inherited rage surged through Huang Wen's chest. It wasn't entirely his own fury—it was the bitter, blinding resentment of the original host. To the dead son, this towering slab of muscle was the undisputed villain, the cowardly puppet master who had orchestrated Sifu Huang Hong's execution.
"Kid! I heard you're still sniffing around your monkey father's death?" Benson's voice was a low, grating sneer that grated on Huang Wen's nerves. The huge man stepped fully into the light, his shadow swallowing the training hall's entrance.
Monkey father? This guy has some serious brass.
A mocking, ugly smile pulled at Benson's thick lips. "You're just as reckless as the old monkey. You mess with the wrong people, you get put down. Simple as that."
As he spoke, Benson's fists clenched, the muscles in his forearms bulging like ropes. He took a heavy, deliberate step toward Huang Wen, his expression darkening into a truly ferocious, murderous mask. The air immediately thickened with palpable hostility.
Huang Wen's body reacted instantly, powered by its deep, martial arts-trained muscle memory. Before his conscious mind could even process the threat, his feet had already shuffled into a low, balanced stance, his forearms crossing defensively near his chest.
It was an instinctive, flawless Wing Chun guard.
Benson was mid-stride, ready to charge and intimidate this skinny, mournful kid into silence, but the moment he saw the stance—the sheer, ingrained readiness—a flicker of something cold and cautious cut through his rage. It was pure, unadulterated fear.
He saw not the heartbroken son, but the ghost of the man who had effortlessly beaten him ten days ago, the man whose hands had nearly ended his life. The muscle memory radiating off the kid was too sharp, too precise. He hesitated, abruptly braking his charge.
"Kid!" Benson spat the word out, trying to mask his sudden cold feet. He wasn't going to risk getting flattened again just to deliver a threat. The payoff wasn't worth the risk. "If you really want to know how your monkey father died, come to this address!"
He abruptly turned, his massive frame seeming to pivot away from the danger. He didn't wait for a response, retreating through the ruined doorway and disappearing back into the bustling street noise of Chinatown, leaving the broken door as a physical statement of intent.
Huang Wen's arm, still trembling slightly from the sheer, inherited anger, shot out purely on instinct and caught the folded slip of paper Benson had tossed. He unfolded it and stared at the handwritten address. It was the location of the underground ring, the very spot where Sifu Huang Hong had won his final victory.
An obvious trap. A butcher's invitation.
The flame of rage roared back to life, compelling him to crush the note. He had to clench his teeth to fight the urge to run out and chase the brute down.
"BEEP!"
The sudden electronic sound was sharp and intrusive, instantly shattering the tension. It sounded less like a cosmic summoning and more like a cheap, low-battery alarm clock.
What the hell?
"Domestic Film and Television Lottery is now available…" a synthesized, genderless voice announced in his head. It was flat, slightly tinny, and utterly devoid of epic gravitas.
"Ding! Successfully linked to the Domestic Film and Television Lottery!"
Huang Wen blinked, the crumpled note forgotten in his hand. A slow, incredulous grin stretched across his face.
"Oh, thank the heavens," he whispered, a huge wave of relief washing over him. "The standard-issue transmigrator kit finally arrived. This trip wasn't a complete waste, then."
He felt the immediate, powerful reassurance that only a System can provide. If he was here now, with this impossibly strong body, and a cheat sheet to boot, then he was going to make this new life count. He was no longer the tragic victim of a gym fight; he was the protagonist of his own reborn adventure.
Especially when he factored in that unbelievable 15 points of physical Essence he'd somehow inherited, plus nearly twenty years of embedded Wing Chun expertise.
I might not know the forms yet, but the memory is locked in the muscle. It'll just take practice. The body remembers what the mind has forgotten. I can recover the full skill set!
But after the successful binding announcement, the System fell silent again. No grand monologue, no mission briefing, just... quiet.
"System?" Huang Wen called out hesitantly, expecting an audio response.
Instead, a page of clean, stark holographic blue text shimmered into existence just above his line of sight, like an internal pop-up ad that couldn't be dismissed:
Host: Huang Wen
Essence (Physical Qualities): 15 Points (Peak for Ordinary People: 10 Points; Human Limit: 20 Points)
Qi (Internal Force/Magical Power): 0 Points
Spirit (Soul/Divine Soul): 1 Point (Currently Unactivated)
Skill: Wing Chun Master (Currently Unactivated)
Evaluation: As someone who has practiced martial arts for many years, once you master your own strength and skills, your physical power far surpasses that of ordinary people. You possess an excellent foundation for future growth.
Huang Wen's eyebrows shot up. This was less a system and more a highly detailed video game stats screen, but the numbers were the true shocker.
"Fifteen points of Essence? Holy smokes."
He internally parsed the metrics. The 10-point "Peak for Ordinary People" wasn't just any regular adult; it was a well-trained, dedicated athlete—a former version of himself, the fitness obsessive. The 20-point "Human Limit" represented the absolute, record-breaking pinnacle of human physiological potential.
If the old Olympic champions, who usually excel in only one field, average around 12 points overall, then my 15 points is already in the realm of the truly extraordinary. This body is a walking anomaly.
He felt a deep thrill. Coupled with the locked Wing Chun mastery, he was practically a pre-built combat machine. If I went back to those underground fights now, I'd retire undefeated by noon.
His eyes then landed on a small, glowing button in the bottom right corner of the holographic display. He mentally nudged it, and the screen instantly shifted.
Currently Available Tasks:
Investigate the Cause of Death: Determine the true circumstances behind Sifu Huang Hong's death. Reward: One Extraordinary Item Draw.
Vengeance: Avenging the original host's father. Reward: One Extraordinary Skill Draw.
Promote the Hall: Successfully attract an Extraordinary Person as a disciple to the Martial Arts Hall. Reward: One Extraordinary Character Draw.
Karma Settlement: Complete the above tasks to completely settle the original host's karma. You will be fully recognized as Huang Wen of this world; your anomaly will be undetectable.
Accept Missions?
"Extraordinary? Item Draw? Skill Draw? Character Draw?" Huang Wen's mind went into overdrive, calculating probabilities and potential rewards.
As if sensing his rising curiosity, the System immediately projected an overlay of information explaining the lottery system. The "Domestic Film and Television Lottery" pulls characters, skills, and items from the vast, and often ridiculous, universe of Chinese TV series, movies, and animated works.
The Character Draw is clearly the jackpot—you get all the abilities, spirit, skills, and gear of the selected character.
He learned that the lottery tiers were categorized from Mortal (the junk) all the way up through Extraordinary, Legendary, Epic, Fabled, and finally, Mythical.
"Mythical... in domestic film and television?" Huang Wen chuckled, half-skeptical, half-awe-struck. "Wait, is this world Marvel or Wuxia? Never mind, I'll take it."
He knew exactly what guaranteed that Mythical tier: the sheer, insane power creep of certain Chinese classics. He mentally conjured images of the Monkey King, Sun Wukong, and other god-tier mythological figures from Journey to the West, a story remade and reimagined countless times.
If I can get a slice of that, Thanos can come and go as he pleases. I'll just teach him the Golden-Hooped Staff technique.
"Extraordinary…" His eyes shone.
The immediate problem, however, was simple: Benson, and the gun.
"With my current physical stats, once I get familiar with the Wing Chun choreography, Benson is just a punching bag. The only real threat is American 'freedom,' meaning firearms. If I get sniped, I'll follow Sifu Huang Hong straight into the ground."
He quickly settled on the strategy. Task 1, Investigate, was the easiest starting point. He needed information, and the threat of a beating was usually a good lubricant for a villain's mouth.
"I can accept the mission, spend a couple of weeks training this body, and then deal with Benson. That way, I minimize the risk of a lucky shot and maximize my chances of getting that first Item Draw."
He slammed his internal decision down. "I accept!"
His consciousness clicked the invisible button.
"Task accepted successfully. Please remember to claim your newbie gift pack," the System chirped, the tone now sounding slightly warmer, like a customer service bot trying too hard.
A completely new, tiny button shaped like a wrapped present instantly materialized and began pulsating in the corner of the task page. Huang Wen hadn't noticed it before, but now that the mission was accepted, the System was practically demanding he open it.
Of course. Always check for freebies. He smiled, feeling the true beginning of his Marvel adventure.