The following day, New York City woke up to news that caused a seismic shift in the city's atmosphere: the two largest criminal enterprises, notorious for controlling the city's dark underbelly, had been decisively dismantled by a swift, unprecedented police operation.
The broadcast was a masterclass in controlled narrative: it celebrated the bravery of the officers and confirmed that the leadership of both the 'Hammerhead Syndicate' and the 'Tombstone Gang' had been 'neutralized' in a violent exchange, marking a huge, immediate surge in public safety and police morale.
What the average New Yorker didn't know was the chilling truth: these weren't just two large gangs. These were the two remaining factions vying for control beneath the single, unified banner of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin. The public believed a war had been won; Fisk knew a consolidation had been completed.
Meanwhile, Detective Sergeant Jack's political machine was already operating at maximum efficiency.
With the overwhelming evidence of the former Precinct Chief's collusion now firmly in the hands of the First Deputy Commissioner, the Chief was gone—arrested and facing a barrage of investigations personally spearheaded by the very man who was meant to protect him, Chief Inspector Duke. The narrative was clean: a corrupt captain purged by the righteous system.
Jack, simultaneously hailed as the hero of the bust, spent his day in a blur of meetings, strategically positioning his most loyal men for promotions within the 21st Precinct. His own elevation was now a matter of paperwork and press conferences.
Before diving into the political fray, he made sure Max, the newly minted "Brave Civilian Hero," was thoroughly coached on his official statement, cementing the plausible, clean story.
Back at the Wing Chun martial arts school, the atmosphere was thick, charged with an uncomfortable, unspoken tension.
The students who had answered the call to battle the night before—the 'comrades-in-arms'—had forged an absolute, unbreakable bond. They moved differently, spoke differently, and viewed their remaining peers with an almost involuntary measure of cool detachment.
They had shared something fundamental: a willingness to stand and fight when others ran. They had seen real blood, and they had dealt real pain.
The rest of the students, those who had fled when the situation turned serious, felt the change acutely. They were treated not with malice, but with a quiet, dismissive distance. The unspoken consensus among the fighters was clear: they were deserters, and they held no place in the brotherhood of those who had stayed.
They were merely paying members of a gym, and the true martial arts school was no longer their home. They shifted awkwardly, their guilt and discomfort growing with every shared look.
This rift was exactly what Huang Wen had wanted, though he never commented on it. His primary relationship with the majority of his students remained that of a teacher running a commercial dojo. He offered instruction, they paid fees.
He only invested genuine personal time and focus on those who demonstrated exceptional commitment, talent, or, crucially, loyalty when tested. The small, hardened core that fought last night now had his full, undivided attention.
Upstairs, on the school's quieter second floor, Huang Wen was dedicating his focus entirely to Huang Liang. The young man's performance had been exceptional for a beginner, but his fundamental flaws were now glaringly obvious to his Master.
"Come at me now, Huang Liang. Use the same opening move you used to put those thugs on the ground last night," Huang Wen instructed, his stance relaxed but his eyes intensely focused.
"Yes, Master!" Huang Liang didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, snapping a rapid, powerful Wing Chun punch directly aimed at Huang Wen's exposed throat—a textbook vital point strike. Yesterday, this move had dropped at least five gangsters instantly.
"Smack!"
Before the blow even covered half the distance, Huang Wen's hand shot out with blinding speed, not just blocking but catching the fist.
"Bang!"
With a subtle, economical twist of his wrist and a downward press, Huang Wen leveraged Huang Liang's own momentum, sending the young man tumbling backward, crashing onto the wooden floor with a shocked grunt.
Huang Liang rubbed his stinging back as he scrambled to his feet. "Master, I… I don't quite understand," he admitted, scratching his head in confusion. "Does this mean my speed or striking force is simply too inferior to yours? Are you telling me I need to focus on pure reaction speed?"
"No, not at all." Huang Wen shook his head, his tone serious and didactic. "Your technique is flawed because your intent is too loud. Your goal was obvious from the moment your feet moved. Attacking a vital point directly is indeed the most efficient way to end a confrontation quickly," he acknowledged. "And against common street thugs or untrained opponents, that attack is perfect, because they lack the experience and refined reflexes to effectively defend their own weak points."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But against an experienced fighter—one who has trained seriously, faced death, and understands counter-offense—such an obvious, vital-point commitment is an invitation. It exposes your own central line and your momentum. It tells your enemy exactly where you are focused."
"When confronting a true veteran, you cannot immediately reveal your ultimate intention. You must learn to feign an attack, to probe and search for a flaw that the opponent reveals, and only then strike with your strongest, most decisive means."
Huang Wen offered a small, knowing smile. "Of course, if the power gap is immense, like it was yesterday—where you were far stronger and faster than your opponents—then these techniques are undeniably the quickest and least taxing way to end the fight. But you must train for the fights where the difference is small, where tactics matter."
"I understand, Master," Huang Liang responded, his brow furrowed in concentration. He recognized the truth in the teaching. A true combatant would never leave a vital point unguarded unless it was a deliberate trap. The easy attack was often the one that hid a devastating counter.
"Good." Huang Wen's expression immediately became somber again, signaling a shift to a far more profound lesson. "The physical training is perpetual, but time for the internal is short. The school's renovation begins soon, and I will be leaving Chinatown for a time to travel and investigate. I must equip you with essential self-defense now. Tell me, how far have you progressed with the esoteric finger work I taught you?"
"It is… progressing, Master," Huang Liang replied cautiously, unsure of the required standard.
"Show me your form."
Huang Liang immediately adopted a precise stance, his hands weaving the intricate, lightning-fast motions of the finger technique Huang Wen had instructed him to practice religiously.
"Fingers like the swift wind! Momentum like a sudden flash of lightning!"
"Your finger strength is substantial, and your speed is acceptable for your stage," Huang Wen noted, a subtle hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. Huang Liang's inherent academic talent made him an exceptional student. "And the theoretical part? Have you committed every detail of the acupoints, meridians, and energy pathways to memory?"
"I have memorized every diagram and name!" This time, Huang Liang's voice was firm. As a former top student and a bona fide genius, memorization was his strongest asset.
"Excellent. Then we move to the next level," Huang Wen declared. "I will now teach you the art of cultivating Internal Energy—Nei Jin. This is an entirely distinct discipline from Wing Chun, belonging to the ancient path of true martial arts. I expect you to practice it without fail."
Huang Wen pointed to a clear spot on the floor and indicated that Huang Liang should sit cross-legged. Once settled, Huang Wen placed his hand gently yet firmly on Huang Liang's back, aligning himself with the young man's center of gravity.
"Focus. You must memorize the precise trajectory of the force I guide into your body now!" Huang Wen's grave voice resonated in Huang Liang's ear.
Immediately afterward, a subtle, barely perceptible surge of energy—a weak, non-descript internal force derived from the nameless Sunflower Sect technique—entered Huang Liang's body. This was a minuscule fraction of Huang Wen's full power, a carefully measured dosage small enough that it would not shatter a beginner's untested system, yet potent enough to initiate the process.
"Hiss!"
Despite the minuscule nature of the force, the feeling was excruciating. It was like a scalpel of pure heat tracing lines inside his nerves and blood vessels. Huang Liang's face instantly went pale, his muscles twitching involuntarily as he struggled to maintain his meditation posture.
"Did you capture the entire flow?" Huang Wen asked after what felt like an eternity, his voice a low, steady rumble.
"A-almost… I'm still short a few key junctions," Huang Liang managed to grit out, forcing the words past clenched teeth. "Master, please, if you would, channel it once more."
"Very well." Huang Wen's gaze hardened with approval. This dedication amidst pain was the mark of a true disciple. He nodded and once more circulated the weak, borrowed internal energy. He guided it through Huang Liang's system, using the subtle current to gently—and agonizingly—widen and clear the key meridians. This process was the foundation-laying work that would save Huang Liang years of painful, slow cultivation.
The internal energy completed its circuit, then settled back into Huang Liang's Dantian, the core energy center of the body. Only a trace remained—a warm, faint wisp.
This small amount was the absolute minimum required: the seed for Huang Liang to begin cultivating his own internal power. Any more, and the foreign energy would have been too much for his untested physical frame to integrate and convert into his personal power.
"Here. Drink this now." Huang Wen stood, returning a moment later with a steaming bowl of dark, viscous liquid that smelled strongly of earth and spice. He handed it to the trembling Huang Liang.
"Ginseng, wolfberry, atractylodes macrocephala, Reishi mushroom…" Huang Liang, whose family's pharmaceutical background gave him an educated nose, immediately recognized the dominant herbal tonics. He knew Huang Wen was giving him something profoundly beneficial to recover and solidify the process.
"Drink it quickly. It's not just those herbs you named. This is a special tonic, brewed in a precise proportion to support what I just transferred to you," Huang Wen instructed, gesturing for him to drink it while it was still hot.
Knowing he had no choice and trusting his Master completely, Huang Liang took the bowl, inhaled sharply against the potent smell, and drained the concoction in one burning gulp.
A sudden, fierce wave of warmth, coupled with a mild, pleasant euphoria, spread through his body, soothing the residual pain in his meridians. His focus sharpened to an incredible degree.
In that perfect moment, he heard Huang Wen's clear voice speaking directly into his ear, cutting through the physical sensation: "Sit cross-legged, clear your mind, silently recite the cultivation mantra I showed you, and focus entirely on circulating that tiny seed of energy in your Dantian. Now. Cultivate your internal power!"
"Yes, Master!" Huang Liang replied with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed. He sat rigidly cross-legged, closed his eyes, and began the silent, determined recitation.
He had no perception of time—it could have been minutes or hours. All that existed was the dark, empty space of his mind, the rhythmic mantra, and the faint, warm wisp of energy in his abdomen. He willed it to move, following the prescribed path.
Finally, a distinct, subtle tremor ran through his Dantian. The wisp of energy obeyed, leaving its core and beginning its agonizingly slow journey through the central meridians. It completed the grand circuit and returned to the Dantian, infinitesimally weaker than before, but now completely and absolutely his own.
He had succeeded. Huang Liang had cultivated his first, tiny thread of Internal Energy. The path of the Ancient Martial Arts had just been opened to him.