"Great-grandfather…" Huang Wen chuckled, waving a hand dismissively at the complex genealogy the earnest boy was proposing.
"Let's not get too caught up in the specifics of generations. We're both products of the Wing Chun tree. Since your great-grandfather was a disciple of the Grandmaster, and I am the successor here—if we only count our individual training—we are technically peers. But if we include your father's line, which you certainly should, then yes, I suppose I would be your Senior Uncle."
Huang Liang, his face solemn yet beaming with respect, immediately stood up again, pushing his Folding Stool aside. He executed a flawless, respectful cup-hand salute. "Wing Chun, Huang Liang greets Uncle-Master Huang Wen!"
"Sit down, kid. I run a relaxed school here, none of that rigid old-world hierarchy," Huang Wen replied, reciprocating the salute with a slightly less formal gesture. "Good to have a family member nearby. Now, get back to eating before Uncle Logan finishes all the meat. And remember, since you're family, feel free to stop by the martial arts school anytime you need anything at all."
Huang Liang grinned, immediately dropping the formality. Since he was officially recognized as kin and a fellow sect member, he no longer hesitated as he had with Uncle Zhong. He picked up his chopsticks and resumed his attack on the hot pot, his eyes, however, fixed on Huang Wen with a bright, curious intensity.
"Uncle-Master," he began excitedly between bites, "since you're running a school in the U.S., have you crossed paths with Jeet Kune Do? I mean, the original, most authentic school that Bruce Lee established. How is that legacy doing over here?"
Huang Wen paused, thoughtfully stirring the broth. "There are definitely many Jeet Kune Do schools scattered across the States," he confirmed. "It's a popular style. However, authentic schools are harder to find, especially in New York's Chinatown. The most historically significant one, the original institute where Bruce Lee taught, is out in San Francisco. It would take quite a trip to see it."
"Ah, a pilgrimage would be worth it, just to see the birthplace of the style," Huang Liang sighed, a hint of deep admiration and genuine regret in his eyes. "It's such a pity that Bruce Lee left us so young. If he had lived, I truly believe he would have completed the evolution of Jeet Kune Do and cemented his vision for the future of martial arts worldwide."
At the mention of the name, Logan's hand, holding his chopsticks, froze mid-air.
"Bruce Lee…" Logan mumbled, the name rolling off his tongue with a strange sense of familiarity. For Logan, who had lived for over a century and been subjected to memory erasure, a familiar name was like a spark on dry tinder. His brow furrowed deeply, the usually gruff, simple look replaced by one of intense, internal concentration.
Fragments. The name had triggered a cascade of disjointed memories, images flashing through his mind like a broken projector reel.
He saw the busy, bohemian streets of what he now recognized as San Francisco, decades ago. He saw himself, younger, before the adamantium process, still a relentless wanderer, relying on his savage strength and hard-won combat experience.
He remembered meeting a man—a slight, incredibly fast man with an infectious, rapid-fire way of speaking and an almost manic thirst for knowledge.
That man was Bruce Lee.
At that time, Lee was intensely studying, deconstructing, and reconstructing fighting styles from every corner of the globe, synthesizing them into his nascent philosophy of comprehensive free combat.
When Lee had learned that this massive, hairy man (Logan) possessed an amalgamation of brutal, unique fighting techniques—gained from fighting in wars, duels, and bar brawls across three continents—he had been ecstatic. Bruce Lee didn't ask for a fight; he asked for a consultation, a sparring session where the exchange of knowledge was paramount.
Logan vividly recalled that Lee's physical speed and power then, while still superhuman by normal standards, hadn't quite matched Logan's own raw, healing-factor-fueled might. But his technique, his fighting mind, and especially his instantaneous reaction time were astonishing. Lee moved with a liquid efficiency that surpassed even Logan's honed animal instincts.
Logan remembered thinking that Lee's philosophical fighting spirit and his bodily reactions were almost a match for his own predator's awareness. They sparred for days, exchanging knowledge, with Lee absorbing everything Logan had to offer about western boxing, stick fighting, and military combat techniques.
Logan's eyes, which had been distant, snapped back to focus in the present.
All those techniques… all that experience… I had forgotten them! He realized that when he fought before—when he fought Huang Wen—he had been relying almost purely on instinct, raw strength, and his healing factor. The refined, learned combat skills, the decades of martial experience he had shared with Bruce Lee, had been locked away in the trauma-ridden corners of his mind.
A powerful, electric excitement surged through Logan. He wasn't just a powerful beast anymore; he was a skilled fighter again. He looked directly at Huang Wen, his newly awakened, combat-wise gaze burning.
"Come on, Huang Wen," Logan said, his voice deeper and more resonant than usual, lacking its usual lazy drawl. "Let's spar. Right now!"
"Huh? Already? Uncle Logan, you just finished eating!" Zhong Qiang looked at the mutant with wide-eyed surprise. Over the past month, Zhong Qiang had grown familiar with Logan's monstrous strength and unique presence, even vaguely suspecting that Logan was something more than human.
"Alright," Huang Wen agreed easily, rising from the table. The sudden shift in Logan's demeanor hadn't gone unnoticed. "I've mostly finished. Rhys can come take my place."
"A spar? I want to see this!" Huang Liang exclaimed, jumping up with palpable enthusiasm. A Wing Chun practitioner getting to witness a sparring match between two top-tier fighters in the U.S. was an opportunity not to be missed.
"Come along then," Huang Wen said, leading the way with a slight smile.
They walked the short distance from the hot pot dining area to the training hall. A few persevering students were running through their forms, supervised by Rhys Fisk, who was casually leaning against a wall, observing the drill.
"Teacher, finished already?" Rhys walked over to greet Huang Wen, but his eyes quickly darted to Logan. Rhys had a distinct air of unease. "Mr. Logan... is everything alright?"
Rhys Fisk knew far more about Logan than anyone else in the room, except perhaps Huang Wen. Rhys had relayed Logan's description to the Kingpin, who, with his vast network, had quickly identified the mutant known throughout the shadowy global underworld as Wolverine.
The legend of the Undying Wolf was highly respected, even feared. Rhys felt a profound, almost dizzying respect mixed with fear for the man standing next to him.
"Perfectly fine, Rhys. You go and eat. Uncle Wolf here wants to test his new moves," Huang Wen replied calmly. He turned to the students. "Alright, everyone! Clear the floor! Uncle Wolf and I are going to spar. Let's see some good distance!"
The students, instantly energized by the prospect of watching their master fight the giant, fearsome 'Uncle Wolf,' quickly scattered and formed a large perimeter.
Logan stepped into the center of the training area. He offered Huang Wen a formal, traditional cup-hand salute, but his eyes held a seriousness Huang Wen hadn't seen before.
"Be careful, Huang Wen," Logan warned, the words a low growl. "I'm not the same fighter I was a month ago."
And he wasn't. Logan's stance was suddenly different—lower, more balanced. His aura was no longer that of a purely instinctual animal, but of a seasoned warrior, a predator tempered by decades of calculated combat. He was a beast infused with wisdom.
He knew exactly where his opponent's weakness would be, how to feint, and how to maximize the brutal efficiency of his superior strength and healing factor. Of course, he kept his adamantium claws sheathed; this was a test of skill, not a fight to the death.
With a sudden, explosive burst of speed that shocked the watching students, Logan launched forward. His hands, though lacking the steel claws, were shaped like razor-sharp wolf claws, aimed not for simple force but for debilitating pressure points.
He executed a sophisticated combination, feinting a strike to the head before twisting his hips and driving a powerful, turning heel-kick toward Huang Wen's ribs.
SNAP!
Huang Wen moved like a phantom. He didn't meet the kick with a block. Instead, he deftly sidestepped the kick, caught Logan's attacking wrist with a precise trapping motion, and used the force of Logan's own momentum to pull him off balance. Simultaneously, Huang Wen fired off a lightning-fast Wing Chun straight kick straight at Logan's abdomen.
BANG!
Logan was prepared. His other hand, the one not trapped, moved with incredible speed, intercepting Huang Wen's kick before it could land cleanly. The collision of their limbs was sharp and forceful. Logan felt the immense kinetic energy of the impact travel up his arm, forcing a grunt from him, while Huang Wen took a mere two steps backward to dissipate the force.
But Logan was not deterred. He performed a swift, powerful backward somersault—a move far too acrobatic for a man his size, clearly a technique recalled from his memory—springing back onto his feet instantly.
Without pause, he charged forward again, this time utilizing a series of rapid, low-line hand strikes mixed with powerful grappling maneuvers, clearly employing a mix of Jiu-Jitsu and advanced Western fighting principles he had rediscovered. He aimed a vicious, claw-shaped hand at Huang Wen's neck, utilizing an efficient, almost clinical aggression.
Huang Wen, seeing the calculated menace in the attack, did not engage directly. He retreated swiftly, utilizing a series of small, rapid backward steps—six steps in quick succession—to maintain a safe distance from Logan's ferocious onslaught.
Then, just as Logan was overcommitting to the charge, Huang Wen's lower body executed a dazzling shift. He suddenly dropped his center of gravity, bending his supporting leg and stomping the training room floor with a resounding thud!
The other leg shot out low and straight, not with a Wing Chun snap, but with the brutal, linear power of a modified Shaolin thrust kick, aimed directly at Logan's stomach.
THUD!
Logan managed to raise his foot to block the kick, meeting the attack head-on. But the force, channeled through the focused power of the Grandmaster's body, was devastating. Logan's balance—which had been perfect only moments ago—shattered. He tumbled backward, sprawling onto the ground with an undignified crash.
Huang Wen immediately eased his posture, relaxing his muscles, and let out a soft laugh. He looked down at the legendary Wolverine, lying flat on his back, and asked playfully, "Want another go, Uncle Wolverine? You seem to have found some new tricks!"
Logan let out a frustrated growl, not of pain, but of irritation. He scrambled up from the floor, shaking his head.
"Nah, I'm done. It's no fun," Logan muttered, pursing his lips and dusting off his shirt.
The truth was stark. Logan had recovered a lifetime of sophisticated combat knowledge, turning him from a powerful brawler into a skilled fighter. Yet, even with that newfound mental arsenal, his strength and speed were not decisively superior to Huang Wen's, and his combined combat skills still could not overcome Huang Wen's mastery.
Huang Wen had completely transcended the concept of 'moves' or 'styles.' Every attack, every defense, every counter was simply the most efficient, logical application of force and inertia. In a true fight, a style-based fighter—even one with Logan's power—could not beat a fighter whose movements were dictated by pure, universal physics and instinctual mastery.
"Amazing! Absolutely amazing!"
Huang Liang burst into applause, his face glowing with exhilaration. He had watched the entire exchange with the rapt attention of a true martial arts fanatic. Logan's raw power was terrifying, but Huang Wen's ability to counter that raw power with fluid movement and perfect timing was nothing short of miraculous.
The spectacle of Huang Wen's effortless control over Logan—a man who radiated latent, dangerous power—was the most beautiful, terrifying display of Wing Chun he had ever seen. In that moment, the young man's plan to simply study in the U.S. completely vanished.
He looked at Huang Wen, his eyes shining with a profound desire. He wasn't just related to a Wing Chun master; he was related to a legend.