Old Tan Tea Restaurant.
At six or seven in the evening, the busiest time of day, a dozen or so tables crowded the not very spacious ground floor, each packed with two or three diners.
"Coming through, thanks. Here's your beef brisket clay-pot rice."
A man who looked to be in his fifties, dressed in a white waiter's uniform, carried a tray as he wove through the narrow gaps between the tables. He served dishes, cleared up, and bustled about without a moment to spare.
In the kitchen at the back of the restaurant, a chef and an assistant were just as busy, stir-frying and prepping ingredients without pause.
The old air conditioner hummed as it blew out cold air, but it still couldn't cool down the restaurant's sweltering atmosphere.
Ding-a-ling—
The restaurant's glass door swung open, and a short-haired man with an enormous backpack walked in.
He looked around at the bustling restaurant, then went straight to an empty spot at a table that hadn't been cleared yet. He tossed his backpack down and sat calmly.
The waiter in his fifties, who had just finished serving a table, came over. He glanced at the short-haired man's rather plain clothes, swept a few plates off the tabletop, and gave it a haphazard wipe with a rag.
Then he took out a notepad and a ballpoint pen, and asked with some impatience, "What'll it be? The minimum spend at our place is forty dollars."
The short-haired man picked up the rag lying on the table and carefully wiped it down. Without looking up, he said, "Tell Jiang Pengyun someone from Foshan is here."
"You're—"
The waiter had been acting rather nonchalant, but his expression changed at once. He put down his notepad and looked the short-haired man up and down, seeming uncertain.
"You haven't got the wrong person."
The short-haired man slowly finished wiping the table, then raised his head.
"I understand."
The waiter, who was over fifty, said nothing more. He turned and headed for the counter to make a call.
"Hold on—"
Before the waiter could leave, the short-haired man pointed to the menu posted on the wall. "Bring me three of your signature beef brisket rice bowls."
Half an hour later.
The once-bustling restaurant was now empty. The kitchen had closed, and a sign announcing closing time hung on the glass door.
Only the deeply wrinkled old waiter remained, standing at the counter and silently watching the short-haired man eat his beef brisket rice at the lone occupied table.
Screeech—
The sound of a car braking sharply came from outside the restaurant.
A moment later, the glass door swung open. The old man in the Tang suit, who had been drinking tea on the restaurant's third floor earlier, walked in with two tall young men in suits.
Clatter—
As soon as they entered, the old waiter, who had been standing at the counter, hurried to the entrance, pulled down the roller shutter outside, then shut the glass door and returned to his place beside the counter.
"Ah Wu, why didn't you tell me you were coming to Hong Kong Island? I could've sent someone to pick you up in Foshan."
The old man in the Tang suit saw the short-haired man eating beef brisket rice at the table. His face lit up with a warm smile, and he strode over.
The short-haired man paid no attention to the old man's arrival. Only after finishing the last bite of rice did he wipe his mouth and casually say, "My master passed away six months ago."
"Uh—"
The old man in the Tang suit was taken aback. His expression turned mournful. "I never thought my senior brother, after a lifetime of poverty, would..."
He shook his head with an apparent sigh, then looked at the short-haired man seated at the table. A smile returned to his face. "Ah Wu, since you're in Hong Kong Island, come work for me. I happen to need an expert like you. I guarantee you'll make more in a year than you could in a lifetime in Foshan. With you on board, Unity Hall..."
"I don't think you understood me."
The short-haired man stood before the old man could finish, meeting his gaze. "I said my master passed away. I'm now the head of Unity Sect. I don't care about the grudges between your generation. Whether you came to Hong Kong Island because you had no choice but to open a drug den, or because you were greedy for wealth and took up these harmful businesses, it has nothing to do with me. Since my master didn't purge you from the sect back then, neither will I. There's only one thing—"
His voice turned icy. "'Unity' isn't a name you're worthy of using. There's only one Unity Sect in this world."
"Who the fuck do you think you are, the governor? You say we can't use the name, so we can't?"
The moment the short-haired man finished speaking, one of the tall young men behind the old man pointed at him and shouted, his face full of contempt.
Whoosh—
The short-haired man beside the table flashed forward and appeared in front of the tall young man. He reached out, grabbed the man's finger, and snapped it with a crack.
Seeing this, the other young man hurriedly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Carl K9 pistol. But before he could raise it, the short-haired man was already in front of him. He clamped down on the young man's wrist and twisted; the wrist bone snapped, and the pistol fell to the floor.
The old man in the Tang suit watched, his face darkening. His slightly cloudy eyes fixed on the short-haired man as he said furiously, "Your master was like this, and now you are too. What age do you think we live in? What can martial arts do for you? And you still want to run a martial arts school? Money is everything. Don't you understand?"
The old waiter who had been standing by the counter was now beside the old man. He, too, held a pistol, its muzzle aimed at the short-haired man.
"Someone like you, who's even let his own skills go to waste, wouldn't understand."
The short-haired man glanced coldly at the old man's slack figure, his eyes full of contempt and disdain.
His contempt and disdain weren't because the old man had joined the underworld and done terrible things. It was more as if he had betrayed something sacred in the short-haired man's heart.
"Xiahou Wu, then what exactly did you come to Hong Kong Island for? Just for the name 'Unity Sect'? What can you do without money? This is Hong Kong Island, a capitalist society!"
The old man was stung by the short-haired man's gaze. A surge of anger rose in him, and he roared as if the man had touched a raw nerve.
At his age, with his experience and composure, he would never have lost his temper like this over someone else or anything else.
But Xiahou Wu's gaze made him think back to decades ago.
He remembered the man he had once been, practicing stances and boxing under the scorching sun and in the pouring rain. The man who had stowed away to Hong Kong Island and fought his way to success with his martial arts. The man who had evaded capture through his skills when a whole gang of bosses were arrested, and later become a prominent figure in his own right.
But at some point, a life of wine and women had hollowed out his body, and practicing martial arts had become a distant memory.
Xiahou Wu ignored the old man's shouts. He paid no attention to the pistol in the old waiter's hand, showing not the slightest fear at having a gun pointed at him. He simply walked back to the table where he had been eating, picked up his enormous backpack, brushed it off, and turned toward the restaurant's entrance.
Just before leaving, however, he stopped and turned his head slightly, fire burning in his eyes.
"First fists, then kicks, then grappling; internal arts and weapons, all in one. Martial arts have vanished from the mainland. Hong Kong Island is all that's left. I'll take on the martial world here, restore Unity Sect to its rightful glory, and become the best in the world."
With that, Xiahou Wu pulled open the restaurant's glass door, lifted the roller shutter, and strode out into the dazzling night market.
"You're a fool!"
Behind him, all that remained was the old man in the Tang suit, screaming hysterically.