Twilight pressed down low, and at the mouth of the alley only the sound of wind swirling scraps of paper remained.
It had already been a month since he came to this world, and Yang found it hard to describe how he felt right now.
If he remembered correctly, he had been playing Street Fighter 6, using modern Old Sang against the old man giving off black smoke.
As the black-smoke old man suddenly threw two light punches, Yang—with astonishing sweat and effort—triggered his CA with a single button.
Hooves⚡️thunder⚡️south⚡️they⚡️ride⚡️while⚡️eyes⚡️gaze⚡️north~ But in a careless moment his motion was too large, and the finger he raised along with Old Sang pushed too hard, jamming straight into a power outlet.
By the time he came to his senses, he had appeared in a corner of some ruins in the Kowloon Walled City.
Trapped amid the ruins, not a drop of water for over a month—could Yang still make it out?
Of course he could!
Easily!
A fierce will to survive surged wildly, violently, explosively in the depths of Yang’s heart!
And when that ferocious survival instinct forced Yang to crawl out of the ruins, hunger had already become a part of his body.
He had meant to leave this place and find a way to survive, but he had barely passed through some alleyway when Yang noticed that a figure had appeared on either side of him.
One had a face like a lion’s and bulging muscles, his head of wild red hair dancing like fire in the night wind, like an Asura.
The other was an aged, short man in a purple changshan, his grayish-white hair immaculate, a long beard upon his face, his eyes glinting like cold stars.
Killing intent filled the air, the will to kill soaring to the heavens!
Out of the tiger’s mouth and into the wolf’s den—caught between hesitation and despair, Yang felt only his heart surging.
To witness such mighty experts in a duel to the death—even dying would be worth it!
As inexplicable thoughts welled up in Yang’s heart, the two figures exploded into motion in an instant.
Amid a whistling afterimage, when the red-haired Asura fell, his throat only managed to let out a short gurgle.
Looking at the man who had lost the power to resist, the old man did not choose to strike him dead; instead, after a brief silence, he turned his gaze toward Yang behind him.
After a moment, the old man revealed a faint smile: “Do you wish to challenge me as well?” Yang almost immediately recognized who the old man was—Gen!
First appearing in the original Street Fighter, with a one hundred percent assassination success rate, the legendary assassin known as the Undefeated Gen of a Hundred Bloody Battles!
He was also one of the very few characters able to directly counter Akuma’s ultimate technique, the ‘Thousand Strikes in an Instant.’ Yang prided himself on having trained in some boxing, but…
me, fight Gen?
The feeling was like entering a campus singing contest, finally fighting your way to the finals, only for your opponent to show up wearing golden trunks, let out a thunderous roar, follow it with a thunderous leap, then stand motionless on stage for three minutes, first releasing thirty thousand tons of Conqueror’s Haki.
If I really make it through this, I’d have to go to a temple and pray to a lightning rod…
But for some reason…
An intense fighting spirit rose uncontrollably in Yang’s heart!
Sensing Yang’s mettle, a flash of surprise crossed Gen’s eyes.
But right after, due to his body’s extreme depletion, Yang’s eyes rolled back and he keeled over, collapsing corpse-like on the spot.
Well-versed in the human body, Gen could tell at a glance that the youth had merely fainted from extreme weakness.
But sensing the will lingering about the boy, Gen tilted his head curiously.
Three years later…
Hong Kong, the Kowloon Walled City.
As a wonder of modern civilized society, on this plot of land roughly equal to 3.6 football fields, over fifty thousand people had once lived.
Although, with the march of the times, this place was no longer the center of the Asian fighting world—having become much safer after the departure of numerous international organizations, political powers, large corporations, and criminal syndicates—Chun-Li still felt a complicated mix of emotions, having been steeped in it all since childhood.
“But then again, Dad, I’ve only been on the job a few days.
Weren’t we supposed to head to the fighting world?
Why come find Grandpa Gen first?” Her hair in classic Chinese-girl buns, tall and full of vitality, wearing a tight training outfit, Chun-Li warily sized up her surroundings while looking helplessly at the father beside her— A middle-aged man standing 1.82 meters tall, weighing 89 kilograms, his whole body packed with sinewy muscle, clearly in his forties yet without the slightest hint of decline.
“It’s different, Chun-Li.” Dorai shook his head and said calmly: “This was once the fighting world, after all.
Interpol is still a newly formed organization, and when it comes to intelligence, it still can’t compare to the jianghu folk here.” Hearing her father’s words, a look of resignation appeared on Chun-Li’s face, but she still obediently followed behind him to a restaurant.
The restaurant stood at the heart of Kowloon, the three large characters ‘Han Court’ inscribed above it, its facade decorated in an antique, grand, and extraordinary style bearing the classic features of Han and Tang architecture.
It was safe to say that, whether judged by location or by storefront, business was quite good.
It was just that it was now three in the afternoon; the dining rush had passed and the helpers had gone off shift, so few figures could be seen in the main hall.
“Anyone here?” Chun-Li called out loudly.
“Eh?
Customers at this hour?
Coming, coming!” Along with a young girl’s voice, a waitress who looked about Chun-Li’s age, wearing a tight red qipao, soon came running out.
“I’m so sorry, dear guests, but Han Court’s lunch hours are already over!” Hearing the girl’s words, Chun-Li and Dorai didn’t mind, only looking at her and saying: “We have an appointment with Master Gen.” “An appointment?” At that, the girl first blinked, then skipped over to the counter, and after examining something for a moment, nodded in understanding.
“Are you Mr.
Dorai and Ms.
Chun-Li?
Please wait a moment—Master Gen has gone out to gather inspiration and should be back in a little while~” “I see.” Hearing the girl’s reply, Dorai nodded in understanding, but it was just then that a growling rumble suddenly came from beside him.
Following the sound, Chun-Li scratched her head with an embarrassed look and said: “We were on a five-hour flight and didn’t eat anything the whole way…” “Oh, oh!” Seeing this, the waitress nodded and then said: “Perfect timing—I was just about to eat too.
Let’s eat together.
Yang’s in the back kitchen cooking right now!” “Is that all right?” Dorai asked.
“If you’re Master Gen’s guests, then there’s no problem!!” Saying this, the waitress paused, then added a little sheepishly: “It’s just that Yang’s personality is a bit odd—he likes to say strange things—so please bear with him.” “Odd personality, strange things?” At that, Dorai was slightly taken aback, feeling as if he’d heard the name Yang somewhere before, but unable to recall where for the moment, he followed the waitress to the restaurant’s back kitchen.
In that empty back kitchen, a young man about 1.85 meters tall stood beside a stove wreathed in roaring flames.
Though he was merely cooking, just from his back one felt that this youth was less like a chef and more like…
A scorching ancient blade still in its sheath?
His figure was towering, his spine straight, and the small confines of the kitchen seemed to grow low and cramped because of his presence.
Black hair hung over his forehead, and the light fell from above; because of the angle, it cast Yang’s entire face into ink-black darkness, with only a pair of eyes deep as an ancient well standing out clearly, now intently reflecting the faint glow of the stove fire.
Streamlined muscle draped over his body like armor—not bulging knots, but full, smooth, and hard like pebbles beneath water, presenting a flowing beauty.
And with his every subtle movement, what rippled beneath his skin was the coordination and power of a wild beast.
He reached out and took a piece of radish; the blade flashed, then turned into a steady, even silver line.
The clash of blade against cutting board was fine and dense as rain, its rhythm precise without the slightest deviation.
In but a moment, the radish had been sliced as fine as hair, spread out beneath his knife into a quiet expanse of snow.
Though some distance apart, sensing the blood and qi surging within the young man’s body and his meticulous control over his muscles and the tool in his hand, Chun-Li couldn’t help raising an eyebrow— Although it was only a rough sense, the Chun-Li of today could, by any measure, be counted among the elite of Interpol.
In Chun-Li’s experience, this young man before her—whether he went off to serve as a bodyguard for some high official or as a guard for some wealthy lady—would have far better income and living conditions than this.
Even as she thought this, Chun-Li wasn’t too surprised.
After all, as a member of Interpol, Chun-Li knew well that quite a few martial artists had similar quirks— Or rather, for many martial artists, compared with fame and fortune, the training that could hone their martial heart was what mattered most.
After staring at the young man for a while, Dorai spoke up curiously: “Yang…
I remember now—you’re Yang?” Hearing someone call his name, Yang, in the midst of cooking, paused slightly, but then resumed his previous state and continued cooking as he said: “That I am.
What is it?” Yang’s full-throated reply instantly stunned Dorai and Chun-Li, who now clearly understood what the waitress had meant about his abnormal personality and fondness for strange talk.
“Nothing—they’re here to see Grandpa Gen~” The waitress beside them was clearly used to it and replied: “But they’ve had a long, tiring journey and haven’t eaten, so make a bit extra while you’re cooking~” “Easily done!” Yang answered in a full-throated voice.
Seeing this, Dorai and Chun-Li didn’t disturb him further, only going to the hall to wait.
Though she’d left the kitchen, Chun-Li’s heart still lingered there.
Glancing back at Yang, who was ‘furiously stir-frying,’ the curiosity in Chun-Li’s eyes hadn’t diminished one bit.
Indeed, having only just come out, Chun-Li asked: “Dad, do you know him?” “I’ve heard a few things.
About three years ago, he was a kid your Grandpa Gen picked up.” Hearing Chun-Li’s question, Dorai glanced toward the back kitchen and said: “They say he went hungry in some ruins for a month, not a drop of water, and after he crawled out, your Grandpa Gen found him…
Mm, it was probably that experience that traumatized his mind, which is why he’s different from ordinary people.
But he’s already received an admission notice from a university over in the fighting world, and we came this time partly to see whether he can go to the fighting world together with us.” Saying this, Dorai paused, then added with a smile: “I was actually worried this kid suddenly going to the fighting world might not be safe, but now it seems…
although his personality’s a bit unstable, his strength should be no problem.” Hearing of what Yang had been through three years ago, a flash of understanding crossed Chun-Li’s eyes, which then turned to worry and concern.
By contrast, a look of wistful emotion appeared on Dorai’s face.
“Young people these days—they really do get plenty of nutrition.” When he was little, being able to eat your fill was already good fortune; even he himself only got the chance to properly nourish his body after making a name for himself.
And young people now?
Not old in years, yet each taller than the last—and even though Dorai knew well that for those who’d grasped the true meaning of martial arts, size and weight weren’t proportional to strength, he still felt an inexplicable wistfulness.
And just as Dorai was still musing, a casual, aged voice came from beside him.
“Ha, you’re here already.” Following the voice, an old man in a purple changshan, with white hair and beard and eyes a clouded white without pupils, came walking unhurriedly from the side.
As he walked, he said with great interest: “Ever since Chun-Li went off with you to sit for the Interpol exam, it’s been three or four years since you came, hasn’t it?
Speaking of which, I hear you’ve run into some trouble?” “Grandpa Gen!” Seeing Gen, Chun-Li waved and greeted him with a smile.
Chun-Li’s martial path and her understanding of martial arts came in part from her father Dorai’s hereditary qigong fist, and in part from Grandpa Gen’s Ansatsuken (lit.
‘Assassination Fist’).
Gen nodded in response to Chun-Li’s greeting, then turned a playful gaze toward Dorai.
Seeing this, Dorai didn’t beat around the bush and spoke plainly: “An organization called Shadowlaw has been excessively active lately, and I wanted to ask whether you had any leads.” “Shadowlaw?” Hearing Dorai’s question, Gen stroked his chin, then said thoughtfully: “I’ve heard something of it—they’ve been recruiting powerful fighters this whole time…
It’s just that, as you know, I washed my hands of all that long ago, so it’s only hearsay to me.” “You?
Washed your hands of it?” At Gen’s words, Dorai shook his head helplessly.
Others might not know, but Dorai understood very well just what the Gen before him represented in the underworld.
Without exaggeration, for a living legend like this, worldly fame and fortune held no allure at all; his so-called washing of hands now was merely waiting for an opportunity— Waiting for an ending unrelated to fame or fortune, one called a ‘duel to the death.’ Thinking this, Dorai nonetheless didn’t worry about Gen’s safety.
From the start of his career as a police officer, he had pursued and investigated Gen’s many deeds; though in the beginning he was toyed with in Gen’s palm, the two had forged a subtle friendship in the process.
Especially after later discovering that Gen only killed treacherous and evil men, Dorai began actively befriending him.
And after they became friends, Gen thought highly of Chun-Li’s talent and even taught her his own ultimate art.
Knowing what a transmitted lineage meant to people of the underworld fighting circles, Dorai actually felt mostly gratitude toward Gen.
And keenly aware of Gen’s power, in Dorai’s memory at least, those who could stand on equal footing with Gen were very few— As he mused, a familiar yet aggressively fragrant aroma suddenly drifted over from the side.
He hadn’t eaten when they set out that morning, and now it was midday; though his warrior’s blood and qi kept him from being truly famished, the moment he smelled this aroma Dorai’s appetite was inexplicably whetted.
He looked toward the direction the aroma came from.
The loose hair at his forehead a touch long, his face hidden in shadow into ink-black darkness, his eyes startlingly bright, Yang—whose looks and physique both far surpassed an ordinary person’s—came out of the back kitchen.
Carrying several plates covered with dish lids, Yang came to the table and distributed them one by one to those seated.
“Ingredients are limited, so today’s lunch is Han Court Fried Rice!
By the way, I don’t yet know what to call you two?” Yang turned his gaze to Dorai and Chun-Li.
Seeing this, Dorai said with a smile: “Gen and I are old companions—just call me Uncle Dorai.” “Got it, Uncle!” Yang nodded firmly—scored a free uncle!
“I’m Chun-Li!
I’m older than you, so just call me big sister!” Chun-Li raised her hand with a grin.
“Got it, big sister!” Yang nodded earnestly—what a cute auntie.
“More importantly…
if it’s fried rice, there’s no need to cover it, is there?” Looking at the metal dish lid before him, Dorai said: “Otherwise the steam will smother it and you’ll lose the wok hei.” It had only been a casual jest, but then, out of the corner of his eye, Dorai noticed an eager expression appear on Gen’s face beside him; even on the face of the youth named Yang there appeared a faint smile, as if anticipating what was about to happen.
But just as Dorai was still wondering, suddenly, as Chun-Li beside him lifted the dish lid, a dazzling golden light burst forth from within.
The blinding radiance rose upward in a column, and by contrast even the surrounding ambient light seemed to dim considerably.
Bearing the brunt of it, Chun-Li—long hungry and ready to dig in—was caught off guard and felt only a violent flash sear her eyes; she instantly covered them and let out a wail: “Argh!
Is that a flashbang?!
It’s a flashbang, isn’t it?!” “Hahaha~~” Seeing Chun-Li’s reaction, Gen beside her let out a hearty laugh.
By the looks of it, he had clearly anticipated this and was glad to enjoy the spectacle.
The sudden scene left Dorai baffled for a moment; he could only look at Gen with a face full of confusion, hoping the other would offer an explanation.
At this, Gen laughed for a good while before, wiping away the tears of laughter, he stared with those pupilless, clouded-white old eyes and said leisurely: “I don’t know where it came from, but Yang has mastered the ultimate technique of completely cooking nutrients into life energy.”