My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 14 The Boy Practicing Kung Fu

An hour later, the two took a dilapidated bus and arrived at the apartment where Qin Han lived.

This is the border between a poor neighborhood and a Chinese community in Los Angeles. The walls are covered with colorful graffiti, and the garbage cans on the roadside are overflowing, emitting a sour smell.

Several young Black men in leather jackets were squatting on a street corner smoking marijuana, eyeing the two Asian men who had just gotten out of the car with hostility.

Andrew clutched his luggage tightly and followed Qin Han up to the third floor.

The scene inside the room left the future big-name producer speechless.

The single room was less than 20 square meters, with a somewhat sagging spring bed and a desk piled high with various books and manuscripts.

In the corner was a simple open kitchen with a dilapidated refrigerator and a dripping faucet in the sink.

The only "luxury" was the canvas punching bag hanging on the wall, which he used for practicing boxing.

"Sit wherever you like." Qin Han took a bottle of Coke from the old refrigerator and handed it over: "Don't mind it, this is what motivates me to find ways to make money."

Andrew took the Coke, finding it impossible to reconcile his current situation with the man who had effortlessly secured Universal Pictures.

The immense sense of separation left him feeling disoriented.

"Qin..." he couldn't help but ask, "Excuse my boldness, but... how exactly do you make a living?"

He knew Qin Han was in debt, but he never imagined their quality of life would be this low; it was practically a survival challenge.

"What do you rely on?" Qin Han walked up to the sandbag and patted the blackened canvas: "Teaching kung fu."

"Although the martial arts school closed down, I still have a few private tutoring students. If it weren't for those tuition fees, I would have starved to death long ago."

As he said this, he glanced at the clock on the wall; the hour hand had just pointed to eight o'clock in the evening.

"My students are arriving soon." Qin Han said to Andrew while rolling up his sleeves, "You tidy up first, the sofa is yours to sleep on. I have to get to work."

"Thump, thump, thump."

There was a knock on the old wooden door.

"Come in!"

The door creaked open, and a white boy who looked only fifteen or sixteen years old peeked in.

She had freckles all over her face, messy brown curly hair, and was as thin as a bean sprout.

He was carrying a huge backpack and looked like he could collapse under its weight at any moment.

"Master Qin..." The boy, whose voice was going through puberty, said in a somewhat hoarse tone, "I...I'm not late, am I?"

As he spoke, he handed Qin Han a few crumpled US dollars—his pocket money saved up from delivering newspapers for a week.

"Right on time, George." Qin Han took the bills, didn't count them, and put them directly into his pocket.

He turned to Andrew, who was still in a daze, and shrugged: "See? This is my 'sugar daddy.' Okay, you go about your business."

"George, did you practice the horse stance I taught you last time at home?"

"I...I've practiced!" The boy straightened his chest.

"Okay, stand up and show me. If you can't stand steadily, today's practical lesson is canceled, and you'll go back to squatting in the corner."

"No, Master!" the boy cried out, quickly throwing his schoolbag aside and skillfully assuming a horse stance.

"Stay steady! Don't let your knees buckle inward, lower your center of gravity!"

George's T-shirt was already soaked with sweat, and his legs were trembling violently, as if they would break like withered branches at any moment.

"Master...Master, I can't go on..." The boy's freckled face had turned a deep liver color.

"You can. Think about why you'd give me the money you'd spend on newspaper deliveries instead of buying a Playboy magazine or a few hamburgers."

Qin Han rebuked him without any mercy.

Upon hearing this, George, who was already swaying, gritted his teeth and stopped himself from collapsing.

Another long twenty minutes passed.

"Stop. Finish the movement, exhale."

At Qin Han's command, George fell to the ground, unable to move.

Qin Han skillfully patted the boy's stiff thigh muscles: "Remember to soak your feet in hot water when you get back, otherwise you won't be able to walk tomorrow."

George didn't even have the strength to speak, so he could only nod.

"Hey kid, you're pushing yourself too hard."

Andrew leaned closer and handed him a towel: "When I was your age, all I could think about was how to skip class and go to the movies."

George struggled to sit up, looking at the unfamiliar mixed-race youth with a maturity beyond his years in his eyes:

"Because I want to become stronger."

Just then, a loud "bang" interrupted the conversation inside the room as an empty beer can smashed against the windowpane.

A burst of unrestrained laughter and whistling came from outside the window.

"Hey! Slug George! Back to learning to dance from that yellow-skinned monkey again?"

"Come out here and perform a backflip for us! Here's an expired candy for you!"

The malicious jokes were particularly jarring.

Andrew's expression changed instantly; as a mixed-race person, he was particularly sensitive to such vocabulary.

Qin Han strode to the window and pushed open the old window frame.

In the shadow of the streetlights, several street thugs wearing leather jackets and with long hair were laughing loudly.

Seeing the window open, the leader raised a middle finger, then hopped on his motorcycle with his companion and sped away.

George, head bowed, clutched the towel in his hands: "See? This is why I want to learn kung fu."

"I'm done."

"I'm fed up with being called a 'slug,' I'm fed up... People whistling at my sister and I just have to pretend I didn't hear it like a coward."

"They got away fast." Qin Han walked to the refrigerator, opened the door, and found it empty except for the last can of cola.

He pulled the tab and poured himself a glass of cola: "Here. Drink something sweet to help lift your spirits."

"I've been teaching you for two months, and I've never heard you mention that you have an older sister?"

"I'm always too tired after practice to chat," George said with a wry smile.

The provocation from those young men had opened up a floodgate of conversation, and he finally had someone to confide in.

"My father ran away before I could even remember anything. I heard he went to Las Vegas with a stripper."

The boy held his cola, drinking it as he calmly recounted his story, as if it were someone else's: "My mother worked three jobs to raise us all by herself. She passed away three years ago due to illness."

"I was only twelve years old then. If we hadn't gone to a foster family, we would have been separated."

"It's my sister." George's dim eyes lit up. "She gave up the opportunity to go to community college for me."

"He went to work as a quality inspector at an eyewear factory in Burbank, and that small salary kept me there."

George looked up at Qin Han, his eyes burning: "Master, I want to be like you, to become a kung fu master, to be a bodyguard, or to work as an extra in Hollywood."

"I, George Russell, will make sure my sister has a peaceful life and is no longer bullied by these thugs."

Qin Han had just taken a sip of cola when he heard this name, and he spat it all out with a "pfft".

Burbank's eyeglasses factory... father abandons family... siblings depend on each other for survival...

"You just said... your last name is Russell?"