1989, San Francisco.
"Master, Master!" Wang Yang stumbled into the courtyard, looking at the white-haired old man leisurely practicing his punches under the locust tree ahead. With an indignant face, he approached and said, "Master, this time you must teach me some powerful moves! I want to knock all those bastards flat!"
The white-haired old man was wearing a set of gray Tang-style clothing. Although he was of advanced age, his body was still robust, and his wrinkled face was spirited, with a pair of serene and sharp eyes. Hearing the childish voice, he looked over and, sure enough, his youngest disciple was dirty again and had several scratch marks on his face—he had been fighting once more!
