My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 52 One punch overturns the Poseidon

Wednesday, November 1973, 2.

Perhaps to add a unique atmosphere to Valentine's Day, a light drizzle fell in Los Angeles during the winter.

In this era without cell phones and the internet, bad weather means couples have to find activities that can only be done indoors.

For example—a hotel, or a movie theater.

At the entrance of the Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, Jerry struggled to hold up an umbrella while protecting the hot dog and popcorn he had just bought.

"Damn this weather, my shoes are soaked," his girlfriend Julie complained, snuggling in his arms. "Honey, why are there so many people in line in this weather?"

"Relax, sweetheart, it's Valentine's Day after all!" Jerry reassured his girlfriend, his gaze wandering among the posters in the ticket hall.

There are quite a few film genres to choose from during the Valentine's Day period.

The most prominent position is occupied by a giant ship – "The Poseidon Adventure". This disaster film has been at the top of the box office for more than a month and its momentum shows no signs of slowing down.

Next to it is "The Fugitive," starring Steve McQueen, a classic Western action film.

There are also several musicals, such as "The Evangelist" and "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer".

"Want to watch 'The Fugitive'? Isn't that more exciting?" Julie suggested.

Jerry shook his head: "Westerns are too old-fashioned, I'm not interested."

His gaze finally settled on a unique poster.

A pair of blood-red iron hands, with several oriental people dressed in training clothes and in strange postures in the background.

The huge English title, "Five Fingers of Death," looks like it was drenched in blood.

"How about this?" Jerry's eyes flashed with excitement. "Recently, TV has been full of pictures of its 'GG,' saying it's 'the ultimate violent aesthetics from the East.'"

Julie frowned, giving the grotesque-looking protagonist a disdainful look: "But I remember the radio saying that Bruce Lee isn't in this movie."

Jerry shrugged. "Who cares? They're all Chinese people flying around anyway. And look—"

He pointed to a sign next to the ticket booth: "An unprecedented fight! This night will get your adrenaline pumping!"

"At least it's a type of movie I've never seen before, isn't it?"

Julie hesitated for a moment, but ultimately succumbed to her curiosity: "Okay, hopefully it'll be worth the price. If it's too gory, you'll have to cover my eyes."

"No problem, baby."

A similar scene is unfolding outside movie theaters across the United States.

Warner Bros.' ubiquitous marketing machine, coupled with Lorna Barrett's broadcast, has ignited American audiences' curiosity about the word "kung fu".

Compared to the hustle and bustle of the cinema, the villa of Han's Film Company presented a completely different scene.

The flames in the fireplace danced merrily, dispelling the damp chill brought by the winter rain.

Qin Han, wearing an apron, stood in the kitchen, busy in front of a large pot.

The pot was filled with plump, white glutinous rice balls, which bobbed and swayed with the boiling water, looking quite endearing.

"It smells so good..." George leaned over the pot and took a deep sniff.

"Master, is this what you called 'Yuanxiao'? It looks like cotton candy soaking in soup."

"This is much tastier than cotton candy." Qin Han smiled, scooped one up with a slotted spoon, rinsed it in cold water, and handed it to his greedy apprentice: "Be careful, it's hot. The filling is black sesame."

George couldn't wait to take a bite. The hot, sweet, black filling instantly filled his mouth, making him gasp for breath, but he couldn't bear to spit it out, revealing a twisted expression.

"Delicious! So delicious!"

Renée Russell was setting the table with Andrew when she saw her brother's greedy look and shook her head helplessly.

Today she was wearing a simple loungewear sweater, her long brown hair casually tied up, exuding a fresh and approachable vibe like a girl next door.

"It's Valentine's Day today, and none of you are out?" Bruce Lee came downstairs in a loose tracksuit and looked at the room full of people with some surprise.

Qin Han quickly waved to his master, "Master, come and eat some tangyuan! According to the lunar calendar, today is the Lantern Festival!"

"Moreover, today is the release date of 'The World's Number One Fist,' and everyone is eager to see the box office results."

"Yes!" Andrew Morgan finished his work and laughed, "Why should we bachelors join in the fun? We might as well mooch off the boss's Lantern Festival feast here."

"Ding-dong—" The doorbell rang.

George ran to open the door, and a gust of cold wind mixed with rain poured in.

Fred Weintraub shook the water droplets off his umbrella and strode in, carrying a bottle of red wine.

"Hey! Looks like I've arrived just in time!"

His face was flushed with excitement: "The traffic outside is absolutely insane! Couples heading to the movie theater have completely blocked Sunset Boulevard!"

He then placed the bottle of red wine in the center of the table: "A 1961 Château Latour! I've treasured it for a long time. Whether we open it tonight or not depends on the box office numbers!"

Qin Han smiled, took his coat, and hung it up. "Fred, it seems you're very confident about the box office."

"I have confidence in the 'kung fu' theme." Fred rubbed his frozen hands, looking at the bowls of steaming glutinous rice balls. "My God, what is this? I've never smelled anything like it before!"

"Then don't be shy, sit down and eat," Bruce Lee invited.

Not long after, another guest arrived.

Ridley Scott pushed open the door, holding the thick script, and immediately grabbed Bruce Lee upon entering:

"Bruce! I have a new idea for the lighting in that mirror maze! What if we use prisms..."

"Ridley!" Qin Han had to interrupt this workaholic: "Let's not talk about work tonight. Come on, try some Eastern desserts; they'll help you understand the philosophy of 'perfection.'"

"Oh? I'd love to try it! Is it even better than fish and chips?"

A group of people sat around a long table, eating sweet and sticky dumplings and chatting about their own interesting stories.

A warm atmosphere flowed under the lights, making people almost forget the passage of time.

However, as the clock struck midnight, the relaxed atmosphere began to subtly shift.

Fred's voice softened, and his eyes began to frequently glance at the telephone in the mailroom.

Bruce Lee also stopped his discussion with Ridley, turned on the radio, and listened absentmindedly to the intermittent news.

Although it was a Shaw Brothers film, it carried the fate of the new kung fu film genre in Hollywood.

"when--"

The clock struck midnight, and February 14th had passed.

The room fell silent instantly, with only the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace remaining.

"Ring ring ring—!!!" The phone rang right on time.

Fred jumped up from his chair as if he had springs in his body and grabbed the receiver.

The voice coming through the microphone was very excited, and everyone else strained to hear it, but they couldn't make it out.

"Um...okay...I understand."

After hanging up the phone, Fred slowly turned around.

"How is it?" Bruce Lee couldn't help but stand up.

Fred didn't say anything, but rushed back to the dining table and grabbed the expensive bottle of Château Latour.

"Pop!" The cork was roughly pulled out, and the wine splashed out.

"It's done!" He roared, laughing as he held up the bottle. "Champion! Box office champion for the day!"

"The World's Number One Fist capsized that damned wrecked ship!"