The Greatest Showman #697 - Chinese Kung Fu

The golden sun rises like an uncooked boiled egg, its bright yellow hue looking delicious against the light blue sky. It climbs slowly, inch by inch, like the second hand of a watch nearing twelve o'clock noon.

However, the towering, jagged skyline of New York looms like the steps of Tianmen Mountain. No matter how hard you climb or move forward, there seems to be no end in sight. I'm tired, out of breath, and the sunlight fades, swallowed up by the city's bustling traffic.

The scattered alleys of lower Manhattan resemble a giant lazily bathing in the sun, its arms and legs sprawled across the calm sea. The quiet morning is filled with the sounds of fish and shrimp playing in the water—full of energy and vitality.

Andrew Garfield gazes around with curious eyes. Stalls on either side of the street are being packed away, displaying an array of old Shanghai-style goods—dressing boxes, dinner bags, hair dryers, hairpins, rattles, music boxes, and more. The variety is dazzling. Nearby, a middle-aged man in a neat suit is haggling, clutching a red plastic bag filled with vegetables or meat. The dilapidated buildings resemble slums, but their carved red columns, the raised eaves of the cross-ridge roofs, and the square glass windows give off an indescribable charm.

In a daze, Andrew feels as if he's stepped into the world of Doctor Who, traveling through time and space into an entirely different universe. His surroundings are simply overwhelming.

Suddenly, he steps into a puddle of water. Muddy sewage splashes, soaking his trousers and wetting his canvas shoes. He jumps back, trying to avoid more puddles, but only steps into another one. The sticky feeling underfoot is uncomfortable.

"Andrew." A voice calls out from ahead. Armando-Alarcon waves, signaling for Andrew to follow quickly.

Ignoring his shoes, Andrew trots after him. As he moves, the noise and busyness of the street corner fills his senses, and a strong, pungent smell of seafood hits him. It's so overpowering that Andrew instinctively wrinkles his nose and almost turns away, but his curiosity wins out. He looks over just in time to glimpse what appears to be an open-air seafood market before he's pulled forward, following Armando up a narrow, steep staircase.

They reach a modest door with a black plaque hanging above it. The Chinese characters on it read "Dragon Flying Phoenix Dance." Andrew can't read it, but recognizes the characters. He follows Armando inside, climbs the stairs, and enters a spacious second-floor room.

On the right side of the room is a large, bright window. On the left is a full-length mirror with scattered cushions in front of it, but little else. Two people are squatting on the right side, while a person on the left is mopping the floor. The room feels deserted and lacks the liveliness of a typical martial arts dojo, though it has the look of a ballet studio—though not well equipped.

"Armando?" Andrew asks curiously. "Isn't this supposed to be Chinese Kung Fu? Why does it look like a taekwondo classroom?"

"Martial arts is martial arts, and taekwondo is taekwondo. They're two completely different things," Armando responds. "Taekwondo is more of a sport now, with no real practical significance. There's no need to learn it unless you're interested in the sport itself."

Andrew seems to understand but doesn't reply.

Armando is primarily a fitness trainer, an expert in physical conditioning, fitness, and strength. However, he's also traveled to Asia several times to study martial arts, developing a deep interest. Martial arts require years of training, and Armando views it as more of a passion than his primary job.

To Westerners, the East remains mysterious. They can struggle to tell apart the details of Eastern cultures—some can't distinguish between India and Indonesia or even locate North and South Korea on a map. Martial arts and taekwondo are particularly hard to differentiate for those unfamiliar with the cultural nuances. But Armando wouldn't make such a mistake.

Andrew has been training with Armando for five months to prepare for his role in The Amazing Spider-Man. He's learned skills like skateboarding, parkour, trampoline work, basketball, and gymnastics. Now, Armando has brought him here to learn martial arts for the next two months.

"Let me go." A voice interrupts from the left. Both Andrew and Armando turn in surprise to see that the young man who was mopping the floor has approached them without a sound. He stands, leaning on his mop with a lazy, resigned expression. "Please wipe the soles of your feet on the mop to clean them, okay?"

His tone is polite but slow and unfriendly.

Andrew and Armando don't react to the rudeness and quickly wipe their shoes clean. Andrew apologizes with a sheepish smile, "Sorry."

The young man doesn't respond directly but says, "If you're here to learn martial arts, go squat over there. If you're here to meet friends, there's a waiting area at the door. If you're here for consultation, there's a poster downstairs on the first floor." He then goes back to mopping the floor, uninterested.

Andrew blinks, confused. He looks at Armando, who appears equally flustered. Armando was introduced to this place by a friend and doesn't know the full details, only that "Liu's Martial Arts Hall" is considered a hidden gem in Manhattan's Chinatown.

There are many martial arts schools in Chinatown, but most of them are popular for tourist reasons. Armando knows that real martial arts training requires avoiding the crowds and having personal introductions. "Liu's Martial Arts Hall" might not be well-known, but it has a great reputation among insiders.

"Excuse me, is Master Liu here?" Armando asks, hoping to meet the master directly.

The Amazing Spider-Man started filming two weeks ago, and Andrew is on a tight schedule. He only has a few hours in the morning for training, so Armando needs to arrange a suitable time with the master.

The young man turns around, looks at them both, and says, "The first rule of Liu's Martial Arts Hall is: if you come to learn or meet the master, either squat for thirty minutes or challenge someone in the hall. After you pass the challenge, we'll sit down and talk."

Andrew's head is full of question marks. Armando, on the other hand, is unfazed. He's seen stranger rules while traveling in China. He looks at Andrew, "What do you think?" They only have three hours this morning, and Andrew has a rehearsal in the afternoon.

Andrew thinks for a moment. He's received all kinds of training over the past five months. He's not a martial arts expert, but he's no beginner either. He feels confident he can handle a regular fight. "If I accept the challenge, who will I fight?"

The young man sizes Andrew up and smirks, "You'll fight one of the new amateurs."

The scene feels almost absurd. A young man with a mop looks like a janitor, yet he's giving instructions to Andrew and Armando. However, the young man seems pleased with himself. He turns to the two squatting on the side, thinks for a moment, and says, "You, come here."

One of the squatters stands up, wiping sweat from his brow. The young man turns to Andrew, "You can fight him. He's been here for two weeks, practicing Ma Bu and started learning piling four days ago. He's still a beginner. If you can knock him down three times, I'll ask the master to come out."

Knock him down three times? A beginner of just two weeks?

Andrew's confidence soars. He straightens up, ready for the challenge. But then, in the next moment, he's stunned. The person in front of him steps forward, and Andrew's shock is evident. "This...that..." he stammers, looking at Armando, then back at the young man, trying to find an explanation. But it's clear that Andrew is caught off guard.

In that moment, the person approaches, offering a greeting, "Good morning, I'm Renly. Please advise."