This place is very good. It always feels like a state-owned enterprise or an army. Everyone live in dormitories together, eat big pot meal together, the atmosphere is very cheerful.

 In the evening, Silo takes me to the canteen. I’m a little amused to hear.

 In fact, the canteen here is reconstructed by a warehouse, which has several rows of tables and chairs. Each person carries a plastic plate to the window to take the food.

 The food is good. I’m very satisfied. I see Papa 8 is eating here too, but I don’t see Uncle 7, don’t know where he goes.

 Papa 8 is sitting at a round table with five or six people, all men of his age, about fifty years old. They’re talking in a low voice while eating. Papa 8 has a serious expression and a somber look.

 All the people here wear the garage uniforms. When they are carrying plates across the Papa 8’s table, they are unconsciously light-handing and dare not make a noice. I can see their respects to Papa 8 are sincere!

 …

 In this way, I’ve stayed here for two days and have waited for two days, but Papa 8 never looked for me again.

 I’m assigned to wash the car these two days. My job is to wash the vehicles with the buckets of water.

 I work in the morning, finish work at 3 pm, and then go to the gym with Silo and other brothers.

 It can be said that when I first came here, I had a feeling of reassurance. The atmosphere here is very good. It makes me feel like I have found the organization and home. But two days later, I’m a little depressed.

 Because I don’t come to Canada for washing the cars!

 I don’t know exactly what Papa 8 wants me to do. But at least I’m sure of my own mind. I’ve traveled thousands of miles across the Pacific Ocean, not just to be a car washer!

 But in the afternoon when practice boxing with Silo and other guys, I am a little happier.

 These rough men are very good people! I practice with them every day, occasionally fight once or twice with the glove and headgear, sweating all over, and then dozens of men take the bath naked. It’s also a kind of pleasant feeling.

 Silo asks me how to make that heavy punch that day. After I hesitated, I tell him that my punch is a killing blow which was taught by my master. It can’t teach others at ease. It’s not that I’m stingy, but that I can’t break my Master’s rules.

 Silo is a bit disappointed, but it doesn’t last long. I can’t teach him that punch, but I can teach him some conventional boxing. This kid is very athletic, born good on flexibility and coordination, and willing to endure hardships. Even when I teach him the pace at the beginning, he just murmurs a few bitter words, and then he grits his teeth to insist!

 The other men look at us, and some of the younger ones are laughing wildly. Some older people don’t laugh. I can see that these people have visions, and they know that I have taught Silo the real kongfu.

 After a week of being so heartless, Papa 8 still hasn’t come to find me.

 These days, I can’t even see him. He doesn’t come to the canteen to eat dinner anymore. I even wonder whether he has forgotten me. I take every day’s work as vent, and even take boxing and practicing as vent! When I’m practicing boxing with those guys, I’m getting more and more irritable.

 “Damn!”

 With one side kick, one of my legs is sweeping past like a whirlwind. Although Silo has raised his arms to protect his chest, he’s still swept to the ground. He can’t help scolding, and then he’s lying on the ground and gasping for breath: “Are you crazy? How come you are like taking gunpowder these two days?”

 I clench my teeth, throw away my gloves, go over and pull him up.

 I feel like a fire is buried in my heart, which has been burning and burning wildly for these days. It makes me feel uncomfortable and almost mad.

 I pull Silo in silence and shake my head to signal that we stop fighting. I don’t think I’m in the right mood. If we keep fighting, he might be hurt.

 After a week’s recovery, I feel that my body has basically recovered completely. And I exercise every day this week. When I was at home, I had too many days of stability, and I haven’t practiced diligently for a long time.

 My face is gloomy, and I slowly walk to the corner. A buddy is beating a sandbag. I go to him and pat his shoulder, motion him to give way. He glances back at me and immediately steps aside.

 I’ve had a couple of fights with these guys this week. Apart from two or three old guys and Silo can fight with me for more rounds, the rest can’t basically hold on to the second rounds. Now these people look at me differently than they did when I just arrived.

 I hold the sandbag to keep it stable from shaking, and then slowly step back. One step, two steps, three steps. I take a deep breath and make two preparations in situ. At this time, everyone around can see I might have some actions. They stop practicing and all looking at me.

 I take a few deep breaths, bursting out a shout, and then rushing toward the sandbag. About two or three steps away, my left foot is stepping on the ground violently! My whole body is bouncing up from the ground, and then I’m twisting my waist in the air, lifting other legs to kick on the side!

 A muffled sound is spreading all over the gym immediately, and then the sandbag is shaking violently, then flying out!

 The rope hanging the sandbag has been broken down, the leather of the whole outer layer is cracked, and the sand in it is sprinkled all over the ground!

 “FXXX!” The first sound is from Silo, and then the whole audiences are breathing in the cold. I hear someone is whispering: “Damn, is this kid still human? My God! He’s like Bruce Lee’s reincarnation!”

 Others are laughing and scolding: “Fool, this is the real kongfu!”

 As Silo is shouting, he’s staring at me in amazement, and watching me standing there panting, with the muscles on my face beating.

 At this time, the leader, that is the oldest man here comes over, pats Silo on the back, and then says: “Little 5 are not in the right mood these two days. You just stop practicing with him. Don’t hurt yourself.”

 After taking a bath, Silo and I have dinner together, then we go back to our room. Silo suddenly remembers something and exclaiming: “Hey, there’s a battle report tonight! Just take a look!”

 “What battle report?” I’m stunned.

 Silo is shaking his head: “Didn’t you hear what they were talking about at dinner at night? We had a fight with the Vietnamese!”

 I shake my head. When I was eating, I was still in depress. Where was I still in the mood to listen to their chat?”

 Silo has turned on the old TV, and then turns to a channel. We just see an Asian woman announcer is broadcasting news.

 Silo is watching the TV intently, and then he is crying excitedly: “Here we are!”

 “… According to our news…” The female broadcaster is reporting in a serious tone, “In the early hours of this morning, there was a vicious shooting and murdering at a gas station in East Hestin Street! Two Asian men were suddenly shot by unidentified pistols while parking. They were shot several times!”

 “According to witness accounts of supermarket staff at the gas station, two victims were parking to refuel, and the gunmen appeared from both sides at the same time, without any conversation between the two sides, immediately fired several shots at the victims with pistols, and then the gunmen drove the victim’s car away from the scene quickly! In addition, according to the latest news, two victims have died on the way to hospital for rescue. The identities of the victims have been checked and they have been confirmed that they do not have any legal identities. The police suspect that they are the Vietnamese smugglers. At present, the police have expressed suspicion that the shooting case is related to gang hatred killing…”