Walter had thought it ridiculous to allow the grand master to be the beneficiary of the insurance on the production. Why let someone who had no money invested profit from their disaster? But he did have an investment, Bing had argued. It had been the grand master’s word that allowed this to happen in the first place. If Bing failed, then it was only proper that Wu be compensated financially for the damage done to his name. It was the way things were done in China, and it was the sole condition Grand Master had asked in exchange for his help. None of this would have happened if Bing had refused. Without the grand master’s influence, the studio would never have allowed them to produce the Red Wolf origin story.
So Bing had signed the insurance benefit over to Grand Master Wu, and then he’d worked night and day to make sure that everything was covered.
“I am so pleased that you could make it to watch filming tomorrow,” he said, his gaze again traveling over the grand master’s shoulder to look at Kong’s face. But the man kept his eyes averted and would not look up.
That alone should have warned him of what was to come, but he was stupid and did not understand until the grand master gestured gleefully at Walter, who was gripping his phone to his ear in the way of a man listening to a bill collector. His posture was tight, his face wan, and his skin was slicked with sweat. He stood to the side of the set, his eyes glittering with furious tears.
“I believe your partner is worried about something.”
Bing’s denial was swift and unkind. “Walter is American and prone to excessive emotions. I promise you, there is nothing wrong.”
“I promise you,” Grand Master Wu said, his voice rich with triumph, “there is.”
Bing was proud of the way he kept his expression stony and his body calm. His breath remained even, and he thought of his character. How would Red Wolf react to a betrayal?
But he wasn’t Red Wolf. He was a man who couldn’t believe his mentor, his teacher, and Kong’s father would hurt him in any way.
He walked over to Walter. “What is it?” he said, his words barely audible.
Unfortunately, his friend wasn’t so controlled. He answered loud enough to be easily overheard. “The studio has cancelled our lease. We have to vacate the lot immediately.”
Cold denial gripped Bing’s spine, and he barely forced out one word. “Why?”
“They say we violated union contracts. Illegal practices. A whole shitload of crap.”
“We didn’t. We haven’t.” Bing straightened. “I made sure of that!”
“I know,” Walter growled. “I’ve been sorting through it, but the red tape is insane, and no one is answering the phone. Best-case scenario, there’s an investigation. But in the meantime, the studio is within its rights to suspend the lease.”
“But we didn’t do anythingwrong!” Bing stressed.
“I know!” Walter’s breath was getting short again, and he fumbled in his pockets for his medicine. “Unfortunately, someone credible said we did,” he gasped out before taking a long pull on his inhaler.
Not someone credible, Bing realized. Someonepowerful.
His gaze slid over to Grand Master Wu. He saw sparkling delight in the man’s eyes and a broad grin that would never be allowed on a student’s face.
“Why?” he asked, the question all he could manage in the face of thousands of memories. He’d been four years old when he’d first walked into Master Wu’s class. The man had taught him, disciplined him, even allowed him a bed in his own home when Bing’s family lost theirs. His parents and sisters had gone back to his mother’s village in western China, but Bing had stayed with the Wu family. He had eaten at their table and gone to work on kung fu movies right alongside Kong. Years later, he and Kong had become more than brothers. Later, they had moved out of the Wu family home and had shared a tiny apartment in Beijing. Bing felt as if the Wu family was his own, and it was to Grand Master Wu that he’d sent prayers of gratitude every night since he was four.
Grand Master Wu’s grinning mask broke. His lips twisted and venom fell from his lips. “You can ask me that?” he hissed. “You, who were like a son to me?”
“I am your son!” It was an impulsive statement, but an honest one. It was how he felt, though it dishonored his own father.
“You are none of mine,” the man said. Then he acted with the speed of a grand master, slapping Bing across the face so quickly that Bing did not see it coming. Pain burst across his cheeks, but the burn came a breath later as he realized what had happened. With that single hard slash of his palm, Grand Master Wu had cut off all connection between them. Not only father to son, but also student to master. From now own, the man wouldn’t even acknowledge that Bing had trained at his school.
Bing shuddered, his body rejecting what his mind was saying.
“Why?” he repeated, this time loudly. The word had the bite of a wolf to it. It was his imagination, he knew. A power in voice from the character he had lived and breathed for years now. He reached for it instinctively when he felt so exposed.
The grand master’s voice was so thick with fury that it vibrated in the air. He spit as he spoke. “You dare ask me that? After you tried to corrupt my son? After you sought to poison him and turn him from his family?”
“I did no such thing!” he said, his voice booming now. His gaze went to Kong, who still had not lifted his gaze. “Tell him,” Bing ordered. “Tell him the truth.”
Kong raised his chin, but his eyes remained downcast. He opened his mouth twice, but no sound came out. Then his father snapped out his name.
“Kong! You will answer!”
Kong raised his gaze, but there was no qi energy in it—no power and no strength. Still, the words pierced Bing straight through the heart. “He knows, Bing Wen Hao. He knows that you seduced me, and in my weakness, I fell.”
