Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

Stark Estate, the lawn under the moonlight.

The cool moonlight spilled across the entire green space, and a gentle evening breeze rustled the grass and trees on the lawn.

Tony Stark stood tall and straight, firmly planted in a stable stance, his body grounded yet not stiff, his shoulders and back centered, his breathing long and even. Gone was the stiffness and awkwardness he had when he first started; after days of practice, his stance training had become extremely solid, his lower body as stable as a rock, his qi and blood in harmony and regularity, having fully taken the first step into the world of martial arts.

Not far away, Wang Huanbo stood with his hands behind his back, quietly observing.

His gaze swept over Tony's posture, breathing rhythm, and the details of his muscle exertion, and he nodded slightly.

Although Tony is impulsive, arrogant, and flamboyant, he possesses exceptional talent and unparalleled focus. Whether in scientific research or martial arts training, his progress far surpasses that of ordinary people once he truly dedicates himself to it. In just a few days, he mastered the most tedious and demanding basic stance training, establishing a solid foundation and fully qualifying him to learn orthodox martial arts.

"With a solid foundation, you can start learning boxing."

Wang Huanbo stepped forward slowly and spoke.

Upon hearing this, Tony stopped his attack, exhaled a long breath, and the warm current around him slowly dissipated. He turned around to look at Wang Huanbo, his eyes full of anticipation.

His martial arts training during this period had completely captivated him. Compared to the cold, tedious, and endless formulas and data, this method of physical cultivation originating from the East was more profound and more in line with his true nature. It also allowed him, who was always tense and exhausted, to find a rare sense of relaxation and peace.

Before Tony could ask any further questions, Wang Huanbo had already raised his hand in a gesture.

With every rise and fall of his body and every opening and closing of his fists, he demonstrated without holding back the three sets of orthodox Southern style boxing techniques that he had learned from Huang Feihong.

The Gongzi Fuhuquan (工字伏虎拳) is powerful, robust, upright, and steady. Each move strengthens the body and bones, making it the foundation and key to Southern-style boxing. It is perfect for tempering the body and consolidating the qi and blood.

Iron Wire Fist combines hardness and softness, with power hidden in the muscles and bones. It features progressively advanced techniques such as coiling force, hidden force, and inch force. It excels at deflecting force, controlling force, and defeating enemies at close range, perfectly compensating for Tony's shortcomings of reckless power exertion and lack of understanding of force deflection.

The tiger and crane are two forms, combining movement and stillness, and illusion and reality. The crane is light and agile, while the tiger is fierce and aggressive. It integrates offense and defense, and allows for free advance and retreat. It is both entertaining and practical.

The three sets of boxing techniques are fluid, rigorous, and full of spirit. Every move and stance contains profound martial arts principles, without any frills or redundancy. They are all practical combat skills that have been refined over the years.

Almost at the same instant Wang Huanbo began to move, a glint flashed in Tony's eyes. He tapped his fingertips lightly twice on his side and whispered in a voice only he could hear, "Jarvis, full-range high-speed capture, break down the movement to the millisecond level, archive and back up the muscle force trajectory, center of gravity transfer, and breathing rhythm, and simultaneously establish a biomechanical model."

"The entire manor's high-definition acquisition array has been activated, frame rate at full speed, and is capturing and modeling in real time, sir." Jarvis's steady electronic voice came through the headset.

The high-definition camera array hidden around the lawn was activated instantly. Multiple sets of infrared, high-speed, and dynamic capture devices operated silently, locking onto the figures in the field with perfect clarity. Even the changes in airflow caused by the punches, the shifts in the center of gravity when the body rises and falls, and the subtle arcs of the muscles and bones were precisely recorded. Massive amounts of data were fed into the private server in real time, generating a frame-by-frame disassembly of the three-dimensional dynamic model.

Tony watched intently, his mind reeling. His genius for learning instantly kicked in, his eyes glued to Wang Huanbo's movements and techniques. He mentally rehearsed the structure, angles of force, and breath control, while simultaneously analyzing the mechanics transmitted back by Jarvis, rapidly absorbing the core logic of the boxing style. Technology and talent complemented each other; what others would need months of arduous practice to grasp, he understood in a single demonstration.

After the three sets of boxing techniques were fully demonstrated, Wang Huanbo raised his hand and waved it, and three neatly bound handwritten boxing manuals with vigorous and elegant handwriting, plus a personal training manual densely marked with points prone to mistakes, landed steadily in Tony's hands.

"The complete set of boxing manuals, power generation techniques, breathing techniques, and advanced bottlenecks for Master Huang's orthodox lineage, including the 'Gongzi Fuhuquan,' 'Tiexianquan,' and 'Huhe Shuangxing,' have all been compiled here."

Wang Huanbo spoke calmly and sincerely, “You have already mastered the basic stance training. If you diligently practice according to the boxing manual, combine my insights to avoid pitfalls, and progress step by step, it will be enough for you to develop a true martial arts physique, no longer just a showy facade.”

Tony reached out and caught it, his fingertips pausing as soon as they touched the yellowed pages. The weight of the paper felt like a mountain of heritage pressing down on him. His fingertips unconsciously traced the handwriting, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, but he immediately retorted with a nonchalant grin: "Handwritten? Stark Labs has been digitizing everything for ages. Only you're still using this old-fashioned method."

That's what he said, but his fingers were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white. Jarvis had just completed the initial modeling, but he knew in his heart that data could record movements, but it couldn't record the power, mental techniques, and timing hidden within the moves. Technology could help dissect them, but the true essence of martial arts ultimately had to be passed down by people and understood through heart.

He knew better than anyone that technology could be copied, and blueprints could be backed up, but this genuine piece, imbued with decades of culinary experience, was unique. In his nearly forty years, he had received countless priceless gifts and witnessed countless attempts to curry favor, yet this was the first time a few pages of paper had made his palms burn. A surge of emotion welled up within him, making his ears subtly flush red, but his pride wouldn't allow him to show the slightest weakness—thank you? Be sentimental? That was something only effeminate people did; Tony Stark would never do that.

So he stiffened his neck, his eyes darting around, avoiding eye contact with Wang Huanbo. Sometimes he would look down and randomly flip through a couple of pages of the boxing manual, sometimes he would clear his throat and ramble on about irrelevant things. His whole being seemed to say, "I'm not moved at all, I'm just looking around," which was ridiculously awkward.

This stubborn and soft-hearted demeanor, this desperate attempt to save face, was a stark contrast to the usually composed and calm Wang Huanbo.

Wang Huanbo, who was usually serious and composed, couldn't help but smile and chuckle softly.

Under the cool moonlight, that faint smile was exceptionally clear.

"What are you laughing at? Is it that funny?"

Tony immediately exploded, his embarrassment instantly overshadowing the warmth in his heart. He glared at Tony and retorted, "I'm working out the power generation model for this boxing style, very rigorous academic thinking, understand?"

He spoke with such conviction, yet the redness on the tips of his ears hadn't faded. He looked like a cat whose secret had been exposed, still stubbornly trying to maintain its composure, utterly lacking any intimidating power, which only made people want to laugh.

Seeing his stubbornness and insistence on saving face, Wang Huanbo suppressed his smile and quickly regained his usual calm, serious, and composed demeanor. He stopped teasing and his tone became solemn.

"Tony, I'm about to leave this plane."

A simple sentence, spoken lightly, struck Tony's heart like a boulder.

Tony's slightly agitated expression froze instantly.

He paused for a full two seconds before frowning as if he hadn't heard clearly. His tone betrayed his usual impatience, trying to mask the sudden emptiness in his heart with nonchalance: "Leave? Where to go? You were staying at my manor perfectly well, what's with this sudden outburst?"

He realized his tone was a bit off as soon as he spoke, so he immediately cleared his throat and added an even harsher remark: "Let me make this clear first, I still have a few ideas about the Mark IV's power architecture to discuss with you, and I haven't quite figured out how to generate the binding force of the Iron Wire Fist. If you just pack up and leave now, who's going to be responsible if I practice it wrong?"

He adopted an air of "I'm just afraid of delaying research and development and boxing practice," but his hands, hanging at his sides, were secretly clenched.

In the days since, from rescuing him in the desolate desert to providing technical guidance and martial arts instruction at the manor, and then quietly covering for him when the military pressured him, Wang Huanbo has been like a pillar of strength, standing there steadily. Tony has never said it, but he has long been used to seeing this person whenever he turns around. He is used to someone who can follow his train of thought, used to someone who can calm his restlessness, used to someone who doesn't want his money or his skills, but simply teaches him steadily.

He never imagined that this person would leave so suddenly.

A wave of reluctance washed over him, making his chest feel heavy, but he gritted his teeth and refused to utter a single soft word. To plead with him to stay? To beg him not to leave? That would be too disgraceful for Stark.

Wang Huanbo, seeing the fleeting sadness and reluctance in his eyes, explained gently, "The troubles on your side—the military pressure, the politicians' covetousness, the technological blockade—have all subsided. By protecting you and guiding you, I have fulfilled the entrustment your father, Howard, gave me years ago."

He raised an eyebrow slightly, a playful smirk in his eyes: "What, are you staying to keep seeing that sour face of yours every day? I don't have that kind of hobby. I have to go back; I have some personal matters to attend to at home. My daughter's one-month celebration is coming up soon, and I can't afford to be late."

Tony was stunned again as soon as he finished speaking, staring at Wang Huanbo in disbelief: "Wait? You have a daughter? And you're having a full-month celebration?"

At that moment, he temporarily forgot the bitterness of parting, his mind filled with shock.

In his mind, Wang Huanbo was his father Howard's best friend. In terms of seniority and age, he should have been an older generation like Howard, and in this context, he would definitely be an old man in his eighties.

But the Wang Huanbo before me was tall and straight, with a youthful appearance and an extraordinary temperament. His words and actions were calm and measured. He looked to be no more than twenty years old, even younger and more dashing than I, who was almost forty.

He had always been curious about this, but his proud and aloof personality prevented him from ever asking. Now, hearing that the other party's newborn daughter was going to have a full-month celebration, all his preconceived notions were instantly shattered.

In the next instant, his exceptional intelligence connected all the clues.

Traversing countless heavens and planes, possessing extraordinary strength, and defying the passage of time...

Tony instantly understood, a look of realization and amazement flashing in his eyes.

The mysterious Eastern powerhouse before us cannot be measured by the years, age, or time of an ordinary Earthling. His life spans countless worlds and countless years; he appears young, but his inner strength is unfathomable.

Shocked as he was, this little thing couldn't suppress the emptiness in his heart. Tony clicked his tongue and forcibly brought the topic back, his tone still hard, but weaker than before: "The full moon celebration can be held whenever it is, a ten-day or two-week delay won't cause any problems."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the boxing manual in his hand, and found the most plausible excuse: "I've just mastered these three sets of boxing. I've got the stance training down, but I'm still far from mastering the techniques of generating and deflecting force. If you just leave like this, and I end up practicing haphazardly and going astray, it will be your lineage, Master Huang, who will lose face."

He said he was afraid of embarrassing others, but his words were full of roundabout attempts to persuade him to stay. For someone as proud as Tony Stark to say such a thing shows he's showing his deepest weakness.

Seeing his insincere expression, Wang Huanbo spoke again, his tone solemn with a hint of warning: "After I leave, do not slack off in your martial arts practice."

"I have laid a solid foundation for you, and I have imparted to you all the orthodox boxing techniques and cultivation insights. From now on, your martial arts potential and level of achievement will depend entirely on your own perseverance and willpower."

His gaze sharpened slightly, carrying a hint of mocking intimidation: "Who knows, I might suddenly descend upon this plane again someday. If I find out then that you've neglected your martial arts, been lazy and slacking off, and your skills have regressed instead of improved... then see how I deal with you."

Upon hearing this, Tony immediately straightened his back, his tail practically wagging, and opened his mouth in his usual arrogant tone: "Take care of me? You'd better be able to find me first. A few measly boxing techniques, how could they possibly stump me, Tony Stark? By the time you come next time, I might even have developed a mechanically assisted training method for you."

He spoke eloquently and nonchalantly, but his hands were tightly clutching the three boxing manuals to his chest, his gaze drifting towards the distant night, refusing to fall on Wang Huanbo.

Only he himself knew that when he said "I'll come again next time," the emptiness in his heart was filled a little bit more.

The moonlight remained the same, and the evening breeze was slightly cool.

One was calm and composed, about to shatter the plane of existence on his way back; the other was proud and coy, stubborn but soft-hearted, hiding all his reluctance in his sarcastic words, clenched fingers, and eyes that dared not meet his gaze.

The mentor-student relationship and the deep bond between the two characters in the Iron Man universe have reached their final moment of parting.