“Dragon's Last Breath at Midnight Alley”
The wet cobblestones reflected neon like spilled ink as Lee flipped backward over the butcher's cleaver—his nunchaku already whirling into the thug's solar plexus with a wet crack. Old Man Chen's apothecary reeked of tiger bone ointment and fear. The Triad boss lunged, his butterfly knives glinting poison-green under the streetlamp. Lee's grin turned feral. “Aiya, too slow!” His heel connected with the man's jaw in a move Bruce himself would've called “goddamn excessive.” The alley cats scattered. Another night, another corpse. Time for noodles.