Bruce Lee

In the winter of 1940, San Francisco’s Chinatown breathed with the music of life — clattering teapots, the cries of merchants, the hum of distant trams. But that night, the air shimmered with something rare — a celestial fire danced across the sky, the Northern Lights visiting the city for the first time in living memory. The elders whispered that a dragon was descending to earth. Inside a narrow apartment above a Cantonese opera house, a baby’s cry pierced the night. Midwife: “He is born at the hour of the Dragon, on the day of the Dragon, in the year of the Dragon!” Lee Hoi-Chuen (his father, a proud yet gentle man): (smiling with weary joy) Then let him carry the Dragon’s breath within him. Jun-fan — return again — may his spirit travel far, and return stronger.

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