​Photos by Matthew Yarbrough

In a recently opened Shaanxi noodle joint in the southeastern reaches of the Beijing sprawl, a handful of patrons stare across the restaurant at a hefty, rough-looking Chinese man engrossed in his bowl of noodles and conversation with friends. His easy demeanor and amiable smile look odd on him, not like the villainous sneers and murderous scowls he's known for. His name is Han Feixing (Jack Han in English), but those in the restaurant know him as Zha Ka, a martial-artist-turned-actor who, more often than not, plays the bad guy.

Zha Ka glances around the restaurant. Some patrons look away, other stares linger. He's unperturbed. As someone who has appeared in a dozen films over the last decade, he's used to being stared at. He's always been used to attention from strangers, though. At 6'1", Zha Ka stands out on the streets of Beijing. He's always one of the larger men around. Must be his northern China roots. He's a Heilongjiang boy, from the northernmost Chinese province on the border with Siberia, an area fabled to have winters as fierce as the province's native Siberian tigers.

The Heilongjiang of Zha Ka's youth was happy, though somewhat perilous, in his memory. His father was a Chinese soldier and his mother took care of him and his three little sisters. As the oldest and only boy, Zha Ka felt responsible for his younger sisters from an early age, wanted to protect them from local miscreants running around town. He was involved in a few minor scuffles growing up, much to his parents' dismay. They told him fighting was not right, not for the street, not something to do out of anger. That's when he started training.

Shuai jiao, or Chinese wrestling, was his first love. ("Shuai jiao is the original grappling style," Zha Ka said. "Then it went to Japan and they changed it.") And he was good at it, maybe even a natural. He won several local and regional competitions, was ranked number one at 82kg in Heilongjiang when he was a teenager, back in the '80s. After graduating from school, his martial arts background and naturally large body type were enough to land him a job as a bodyguard for a rich Chinese businessman.

Personal protection was his first dip into a grown-up career and it changed his life, took the boy from the north away from everything he'd ever known. The businessman had his hand in many pots, and the young wrestler-now-bodyguard, just beginning his 20s, accompanied his boss on trips all over China and the world. His curiosity was piqued by martial arts from other cultures, and Zha Ka used his free time on international trips to study styles he'd never witnessed in China. While his boss was in closed business meetings, he was at local gyms. He cross-trained in Thailand, the Philippines, Russia, the U.S., anywhere the boss took him.

Out of all the fighting systems he encountered, though, the one that called to him most was Western boxing. Zha Ka began training in Beijing and Guangdong, China. The combination of a boxing and shuai jiao background opened his eyes to what a well-rounded fighter could be. As a professional bodyguard, shuai jiao was important, but a striking art like boxing was essential. Now, with over 20 years of boxing experience, he openly professes his belief that Western boxing is the best martial art he's ever learned, and he has a few reasons why. Western boxing provides a strong base from which to launch your attack, he says. No kicks means easier balance. Throwing your fists is a natural instinct in fighting. A boxer will have the fastest hands compared to any other discipline, so if your natural reaction in a fight is to use your hands, it makes sense to train them the most.

Bodyguard work wasn't glamorous, and eventually it became impractical, especially once he thought about starting a family. "As a bodyguard, you're expected to protect the person in your charge first and foremost," he says. "I couldn't take on that responsibility anymore." Fortunately, the opportunity to train around the world proved most valuable. In his early 30s, Zha Ka left the business of personal security to become a coach. Now, nearly 15 years later, he's one of the better known boxing coaches in China.

Students of all nationalities and ages seek him out. Zha Ka the boxing coach doesn't spend money on advertising. He maintains a blog with his contact information, but that's about it. Most of his clients find him by word-of-mouth or by searching his acting name. Space permitting, he accepts students and fighters of every level and background: health-conscious foreigners working term jobs in Beijing, rich Chinese company bosses who worship Western boxing culture, high school students whose wealthy families hope excellence in boxing will improve chances of admittance into an international university.

The big Chinese company bosses he coaches all love boxing, he says. They're a marketer's dream demographic, a newly rich audience engrossed in the cults of personality built around famous Western fighters. They love Tyson, they love Mayweather, they train because they want to emulate their heros. Some of them even like Manny Pacquiao, Zha Ka says, but mostly it's Mayweather and Tyson. Zha Ka gets a lot of mileage with these big-boss students of his once they see a certain picture on his blog, the one of him grinning at the camera alongside Floyd. That was taken in 2010, during a trip to the U.S. in which Zha Ka trained with Mayweather's coach in Las Vegas.

He's been training at gyms abroad for years, but the Mayweather Boxing Club was especially impressive albeit slightly perplexing to Zha Ka, and not just because it happened to be in Las Vegas's Chinatown. It was much smaller than he'd expected. He was surprised a gym so small could produce what he called the highest level of boxing. To improve his own coaching skills, he watched how the American coaches communicated with their fighters, how they imparted their golden techniques. He came away with new enthusiasm for his beloved sport, as well as new opinions on various facets of American culture. For example, according to Zha Ka, African Americans don't like to talk much. They don't bullshit, he says. They just get down to business.

Zha Ka still travels every few years to cross-train at gyms around the world. He spouts off Chinese proverbs, saying 三人行, 必有我师焉. Three people walking together, at least one must be my teacher. He's always looking to learn, but Zha Ka also boasts a roster of big names who train under his guidance. Chinese bantamweight MMA fighter Yao Honggang specifically sought out Zha Ka for his boxing. Western fighters have also trained with him—stored on his phone are photos of padwork with Dave Bautista, a martial-artist-turned-movie-star, of Guardians of the Galaxy and Spectre fame. And just like Bautista, Zha Ka made the jump from coaching to modest movie stardom.

It happened almost by accident. Zha Ka never intended to be an actor. After leaving the business of bodyguard security in his early 30s, his plan was to start a coaching career (he did; the students started lining up), get into competitive bodybuilding (he did, placed in top three in two separate Beijing competitions), maybe even write a book (he did, titled it Quan Ji, 拳击, Boxing). Things were going well and his life was satisfyingly busy. Then one of his more famous students, an established Chinese actor, suggested he consider the film business.

It was at the end of a training session more than 10 years ago. "Good session," the student said while toweling off. He then turned to Zha Ka. "Have you ever considered working in the film industry?"

"No. Why?"

"Because you'd make a great villain."

Zha Ka protested, said he'd never acted before, said it looked too difficult.

His student reassured him it would be easy enough. All he'd have to do is follow the instructions of the director. "I'll put you in touch with some people."

So Zha Ka gave the movie business a try. To his surprise, he loved it. The phone started ringing with offers. We have more bad guys for you to play. For Zha Ka, it was less about building an acting career and more about having fun. Directors enjoyed working with him. He was scary-looking on screen, easygoing behind the scenes.

Since his first hesitant foray into movies 10 years ago, he has appeared in a dozen films, starring alongside big names like Jackie Chan and Jet Li in popular Chinese movies like The Taking of Tiger Mountain, Little Big Soldier, and Police Story 2013. It doesn't bother him to be type-casted, always a warlord or crime boss or henchman. He finds it funny that in only two of his dozen films does he play something other than the baddie.

He's cut out for this type of on-screen work. He has the build of a circus strongman, a look that can make the audience go from thinking "gentle giant" to "Jesus please don't hurt me" in an instant.

Now as a well-known actor and coach, Zha Ka is an odd balance between genuine friendliness and understandable caution. He maintains his privacy; in our interview, he declined to state his birthday or specific details regarding his immediate family. Still, he's open and engaging. Within five minutes of our initial phone call in which I explained I'm an American journalist for a publication he wasn't sure he'd ever heard of, he invited me to observe his evening training session with the "CEO of Audi," as he (erroneously) called his student, and set aside two hours for an interview.

He was easy to spot waiting for us outside the subway, towering above passers-by, hands tucked into his striped sweatshirt pockets. The hood was up, obscuring his face in shadows and lessening the chances of being identified by excited fans. From the subway, Zha Ka led my photographer and me to the posh Pacific Century Club gym.

"So you speak Chinese?" he asked me. "Oh good, because I don't want to speak English. Sometimes I have to speak English to my students but I just want them to learn Chinese because we're in China and I want to speak Chinese. It's the mother tongue here. I spoke a lot of English in the U.S. and now I just want to speak Chinese because I'm back in China! You know the fastest way to learn a language? Train martial arts in that language! You'll learn words quickly, like, 'Move!' or 'Duck!' or 'Slip!' If you don't learn, you get hit. Works fast."

In the elevator up to the gym, he joked around playfully. "Your photographer looks like a little kid!" he told me in Chinese. "How old is this kid? Sixteen? Seventeen?" Matthew is 28, but with his five-foot-five, 125-pound frame, he's miniature in Zha Ka's perspective.

I interpreted Zha Ka's Chinese comments. "Of course I look like a kid to him," Matthew said. "He's enormous."

Zha Ka looked down at both of us with a jovial smile. As a big man in China, I'd imagine most of his social interactions require him to look down.

At 7pm, a Russian boxer arrived for private coaching. Zha Ka introduced us to Tomas Ermolaev. "This is the CEO of Audi China!" Zha Ka said.

Tomas laughed. "I'm not the CEO," he said. "I'm the Head of Security Operations."

"Yeah, but that's basically the CEO!" said Zha Ka, ever enthusiastic and encouraging.

Tomas laughed and shook his head. He's been training with Zha Ka for more than two years, ever since he stumbled across his blog page. It took Tomas months to track him down; Zha Ka had been away filming a movie.

Zha Ka's coaching and fighting styles are a departure from the Russian coaches Tomas used to train with in his homeland. Zha Ka is meticulous, Tomas says. He calls Zha Ka's "professional, as opposed to the Eastern European amateur style taught in Russia." It isn't easy to master, but perseverance has paid off. Tomas describes noticeable improvements in his defense, striking power, and coordination. "Not all boxers make good coaches," Tomas said. "Zha Ka is one of those exceptions."

The pair glided through their hour-long training session. Tomas's movements were confident. He was a man squarely in middle age, but boxed like a man in his twenties. The Russian head of Audi China security started boxing 20 years ago in his thirties, training with Russian champs, fighting in underground competitions in St. Petersburg. "In those days, boxing was a way of life," he told me. "It helped me through some life-threatening situations in the ongoing gangland warfares that were happening then." Tomas quit for a while to focus on career, always yearning to return to the sport. Now in Beijing and under guidance of his famous Chinese movie-actor coach, 50-year-old Tomas is getting back into the competitive circuit. He has a fight scheduled in early December. His coach Zha Ka will be there the whole way.

When the training session with the Russian ended, so did Zha Ka's workday. He emerged from the showers wearing a charmingly goofy white tank top dotted with island-themed cartoons, and cheerfully asked if we'd like to join him and his assistant Bao Ou (English name Niko) for dinner.

"We're taking you to his favorite noodle shop," Niko said, riding shotgun as we drove through the hazy pollution shrouding Beijing's Third Ring Road. She turned to Matthew and me, crammed next to a baby seat in the back of Zha Ka's mid-sized SUV. "They serve Shaanxi noodles. We eat at this place constantly. Almost every day."

Niko knows him well; she's been his assistant for the past six years, and was his boxing student for three years prior. "I help him with life," she said when I asked what her job duties are. "Pretty much whatever he needs."

"When she used to train with me, all my male students were afraid of her," he laughed. Like Tomas, Niko also sang Zha Ka's praises as a coach, citing his sense of humor, his easygoing approach, his professional attitude, his confidence in his fighters. Niko doesn't have much time to train with Zha Ka anymore, though. "He got busier, so I got busier," she lamented.

Coach Zha Ka and Assisstant Niko are an odd-looking pair. While he's tall and muscular and constantly warm and cheerful, she's skinny and cool and calm. I made the same mistake with Niko that Zha Ka had made earlier with my photographer, pegging her for 10 years younger than she actually is. Her lanky frame, short fluffy hair, delicate face, and quiet voice initially masked the in-control, competent core we watched emerge as the night wore on. When Zha Ka couldn't recall the names of all dozen movies in which he's appeared, she wrote out the list for me. She corrected his English as he practiced with us native speakers, despite not being a native speaker herself. Her corrections were always right.

The noodle shop was darlingly decorated with ironic Cultural Revolution kitsch. The food was some of the best I'd had recently in Beijing; no wonder Zha Ka is obsessed with the place. Halfway through dinner, the portly restaurant owner came out to chat, asking about new movie roles and how the fam is doing. He and Zha Ka know each other well; that's what happens when a customer comes to a restaurant at least three times a week for a year.

We stayed until 10pm. Some diners stared at our party in the corner, openly but not impolitely. No one approached for autographs. That's typical in China today, Zha Ka said. People don't ask for autographs much anymore. Now they all want selfies together.

In the end, Niko and Zha Ka boxed up the stir-fried leftovers and thanked the chef, who came out to say hello to one of his most loyal patrons. We made our way to the door, but paused a few minutes for Zha Ka to take last-minute selfies with a few delighted diners who finally got up the courage to approach the on-screen villain/ real-life jolly man.

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