Chapter 213: The Marching Song of a Strong Army

It was September; autumn had arrived for half a month, and the morning wind carried a chill, stirring the drooping willows and scattering withered yellow leaves from the treetops. For the grand feast of breakfast, early birds hopped and chirped in the woods—what a fine day.

Under the influence of a powerful biological clock cultivated over three hundred years, Wang Yan opened his eyes precisely on time, turned his head to glance at the wall clock—it was just past five. His biological clock usually drifted between five and six; when it was warm, he woke earlier, when cold, a little later.

No dawdling—there was no woman beside him to linger in bed—so he sat straight up, stretched, then effortlessly rolled off the bed. He poured a full mug of boiling water, let it cool briefly, dressed during the pause, and sat on the edge of the bed, quietly drinking while watching outside.

Everyone had slept late last night; now, inside the room, they lay in various postures, sound asleep. His movements were light, and not a single person stirred.

After drinking the water, Wang Yan rose and went downstairs, stretched his arms and legs, then jogged to the military camp's training ground. Conditions weren't good enough yet—definitely not the plastic turf of later years—just an open, flat area cleared of large stones, four hundred meters per lap.

At this moment, many people were running on the track. Aside from a few scattered individuals who clearly were students from other schools, all the rest were soldiers from the camp. Since there was little time to train the students, a group of veteran soldiers—accustomed to early morning exercise after years in the military—still maintained their daily routine to stay fit. Among them, Dai Bingzhong and Sun Army Supervisor were clearly present.

Both clearly spotted Wang Yan approaching; they remembered this arrogant fellow, nodded slightly in greeting, then kept running ahead.

Wang Yan smiled back, then began jogging at his usual pace. His normal running speed was just over three minutes per kilometer; though not a professional athlete, his peak physical condition meant that even the greatest long-distance runners like Farah might not outpace him.

The other instructors didn't know Wang Yan's true strength. Seeing him swiftly overtake them one by one, they noticed his unfamiliar face and assumed he was a student trying to show off. Most of them were soldiers with five or six years of service—around twenty-two or twenty-three years old, young and full of vigor. Seeing a student challenge them like this, they immediately gritted their teeth and chased after Wang Yan.

Even some students from other schools who loved sports felt offended. We're all men—why are you so standout? They joined the sprinting pack.

Wang Yan was well aware of their pursuit. Even if it was just showing off, after all, exercise was for strengthening the body—he had no reason to slow down for their feelings. If he truly slowed, it wouldn't even count as exercise; he'd get no benefit. Too strong? No help for it.

For a time, Wang Yan ran alone on the outermost lane, with a crowd chasing behind. Some who were lapped refused to give up, forcing themselves to accelerate. Eventually, they couldn't hold on and, grumbling, stepped off to the side to walk and recover, even helping Wang Yan count laps.

Yang Yue, who had come out early to memorize vocabulary, arrived to see Wang Yan running lap after lap, while everyone else jogged or walked. Listening to passing conversations, she understood the whole story. She was slightly surprised at the hidden talents in her class, but continued slowly pacing the track, reciting vocabulary.

Yet each time Wang Yan swept past like the wind, vanishing instantly, she couldn't help but lose focus and count his laps. After all, running that fast made anyone curious—how strong was he? How long could he last?

Thus, he ran for about forty minutes—roughly thirty-plus laps, twelve to thirteen kilometers—just slightly sweating. Wang Yan stopped, walked a full lap to steady his breathing, then moved to a quiet corner and assumed a fist stance, striking punches at varying speeds.

Watching Wang Yan's precise, disciplined movements, the veteran soldiers who had been watching him—especially Dai Bingzhong—felt a twinge of resentment. He was a proud man, among the top performers in the camp. Having been left far behind in the run, he now had a competitive itch.

He walked up to Wang Yan, who was still practicing, and called out: "Wang Yan? I didn't misremember, right?"

Wang Yan paused his movements and nodded: "Correct, it's me."

"Trained before?"

"Just messing around."

"Practicing alone is boring. How about we spar a bit?"

Wang Yan glanced at the others gathered nearby, then smiled: "You just ran a long way—don't you need to rest?"

"We're all the same. Let's go."

As he spoke, the onlookers instinctively stepped aside, clearing a space in the center. Dai Bingzhong loosened his limbs, assumed a military fist stance toward Wang Yan, and waved him on.

Wang Yan glanced at Yang Yue, who wore glasses and still had long hair, then nodded: "Let's be clear—just touch, no more."

Seeing Dai Bingzhong nod, Wang Yan stepped forward calmly: "Ready?"

"Hurry up, you big guy, don't be so slow," the crowd cheered.

Wang Yan smiled indifferently, watched Dai Bingzhong's guard, then pushed off the ground and closed the distance instantly. He dodged the incoming punch, stopping his own fist three inches from Dai Bingzhong's face.

The gap was too great. Dai Bingzhong couldn't react at all, staring dumbfounded at the fist before him. He felt a surge of defiance, stepped back, and said: "Again."

As he spoke, Dai Bingzhong lunged with a side kick. Wang Yan stepped forward, blocked the leg, then used his shoulder to push Dai Bingzhong back several steps, holding back his strength.

Wang Yan bowed to Dai Bingzhong and the onlookers: "Thank you, thank you…"

It wasn't that these soldiers were weak—they'd trained, and could easily handle three or five ordinary people. But the advantage of regular soldiers lay in team coordination during group combat; hand-to-hand combat wasn't their main focus, nor their strength. Only reconnaissance troops or special forces might manage two moves against Wang Yan—but no more.

Martial arts are killing techniques, without flashy flourishes—life and death hinge on a hair's breadth. Wang Yan, a peak master of this art for over two hundred years, had never feared one-on-one combat.

Some onlookers who believed themselves stronger than Dai Bingzhong shouted: "I'll go!"

………

In the stunned gazes of Yang Yue, students from other schools, and the crowd of veteran soldiers, Wang Yan defeated several soldiers in succession, then won a two-on-one match, and only barely held on for two moves in a three-on-one before being punched twice and kicked twice, then yielding.

This level of strength was enough. Though these men together couldn't touch him, his ability was sufficient. Though impressive, it was still within acceptable limits—after all, the military wasn't short of capable people. To go further would be shocking and excessive. This was perfect: he earned the soldiers' respect, built rapport, and made life here much easier. Two kicks? Like mosquito bites…

After Wang Yan exchanged a few techniques with the soldiers, the wake-up call sounded. Dai Bingzhong punched him playfully: "You're good. No wonder you got into a top university—this combination of brains and brawn is impressive."

Wang Yan laughed: "Haha, just average, just average…"

Sun Army Supervisor chimed in: "Hey, you're not even modest."

"Why be modest? It's the truth," Dai Bingzhong said. "Alright, we've worked up a sweat all morning—go wash up. Mealtime's coming."

With that, he turned and walked off with Sun Army Supervisor.

Seeing Yang Yue still standing nearby, Wang Yan nodded politely, then turned to head back to his dorm.

"Wang Yan, isn't that a bit impolite?"

Though he didn't like this girl's attitude, there was no grudge—greeting her wouldn't kill him. Wang Yan stopped, turned back, and said: "Yang Yue, right?"

"Good memory."

"Thanks. Goodbye?"

Yang Yue, hands behind her back, tilted her head up: "Goodbye."

Watching Wang Yan turn away without hesitation, she was annoyed. She didn't consider herself a goddess, but neither was she ugly. Her lifelong pride made her resent his dismissal. "Thanks, goodbye"? A dismissive question? Shouldn't you chat a little longer? How… interesting…

Back in the dorm building, it buzzed like a marketplace. After last night's late-night talk, everyone's bonds had strengthened, laughter and chatter everywhere. Finally, the noise became unbearable—the guard on duty downstairs shouted up each floor until silence fell.

Wang Yan had planned to rinse off with cold water, but their floor shared a communal washroom with dozens of students from other schools—everyone fought for space. In the end, Wang Yan merely washed his face and wiped himself with a towel. His muscular frame, of course, drew stares from male students of other schools, igniting countless dreams of a better physique.

Wang Yan couldn't help it. Before gaining the system's favor, he hadn't had this physique. After gaining it, whether in the real world or cinematic worlds, he'd never washed up alongside so many others. Especially in the real world—he hadn't taken a shower or climbed stairs since… As for pride or arrogance? Absolutely none—he'd long passed that phase.

After washing up, the group assembled under their class monitor Hou Pu. Two instructors gave another lecture before breakfast.

On the first official day of military training, as in the movie, they cut short the long hair of the female classmates…

In the following days, Wang Yan rose early every day to run and practice fistwork, occasionally sparring with soldiers. Yang Yue also rose daily, watching Wang Yan's wind-like figure as she strolled and memorized vocabulary. They greeted each other every day—polite "hello" and "goodbye."

Yang Yue wasn't gossipy, the instructors weren't talkative, but students from other schools inevitably spread word of Wang Yan's feats. Through word of mouth, soon everyone in the camp knew about him—so for a couple of days, many more people came out each morning under the guise of morning exercise, just to watch the spectacle.

Daily routines included drill marching, occasional military fist training, memorizing army regulations, and surprise inspections.

During this time, Wang Yan also interacted with Zhao Yingnan, chatting casually now and then, their distance slowly drawing closer. Hmm… a subtle, mutual testing of the waters.

Thus passed half a month.

Today happened to be Sunday—a half-day rest. After lunch, everyone lounged in the dorms, chatting and joking to digest their food.

"Classmates, classmates, listen to me for a moment."

In the dorm, Hou Pu, back from the meeting, clapped his hands to draw attention and said, "National Day is coming soon; the military leadership has decided we'll hold a joint celebration evening."

The group of boys, already uninterested, grew even less enthusiastic; Xin Yi said, "Our college has only twenty-some people; I say we skip it and just watch the girls' performance."

Qiu Shui nodded along: "I agree. If we really must, let the girls figure it out—we'll just follow orders."

The others chimed in with their own opinions, all conveying the same sentiment: they didn't want to perform. If absolutely necessary, they'd just watch the girls sing and dance—it'd be fine.

Wang Yan lay quietly on his bed listening, and he could understand. Though they were all from top-tier schools, their backgrounds and families varied greatly; in this era, very few had much in the way of artistic talent. Those who did either came from families with inherited traditions, or were simply rich enough to afford training.

Just like himself—he had no standout skills before receiving the system. He'd grown up in a village, isolated from information; he hadn't even heard of most arts, let alone learned them. The only thing he could name was his second uncle—his grandfather's younger brother—who could play the erhu, but Wang Yan had no interest. After moving to the city, he was poor; as his mother used to comfort him: "Don't waste money on such frivolities—studying hard is better than anything."

"Stop, stop, classmates, listen to me, listen!" Hou Pu waved his hands loudly to halt them. "The military leadership requires every school to present one performance."

"Of course, I know what you're thinking. So I've already discussed it with Zhao Yingnan—female classmates are more detail-oriented; let them decide the act, and we boys just need to cooperate."

"I'm saying this to inform everyone—if any of you have talent you want to show, and I failed to notify you properly, that'd be my fault. So, if you've got skills, don't hold back. This is about bringing honor to our school; no one should be left out."

The group of boys sneered: "Pfft…"

Gu Ming stood up and leaned over his top bunk: "Wang Yan, why don't you go up and do some Chinese martial arts? Your skills are definitely good enough. If all else fails, strip down and show off your muscles—Americans do that."

"Forget it," Qiu Shui shot him a sidelong glance, then looked at Wang Yan, seated against the wall above. "We're not in America—no muscle-showing. Besides, this is an important occasion; even if we wanted to, it'd be inappropriate. But Wang Yan, you doing martial arts would actually work."

Though they'd shared the room for half a month, Gu Ming knew Wang Yan had no flaws—but he still sensed an air of condescending arrogance, and still didn't like him. Still, they lived together; he had to speak to him. Disliking him was fine—he just wouldn't show it, or he'd seem antisocial.

Of course, the real issue was that Wang Yan was popular among the boys. Not only did he speak well, but he'd often buy fruit, canned goods, and candy from the military service store and never hesitated to share with everyone—they'd all benefited, and he'd eaten his share too.

In truth, the condescending arrogance Qiu Shui felt was simply Wang Yan's tolerance toward others; otherwise, Wang Yan's level would've made coexistence impossible. Qiu Shui just had biased eyes—everything looked like a flaw to him.

Hearing this, Du Zhong gestured as he spoke: "Big Brother Yan, if you go up and do that routine, you'll totally shock them."

Ever since he'd felt Wang Yan's Heavenly Qilin arm, he'd been utterly conquered. And he was actually two months younger than Wang Yan—he called him "Big Brother" with genuine warmth.

"Nah," Xin Yi, beside Du Zhong, sneered. "Go ask around the whole camp—anyone who doesn't know about our Renhe's Big Hero Wang Da? Where are you gonna shock anyone?"

Huang Qi nodded: "True. Let the girls handle it—we'll just follow along."

Wang Yan said nothing for a while, as the conversation circled around him… He thought for a moment, then said: "No muscle-showing, no martial arts—I've had a sudden burst of inspiration and composed a military song. How about we do a group choir instead?"

Qiu Shui pointed at Wang Yan: "You?"

Xin Yi followed up: "You wrote a song?"

Gu Ming nodded: "That doesn't seem right."

Du Zhong, Huang Qi, Hou Pu, and others all shook their heads. Their most immediate impression was his muscular build—and in most people's fixed notions, muscles equaled lack of brains…

Hou Pu said: "We're all classmates—we can't dismiss Wang Yan. How's it really going to turn out? We'll just see."

Wang Yan nodded and gave a thumbs-up: "That's the spirit of unity and camaraderie—the realization that practice reveals truth. No wonder you're class monitor; you always say the right thing."

"It's not that good," Hou Pu waved off, embarrassed. "Just average, average… Heh… Anyway, hurry up and show us your piece."

"I just got the idea recently—I haven't finished writing it yet. Let me sing a couple lines first, so you can hear."

Xin Yi urged: "Come on, stop talking—just sing already! We're all waiting."

Wang Yan cleared his throat, took a breath, and began to sing.

"Listen—the new journey's bugle sounds"

"The goal of a strong military calls ahead"

"If the nation grows strong, we must shoulder the burden"

"On the battle flag, iron-blooded glory is written"

…………

Wang Yan stopped halfway—he couldn't keep going, or he'd have no chance to explain; it still needed a little more polish.

The group below was stunned. Whether it was good or not, they could feel it directly—and crucially, they were all college students with sharp minds. The lyrics were unmistakable: uplifting, clearly mainstream. And no one had expected Wang Yan to be this impressive—not only was he physically strong and skilled in combat, but now he could compose lyrics and music, and sang well too?

"Good!" Xin Yi was the first to clap. Due to Wang Yan's Northeastern roots and his generous nature, their relationship was decent. Still, compared to Qiu Shui, it was slightly weaker.

Partly due to personality, partly because Wang Yan never bothered to cultivate relationships—he saw no need. He wasn't some girl who needed to win approval; as long as he didn't die, it was fine.

Then the others snapped out of it and, whether willing or not, burst into enthusiastic applause. What could they do? He was just too impressive. They'd thought themselves the chosen ones, the pillars of the nation—yet here was someone even greater. They had no choice but to admit it: he was truly a well-rounded talent, excelling in intellect, physique, art, and labor.

The group showered him with praise for a long while—until the usually slow-speaking Huang Qi finally hit the nail on the head: "Wait a minute, Wang Yan, you've only sung half—what about the rest? What if you can't finish it?"

Hou Pu froze: "Right! Wang Yan, the song's great—but it's unfinished. Can you finish it in time?"

"No problem. The melody's mostly repetitive. The lyrics are mostly repeats too. It's basically the same structure—I just need to tweak it. Two days should be enough."

"Alright," Hou Pu nodded. "Then write it down now? I'm afraid you'll forget—such a great song, if lost, would be a tragedy."

He couldn't judge music, but if it sounded good and the lyrics lifted the spirit, it was good enough.

Wang Yan said nothing else, obediently jumped off the bed, and within moments, scribbled the first section of the melody with a fountain pen—his handwriting… the boys had seen it before, but all they could say was "it looked nice"—they couldn't tell more.

After Wang Yan finished and put away his pen, Hou Pu called out: "Wang Yan, put on your shoes—we're going to the girls' dorm to find Zhao Yingnan. You'll sing it for her, and we'll discuss it together."

Then he turned to the others: "Alright, classmates, free time now."

Actually, he didn't need to say it—few cared what he said. Even Qiu Shui, Xin Yi, and Gu Ming had already left. The rest were just resting—he was just enjoying the feeling of authority…

Soon after, Wang Yan, wearing his shoes, followed Hou Pu downstairs to the girls' dormitory.

From afar, Wang Yan saw Xiao Hong, small in stature, hands in her pockets, strolling lazily toward the sports field.

Hou Pu yelled: "Xiao Hong!"

She stopped and turned, puzzled, looking at Hou Pu and Wang Yan, wondering why they called her. Though they were classmates, she'd had little interaction with either—especially Wang Yan, whom she'd disliked from the start, acting like some arrogant prince.

When they approached, Xiao Hong asked: "What do you want?"

"Xiao Hong, could you go up and ask Zhao Yingnan to come down?"

"That's it?" Xiao Hong glanced at them indifferently. When Hou Pu nodded, she said: "I'm on my way to complete Zhao Yingnan's task. Find someone else. I'm going…"

With that, she grinned at them, then turned and continued toward the sports field.

There was nothing they could do. Hou Pu sighed helplessly and complained to Wang Yan: "No spirit of unity, no mutual help at all."

The moment he finished speaking, he turned and saw Liu Tingting, You Yue, and Gu Xiaoman—the three gossiping women—emerging from the dorm like conjoined twins. Hou Pu called out: "You Yue!"

Hearing the noise, the three girls walked over with smiles. You Yue asked, "What do you want us for?"

Wang Yan found the three annoying, but Hou Pu spoke up: "Could you go call Zhao Yingnan for us?"

"We can do that…," Gu Xiaoman chuckled, "but could you tell us why, of all three of us, you only called out You Yue's name?"

Damn, is this even a thing?

Wang Yan didn't want to listen to their nagging; whenever they brushed against him, he just grunted "hmm."

Bored, he briefly gave serious thought to the reason—it was probably that Hou Pu subconsciously thought You Yue was the prettiest of the three… after all, when greeting someone, people naturally call the one they rank higher in their mind. And later, Hou Pu did end up with You Yue, which serves as proof.

But Wang Yan thought Hou Pu might actually like Zhao Yingnan very much—she was just too outstanding, and Hou Pu had enough self-awareness to keep it to himself.

As Wang Yan was lost in thought, the three girls finally turned and went back to the dorm to find Zhao Yingnan.

Not long after, Zhao Yingnan came down, saw Wang Yan standing with Hou Pu, and quickened her pace to reach the two of them.