Chapter 61: Ye Wen

After bidding farewell to Sun Lutang, Wang Yan left Shanghai and continued southward.

This time, he departed much faster; Gong Baosen, Li Shuwen, and Sun Lutang—all major figures with influence in both martial and political circles—had vouched for him, and with his own strength, by now virtually no one remained ignorant of him. He primarily visited renowned masters for brief exchanges: if they were willing to teach, he accepted; if not, he did not force them.

Until now, the items in his space, combined with his memories and insights gained along this journey, were immense: over a hundred battles with weapons and bare hands, and none of his opponents were weak.

By September, when he arrived in Foshan, Wang Yan's combat skills had reached LV4. At this point, reaching LV5 would require only slow, steady practice—it could not be achieved overnight.

As he stepped out of the train station, Wang Yan saw someone holding a sign with his name, waiting to greet him.

Status is a real thing, especially in this era. Without boasting, right now, he, Wang Mou, was the most prominent figure in the martial world, and everyone watched his every move. Indeed, many people, regardless of their own skill, put on the airs of elders, holding themselves high. He had seen plenty of such behavior on this journey.

Arriving in Foshan, the reception was decent; though they likely came for the people behind him, they had still shown him face.

Walking up to the man, Wang Yan said: "Brother, greetings. I am Wang Yan. May I ask which elder invited me?"

"Mr. Wang, greetings. Chairman Chen of the Jingwu Association sent me. Please follow me—Chairman Chen has already prepared a banquet." With that, he nodded to Wang Yan and turned to lead the way.

At the destination, Wang Yan looked at the six-story building before him, its facade bearing a large plaque inscribed with three gilded characters: "Gonghe Building."

This must be the Golden Building from the film.

Among the dust and grit, there must be men of true feeling? Yet even the softest embrace can be a hero's grave.

Today, the Jingwu Association had rented the entire place, so nearly everyone inside was from Foshan's martial circles.

As Wang Yan entered the grand hall on the top floor, everyone turned to look at him, eager to see the young man who had forged his great reputation through sheer fists.

Striding forward, Wang Yan stepped into the center and bowed to the middle-aged man seated at the main seat: "Disciple Wang Yan, pays respects to Chairman Chen." After speaking, he rose and bowed in a circle to all present: "Greetings to all fellow martial brothers and elders here."

"No need for such formalities. Sit down." Chairman Chen gestured with his hand.

After Wang Yan sat, Chairman Chen continued: "Everyone here knows your intentions, and everyone here understands your purpose—there is no issue with that. The elders before you have set the example; we cannot let the martial world laugh at us."

"But you have traveled from north to south—Foshan is your final battle. What do you intend to do next?"

Wang Yan set down his teacup and said: "Next, I will stay in Foshan for a while to organize everything I've learned this past year." Then, remembering the issue of opening a school, he added: "However, rest assured—I, Wang Mou, will not open a school or teach students in Foshan."

Before Chairman Chen could speak, a burly man holding a girl spoke up: "What nonsense, Wang Brother! Opening a school is no problem at all! But since you've said so, it's settled." He was impulsive, eager to cement Wang Yan's promise not to open a school.

Others chimed in loudly, agreeing with the burly man. They were afraid—Wang Yan's record, undefeated from north to south, meant if he opened a school, what chance would they have? Martial arts were a livelihood too—what did they eat and drink?

Chairman Chen glanced at Wang Yan, who sipped tea indifferently, then glared at the crowd—these people had disgraced Foshan's martial reputation.

Gradually, the crowd noticed Chairman Chen's expression and fell silent. But they didn't care—they had chosen Chen as chairman for their own interests; otherwise, why even have him?

"Enough. Let's move to the main matter," Chairman Chen said. He understood the situation perfectly—he couldn't control these people, so he had to swallow his anger.

Wang Yan nodded, set down his teacup, stood, stepped to the center, and bowed: "I welcome your instruction."

A thirty-something man with thick eyebrows and bright eyes stepped forward—undoubtedly Ye Wen. Ye Wen was actually quite reluctant, but with so many elders present, he had no choice but to step up.

Ye Wen stepped opposite Wang Yan, bowed, and said: "Wing Chun, Ye Wen. Please instruct me." Then he stepped back and assumed his signature Wen Shou stance.

Wang Yan had long grown tired of such formalities—he swung a roundhouse kick directly. Ye Wen raised his arm to block, but the immense force sent him staggering sideways several steps—he lost the initiative immediately. Though Wang Yan had only used a probing kick, not his full strength, the power was still beyond what most could endure. Wang Yan did not press the advantage; Ye Wen shook his numb arm, steadied himself, and focused intently on Wang Yan's movements.

Wang Yan stomped his left foot and launched a straight punch at Ye Wen. Ye Wen, prepared, sidestepped and blocked Wang Yan's arm, rooted his stance, and delivered a Biao Zhi strike to the throat. Wang Yan calmly blocked with his other arm, redirected Ye Wen's force with his own, then stomped his left foot again, stepped forward with his right, and closed in with a Tie Shan Kao. Ye Wen spun away, then kicked diagonally at Wang Yan's shin. Wang Yan dodged—no success. Simultaneously, Ye Wen unleashed twin rapid punches.

The two exchanged a few more strikes; through this brief exchange, Wang Yan assessed Ye Wen's level—he was still far behind his own, even with his advantages. Wang Yan swung his left fist from right to left, absorbed two punches, then swept Ye Wen's arms aside. As Ye Wen shifted his stance, Wang Yan delivered a Ding Xin Zhou—elbow strike to the chest.

Ye Wen was too slow to dodge Wang Yan's speed—he could only grit his teeth and endure it. Seeing Ye Wen's expression, Wang Yan quickly retracted his elbow and twisted his waist, pushing Ye Wen back several steps. Wang Yan had no choice—he hadn't used full power, but the technique had been too forceful to stop. Fortunately, he had altered it slightly; otherwise, that elbow strike might have broken ribs. Compared to that, this was the best outcome.

Wang Yan bowed to Ye Wen, who had just steadied himself: "Thank you for your courtesy."

Ye Wen straightened his clothes and returned the bow: "Thank you."

"Excellent skill!" The crowd erupted in cheers now that the outcome was clear.

The crowd did not blame Ye Wen—they all knew Wang Yan's level. They were merely relieved: thank goodness he wouldn't open a school.

"Excellent! Truly remarkable skill," Chairman Chen said. "You've sparred enough. Wang Brother, you've traveled far—no doubt you're hungry. Let's eat and talk."

Wang Yan nodded in agreement, then turned to Ye Wen: "Mr. Ye, we must drink properly together."

"I'll drink with you to the end," Ye Wen replied. Though he had lost honorably, he was still unhappy—no one liked to lose.

Wang Yan nodded and followed them to the banquet.

Martial men—good eaters, good drinkers—plates and cups scattered, joyous and lively.

Yet during the meal, Wang Yan noticed a dish of snake soup. He forced himself to eat a bite, savoring it—it was indeed delicious, and clearly made from ingredients aged decades.

During a pause, Wang Yan slipped quietly to the kitchen and addressed the figure's back: "Disciple Wang Yan, may I ask if you are surnamed Ding?"

When Wang Yan first arrived, though he moved softly, Ding Lianshan had noticed immediately—after all, caution was etched into his bones by his trade.

Slowly turning his head, he fixed Wang Yan with piercing, murderous eyes: "You're mistaken."

Wang Yan bowed respectfully and smiled: "Don't frighten me, Elder. I don't believe such a commotion in the Golden Building could have escaped your notice—surely you know who I am?"

Ding Lianshan smiled, instantly softening into a benevolent expression: "You're a good lad." He added firewood to the stove and continued: "I know your ambition—it's good. But in life, steel that's too rigid breaks easily. You must know when to yield and when to hold. It's time to rein yourself in."

Wang Yan nodded in agreement—he had no choice. From north to south, undefeated, even with his godlike perspective, he had outwardly shown humility and courtesy, yet inwardly, he had grown a little arrogant, his edges too sharp—he might as well have written "If you disagree, fight me" on his face.

Then Ding Lianshan asked Wang Yan about the current situation in Northeast China and the recent state of the Gong family, speaking for a while.

As if losing interest, Ding Lianshan turned back to the stove and said: "Go. Don't tell Baosen I'm here—so he won't worry."

Wang Yan understood Ding Lianshan missed home and didn't want to talk further. He could relate—leaving one's homeland was hard. Besides, Ding Lianshan's current situation was precarious—if someone recognized him, he'd have to flee again. He had no real connection with Ding Lianshan; the fact that Ding had spoken to him at all was due only to Gong Baosen's favor. He didn't seek anything from Ding Lianshan—he already knew all those techniques himself.

He didn't press further, saying: "I'll stay in Foshan for a while. If you need anything, come find me. I take my leave."

He returned and endured the crowd's company—then the day was over.

The next day, Wang Yan awoke in his inn. After packing, he rented a courtyard not far from the Ye family mansion, bought various sundries, and officially settled in Foshan.

In the following days, Wang Yan visited local elder masters as usual. He had no status to warrant formal banquets, so none of them had been present at the Golden Building.

Today, Wang Yan brought wine, tea, and prepared dishes to the Ye family mansion.

He knocked on the gate. Soon, the door opened and an old servant stepped out.

Wang Yan held up his gifts and said: "Please, sir, inform your master—Wang Yan has come to call."

The old servant nodded and said, "Wait a moment," then turned and went inside.

Wang Yan waited patiently, then saw Ye Wen hurry out with the servant, bowing from afar: "Wang Brother, you came without warning—I should have greeted you! Please, come in."

"Haha, Mr. Ye, you're too kind, too kind." Wang Yan handed his gifts to the servant and followed Ye Wen inside.

Ye Wen walked as he spoke: "I wonder what brings Brother Wang here?"

"Last time we fought, I saw your techniques were extraordinarily refined. I've come this time to discuss them with you."

"That's easy to say, easy to say."

As they spoke, they arrived at Ye Wen's main hall, where his wife Zhang Yongcheng was eating with their child.

Wang Yan apologized: "Oh dear, I've come at a terrible time. Brother Ye, please forgive me, forgive me."

"No matter. Brother Wang, have you eaten? If not, join us for a bite?"

"That would be too much trouble, Brother Ye. Luckily, I brought a roast chicken and some braised pig's trotters—let's eat together." Wang Yan accepted immediately.

Ye Wen froze. I was just being polite? He accepted right away? And even brought more food? Shouldn't he have refused first, so I could invite him twice more before reluctantly agreeing?

"Alright, perfect. Uncle Xiang, bring the food up and add another set of chopsticks." Ye Wen invited Wang Yan to sit, then turned to his old servant and gave the order. It was just a meal—he didn't care.

Wang Yan sat down and addressed Zhang Yongcheng: "Sister-in-law, hello. I'm Wang Yan. And Brother Ye, don't be formal—call me Ayen."

Zhang Yongcheng nodded politely at Wang Yan, said "Alright," then fell silent, lowering her head to eat.

Ye Wen added from beside her: "Then don't be distant either. I'm a few years older—call me Wen-ge."

Wang Yan also greeted Ye Zhun beside him; the boy was only seven years old now.

The meal was quiet, as none of them were yet familiar enough—they needed time to adjust.

After eating, the two sat drinking tea. Ye Wen offered Wang Yan a cigarette, who thanked him and took it.

The two exhaled smoke, and began talking.

Mostly, Ye Wen spoke of his understanding of Wing Chun—small techniques of power generation. Everyone had their own insights; even when practicing the same thing, the results differed, and this process truly benefited Wang Yan.

"Alright, Wen-ge, no need to see me off. I live just two streets over. Next time, I'll surely bother you again."

"Don't be formal, Ayen. I'm always happy to see you. Take care."

After Wang Yan left, Zhang Yongcheng said: "This friend of yours isn't bad—he knows to bring gifts when visiting, even if he just ate them all himself."

Ye Wen shook his head without speaking. He suspected Wang Yan had just come for a free meal.

Wang Yan strolled down the road, thinking. He still needed to slowly build rapport with Ye Wen—they were still somewhat distant.

In 1931, on September 18, the Japanese shelled the Beidaying camp. The next day, they seized Fengtian.

Whether it was Young Marshal Zhang or the Bald One who said it didn't matter—the policy of non-resistance was already fact. When the news spread, the whole nation erupted in outrage. Protests, marches, public fury surged. But in the end, it was all futile. At root, weakness was the original sin.

Wang Yan wrote to Gong Baosen in Fengtian to ask after his safety, and sent letters to his elder acquaintances to check in. Then he let it pass. He could do nothing. At best, he could return to Northeast China and kill a few dozen or a few hundred men—but it wouldn't change the overall situation. Worse, killing would provoke the Japanese to massacre local civilians in retaliation.

Political matters were not something a mere martial artist like him could involve himself in.

A ripple stirred in Foshan's martial world, then quickly faded. The Golden Building remained the Golden Building.

In the following period, Wang Yan spent his days refining techniques and occasionally practicing calligraphy. Sometimes he went to Foshan's famous clinic to study medicine—something he had begged for with generous gifts. Medicine and martial arts were inseparable; Wang Yan had long studied sports medicine, partly to understand his own body, partly to learn how to strike harder and kill faster. He knew massage and bone-setting too. But now, what he learned from them was authentic medical art—from memorizing texts as an apprentice, to identifying herbs, preparing prescriptions, to understanding medical theory.

Occasionally, Wang Yan would drop by Ye Wen's house for meals; their relationship grew steadily warmer. Ye Wen was no petty man—he could accept defeat. Moreover, Wang Yan's knowledge far surpassed Ye Wen's; most of their exchanges felt more like Wang Yan giving Ye Wen a one-sided lecture.

As always, Wang Yan was a man who grew more fascinating the more you knew him. Ye Wen was captivated. He was a martial fanatic—if Wang Yan hadn't had so many other things to do, he'd have followed him around all day.

Through Ye Wen, Wang Yan met his friend Zhou Qingquan. With Wang Yan's deliberate effort, the two hit it off immediately and started a business together. That year, Wang Yan had never been wealthy—wherever he went, elder masters gave him face and treated him well; they were all men of means.

But in Foshan, it was different. He was settling down, not visiting—no one took care of him.

To do business, he needed staff—and to feed staff, he needed money. So he borrowed some from Gong Baosen and, with Ye Wen and Zhou Qingquan, started a venture here: he provided guidance, Zhou Qingquan handled operations, Ye Wen just lounged around—everyone was happy.