Chapter 62

Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, three years had passed; it was now the year 35.

Within the country, war still raged, cannons roared continuously, and demonstrations and protests erupted one after another.

In 33 and 34, the two masters, Sun Lutang and Li Shuwen, passed away one after another; Wang Yan traveled halfway across the homeland to pay his respects.

Both masters had countless disciples spread across the land, many holding high positions; despite Wang Yan's aura of invincibility, to them he was merely a skilled fighter. Wang Yan had fame, but no prestige. Thus, the proper courtesies were extended, but to ask for more would be to forget one's own surname.

In the rest of his time, Wang Yan did not idle; besides daily martial training, calligraphy, and medical study, he secretly assembled a force of five hundred men. These men were all disciples and pupils of reliable elder masters he had visited, some even sent their own blood relatives. In fact, over these years, a significant portion of their disciples had already joined the military.

But the outcome broke their hearts—many of those men died in the warlord conflicts and power struggles, becoming pawns in someone else's game. It was precisely because Wang Yan made his intent clear—to fight the Japanese—that they offered limited support. Of course, they did not fully trust him, but they couldn't dismiss him outright; they watched to see what Wang Yan would do, and sent him a few capable disciples.

With the vast wealth he had earned through business, Wang Yan used gold bars to bribe his way through the foreign devils' networks and acquired plenty of elite equipment, arming the five hundred men. Ye Wen and Zhou Qingquan said nothing about Wang Yan's extravagant spending; they fully supported him. They were men who understood reason and righteousness; in a time of survival or death, such actions were necessary. In truth, they could not afford to maintain too many men—food, fodder, all cost money.

These men all had excellent physical conditioning; once their rebelliousness was crushed and they learned obedience, they would make fine soldiers. Wang Yan did not know how to train troops, so he followed his own instincts. These men were not afraid of hardship and could endure it, and with the many medicinal formulas in his possession, even if they shortened their lives, it wouldn't be too severe.

Thus, he trained them according to his memory of formations, physical conditioning, marksmanship, and his own synthesized practical killing techniques drawn from various schools. His techniques were almost all one-strike kills—if they didn't kill the enemy, they'd kill themselves. That's why it shortened lifespans: everything was rushed, training speed and strength to the extreme, demanding relentless forward momentum—fast lived, slow died.

These men were all martial artists; they naturally understood the flaws in what Wang Yan taught them. But when they left their homes, their masters had warned them: once you step out, the only thing that returns is your corpse. And they had all come of their own free will—what did they care about the details? Kill one, break even; kill more, profit.

After initial training, Wang Yan led them north and fought several battles. He knew no military strategy, had no strategic vision to match others; he relied solely on elite tactics—his superior physique, precise shooting, and high mobility—to kill and burn wherever he went. He aided Ma Zhanshan and later the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army in Mobile Corps Commander warfare, sabotaging supply lines. At first, it worked—he delayed enemy forces and killed many. But soon, the enemy grew wary.

They launched frenzied encirclements and ambushes; after nearly a hundred men died, this force, freshly tempered by war, was finally shaped. The rest required no further micromanagement from Wang Yan—he only needed to maintain control, join operations occasionally, and ensure logistical support. The rest was left to veteran-led-newcomer mentoring, gradual growth, and letting them fend for themselves.

The things he and his men did altered minor local situations, but had no effect on the grand tide; with only a few rifles, he could never amount to anything—merely the bravery of a lone man.

Wang Yan had no choice but to once again begin quieting his mind and cultivating peace. He had personally killed scores of people through assassinations and torture—surely over a hundred. He had truly gone blood-mad. Now, whenever he faced a problem, his instinct was to kill to solve it—this could not continue.

Due to excellent secrecy and the elders' silence, everyone knew of this elusive force, but no one knew who led it. Perhaps some sharp minds had pieced together clues, but they wisely kept quiet, merely sending agents to secretly contact Wang Yan. After all, this force under Wang Yan's command was formidable—but wasted in his hands.

Wang Yan was no fool; he was certain that if anyone discovered he was acting as someone else's enforcer, his men would be gone by the next day, and he might end up like Ding Lianshan. The elders were old, but not helpless—he couldn't deceive them like that. So he merely met with those who came seeking aid, and since they were doing particularly brutal, difficult work, he provided some supplies—better than nothing. Everything else, he denied outright.

There's a saying: don't assume what you think—assume what I think. The Japanese also sensed something amiss and took actions against Wang Yan—assassinations, ambushes, sniping. He endured several waves of attacks, holding back—for these men were carefully trained, far more valuable than regular soldiers, with greater roles to play. Losing so many for the sake of killing one martial artist was not worth it.

But it inevitably affected Gong Baosen in Fengtian. With the establishment of Manchukuo and the "Co-Prosperity Sphere," they dared not act directly against someone of Gong Baosen's stature. Still, it was a constraint; the Gong family struggled. Gong Baosen wrote to Wang Yan, telling him not to worry, to carry on as before—he was truly pleased; the young Wang boy had not been raised in vain, his efforts had not been wasted.

One day, Wang Yan and Zhou Qingquan were having lunch at Ye Wen's home as usual.

Zhang Yongcheng was tending to Ye Zhun, who refused to eat properly; beside them, Zhou Qing's son, Zhou Guangyao, silently stuffed food into his mouth.

Zhou Qingyao picked up a chopstick of vegetables and said: "Ah Yan, thank you so much—Guangyao has improved greatly. To say nothing else, his health has gotten much better."

Zhou Guangyao, hearing this, immediately slowed his eating and became more refined.

"Hahaha, you, why scare the child?" Without waiting for Wang Yan, Ye Wen laughed: "Guangyao, eat freely—we don't have so many rules."

Wang Yan smiled along: "It's fine. To be honest, it's my fault—Guangyao and Azhun have been my students for two years, and I've only recently begun teaching them anything."

"Take your time," Zhou Qingquan reassured him. "Guangyao is only thirteen—he has time." He knew exactly what Wang Yan meant; much of the material had passed through his hands.

Wang Yan shook his head, about to speak, when Xiang Shu entered: "Master, a Mr. Liao is outside seeking you."

Ye Wen gestured to Wang Yan and Zhou Qingquan, then went out to greet the visitor.

Wang Yan knew this was the start of Ye Wen's story. Challenges never came to him—Wang Mou. From north to south, universally acknowledged as invincible—who would dare challenge him?

Not long after, Ye Wen returned with the man, telling him to wait aside. Wang Yan and Zhou Qingquan exchanged glances but said nothing. The group ate in silence, the only sound the clinking of chopsticks and bowls.

As Ye Wen ate, he glanced at those present. Seeing no one speak, he turned and asked: "Master Liao, have you eaten?"

Seeing him shake his head, Ye Wen invited him to join the table for a bite.

Aside from Zhang Yongcheng and Zhou Qingquan, everyone at the table was a martial artist; soon, the meal was finished, leaving only scraps.

Ye Wen wished to privately spar with Master Liao. Wang Yan had no interest in watching their fight; Zhou Qingquan was uninterested too. The two sat down on the stone bench in the courtyard.

"Ah Yan, a shipment of supplies is coming soon—arrange for someone to receive it," Zhou Qingquan said, sipping tea.

"Mm, I'll give instructions later."

"By the way, Ah Yan, we must pause our support to them for a while—I've noticed some unfamiliar faces."

Wang Yan paused, considering whether to eliminate those people. Finally, he nodded: "Then let's lie low for now. Perfect—this is a good time to earn more money. I've lost many men recently. We need to handle compensation and recruit new ones."

He lifted his tea, drank, then continued: "And you—you must practice more of what I taught you. Even with protection now, you're not safe."

Zhou Qingquan nodded, saying nothing.

At that moment, someone climbed over the wall. Wang Yan recalled the plot for a moment, remembering this was Sha Danyuan—he'd killed so many people these past two years he'd lost track of minor characters like him.

He was unguided, uneducated, a street rat who picked up all the worst habits of the underworld. In this era, such children were common—just surviving was a miracle.

When he climbed onto the wall and steadied himself, Wang Yan called out: "Hey, kid."

The shout startled Sha Danyuan so badly he nearly fell. He turned toward Wang Yan and froze. In Foshan, he knew this man well—he'd heard countless legends about Wang Yan.

Seeing Wang Yan beckon, he scrambled down and hurried over, bowing deeply: "Mr. Wang, what do you need?"

"Can you kill?" The boy was old for his age—seventeen or eighteen at least.

Though he didn't know who to kill, Sha Danyuan wanted to shout "Yes!" But he was just a small-time hood with no ambition; sweat broke on his forehead, his legs trembled. He kept his head down, trembling, lost in thought—yet said nothing.

Beside him, Zhou Qingquan rolled his eyes at Wang Yan—why scare the child?

At that moment, Ye Wen and Master Liao emerged. Wang Yan, bored, waved his hand at the boy before him: "Go."

Sha Danyuan felt as if freed from prison—he turned and ran, even forgetting his kite.

Ye Wen saw Master Liao off, then returned and sat in the courtyard. He had the two boys perform a form to aid digestion, observe their progress, and correct their technique.

After a while, the group chatted briefly, then dispersed to return home.

Sha Danyuan returned home, hesitated long, then told his brother, the martial arts fanatic Lin, about the day's events—he couldn't bear the uncertainty.

"Brother, today I met Mr. Wang at Ye Wen's house. He asked me if I had the courage to kill." Sha Danyuan said to Lin, who was washing dishes.

Lin automatically asked: "Mr. Wang? Which Mr. Wang? Oh…" Then he froze, stopped washing, and asked: "And what did you say?"

Sha Danyuan grimaced: "I… I didn't say anything…"

Lin dismissed it—he wouldn't hold a child accountable. "Don't worry. What kind of person is Mr. Wang? Why would he care about us? Just stay safe and don't cause trouble."

In truth, Lin resented Wang Yan—such a great man had countless others to do his bidding. Why scare my little brother?

He didn't know: Wang Yan wasn't just scaring the child. Had Sha Danyuan answered "Yes," he would have been sent away the next day—thrown straight into the base to be trained to death, then sent to the battlefield to fight for his life.

These were trivial matters to Wang Yan. He stayed home, quietly cultivating peace, calming his restless heart.

Another peaceful day—he visited a nearby base, inspected the new recruits' training, and listened to Li Qiankun's report.

After Li Shuwen left, Li Qiankun came over to follow Wang Yan. Since this man, a proper Li family Crown Prince, had abandoned his status to tag along with him, Wang Yan couldn't let anything happen to him—otherwise he'd have no excuse to give. So he took him along on a few battles, tricked him a bit, then assigned him to rear duties.

Because of the continuous wars, everyone was struggling, so Wang Yan coerced and persuaded a group of traditional Chinese physicians with decent skills and morals. He didn't dare touch the famous ones—they had too many patrons he couldn't afford to offend. He settled these people in this base; when casualties came, they'd treat them on the side, but most of the time they were researching herbal formulas.

The goal was to fully understand their medical principles and see if he could find substitute herbs—the original herbs were too scarce and too expensive; even with his wealth, supporting so many people was unsustainable. Later, he'd still need to bring over a few foreign devils—combine Chinese and Western medicine. Ultimately, he had to improve and popularize these methods; this was a matter requiring long-term persistence and constant investment.

After checking the progress of these physicians, Wang Yan left and returned to Foshan City. He didn't even need to look—their work wouldn't yield results in a month or two, not even in ten or twenty years if they kept going like this.

Back in the city, someone who had met him before greeted Wang Yan: "Mr. Wang, good day—are you going to Mr. Ye's house?"

"Huh? Why do you say that?" Wang Yan often visited Ye Wen's home, but their relationship wasn't common knowledge—and this man wasn't even from the martial world.

"You don't know? A martial artist came from the north, challenging Ye Wen. I saw many martial artists following him there."

"I just heard about it too. You're busy—I'll go watch the spectacle." He politely said this, then walked toward Ye Wen's house.

Arriving at the Ye family mansion, a circle of people surrounded it. When they saw Wang Yan approaching, they all called out, "Mr. Wang!" and cleared a path.

At the tightly shut gate, Li Zhao spotted Wang Yan and hurried to greet him. Wang Yan waved his hand without speaking. He knew Li Zhao—a sort of unofficial underling who had handled the cleanups after all the people Wang Yan had killed.

After waiting a while, Jin Shanzhao emerged, dusty and beaten, leading his men. He ordered Li Zhao to disperse the crowd, then Wang Yan said to Jin Shanzhao: "Come with me." He walked inside.

Jin Shanzhao didn't know Wang Yan and was still in a foul mood after being beaten: "Who the hell are you—"

Li Zhao quickly punched him and glared at Jin Shanzhao: "I tried to save you—don't be ungrateful. This is Mr. Wang—he doesn't go around looking for death like you do."

"Mr. Wang? Which Mr. Wang?" Jin Shanzhao was utterly confused.

Someone nearby, smirking, said: "The Mr. Wang who marched from north to south, undefeated."

No one here directly called Wang Yan by name—even behind his back, they avoided it; to his face, this was respect for a superior.

"Ah…" Jin Shanzhao suddenly understood: "Just tell me he's Wang Yan and I'd have known! What a waste of words. Thanks."

Saying this, he turned with his men and walked into the ruined central hall he'd just trashed.

Li Zhao shook his head, muttering "brute," then called out: "Everyone, disperse! Master Ye won—there's no more spectacle. Go home."

The crowd chattered about Wang Yan, then scattered in a noisy, bustling wave.

Jin Shanzhao entered the central hall and saw Wang Yan sitting on a chair talking with Ye Wen, while Xiang Shu poured tea.

Wang Yan pointed to Jin Shanzhao and said to Xiang Shu: "Xiang Shu, direct them to clean this up."

Jin Shanzhao said nothing, immediately led his four men under Xiang Shu's orders to clean up, and even mopped the floor before finishing.

Looking at the five men standing obediently before him, Wang Yan said directly: "Hungry?"

Jin Shanzhao answered without hesitation: "Hungry."

"Can you endure hardship? Will you kill?"

"I will." Jin Shanzhao nodded firmly.

Wang Yan asked Jin Shanzhao's men: "What about you?"

"We follow our boss."

Wang Yan nodded, asked Xiang Shu for paper and brush, wrote some characters, then handed them to Jin Shanzhao: "Take this. Go ten li north of the city. Go."

Jin Shanzhao took the note and bowed to Wang Yan: "Thank you, Mr. Wang, for the meal."

Seeing Wang Yan nod, he turned with his men and left, heading north out of the city toward the mountains.