Chapter 63: The Marriage Pact

Ye Wen saw Jin Shanzhao leave; he knew what was coming, sighed without speaking—this damned world.

Hearing Ye Wen’s long sigh, Wang Yan said, “Why not wander up north for a while?”

At that moment, Zhang Yongcheng stepped out and interrupted: “No way. The child’s still so young—what if something happens to you? What will we do?” She knew what they were up to; as long as it didn’t threaten their safety, she let them do as they pleased. But now, seeing Wang Yan coaxing Ye Wen into war, she snapped: “Ah Yan, don’t you ever say that again. Or I won’t let you cross my threshold.”

Wang Yan waved his hand carelessly. “How could I? Just joking, Sister-in-law, don’t take it to heart.”

Zhang Yongcheng shot him an annoyed glance and went to soothe Ye Zhun. She didn’t believe a word of his nonsense—based on her knowledge of Ye Wen, he’d been completely tempted just now.

“Ah Yan, Yongcheng…”

“It’s fine, Brother Wen. I understand. Besides, how could I ever send you to the battlefield?”

Ye Wen sighed again, silent. Sometimes he envied Wang Yan’s carefree freedom—wishing he could grab a rifle, mount a horse, and ride out to slaughter with him. But every time he thought of his wife and child, and looked at Wang Yan’s bloodthirsty demeanor, the thought vanished. This damned world.

Ignoring Ye Wen’s sentimental mood, Wang Yan bid farewell and left—clearly, Zhang Yongcheng didn’t want him around today.

In the following weeks, Wang Yan unusually slowed down—perhaps this was the calm before the storm.

In 1936, March, Wang Yan received word that Gong Baosen planned to retire from the martial world. He had been raised by Gong Baosen; emotionally and morally, he had to go—he must go.

He immediately set out north with his new recruits and Li Qiankun, leaving with over a month to spare—enough time to squeeze in one more fight.

After half a month of staged travel, he gathered his forces in the area and struck without delay. He had his men contact Old Yang to coordinate—just to share intel, to let them know Wang Mou had arrived.

Old Yang got the message and instantly understood. He rushed to draft an operation plan overnight—something big, no half-measures. After much deliberation, they decided to attack a key stronghold guarded by a full Japanese company. Only Wang Yan would dare attempt such a thing—no one else would have the nerve.

Though Wang Yan’s men were all hardened fighters with solid combat skills, without Wang Yan, they were merely unofficial affiliates of the Anti-Japanese United Front. With Wang Yan, they became an entirely different force.

Wang Yan waited a day and received intelligence from the Anti-Japanese fighters. Old Yang, an old friend, knew Wang Yan’s fighting style well. He simply told him: “Hit this target. Attack at this time.”

Naturally, Wang Yan’s men took the main assault role while Old Yang provided support. There was no alternative—if they failed, if they couldn’t hold off the enemy, Old Yang’s men couldn’t outrun Wang Yan’s—they’d all be left as cannon fodder.

The strategic objective was achieved, but the operation was too brutal, too rushed. Even with surprise, poison, and assassinations, nearly a hundred of Wang Yan’s men died outright—mostly new recruits. Others were wounded to varying degrees, depending on how tough they were. Old Yang’s side fared no better. Wang Yan himself was shot twice—one bullet scraped off a chunk of flesh, the other struck his shoulder. Standard fare—he was covered in scars already. A quick treatment was enough. Just painful—nothing serious.

Jin Shanzhao, however, got lucky. Even Li Qiankun, whom Wang Yan protected, took a bullet—he only got a scratch and was fine.

They’d basically crippled themselves—needed serious rest. After handling the aftermath, Wang Yan headed for Fengtian.

He rushed hard and arrived just in time for Gong Baosen’s retirement ceremony.

He moved cautiously—couldn’t afford carelessness. Everyone knew his connection to Gong Baosen; the Japanese had him under tight surveillance. In the south, their strength was weak and they couldn’t touch him. But Fengtian was their stronghold—they were waiting for him to walk right into their trap. Fortunately, Wang Yan had spent years behind enemy lines—he was experienced. After disguising himself, he slipped into the ceremony venue without incident: a grand restaurant, the finest in the region at the time.

Ma San had been raised by Gong Baosen since childhood—no different from a biological son. When Wang Yan entered, Gong Baosen was on stage, demonstrating with Ma San. It was essentially a succession ceremony—to legitimize Ma San, to establish his name. From now on, the Gong family’s face would be Ma San.

Wang Yan watched Ma San, radiant on stage, wondering: With me here this time, would Ma San still dare to betray?

After watching awhile, Wang Yan quietly left. Too many eyes—stay too long and risk exposure. He turned toward the Gong family mansion to wait.

The Gong family knew Wang Yan well—no exaggeration, they sometimes relied on his reputation to navigate the martial world. The disciple on guard recognized him instantly, stepped aside, let him in, glanced around, then shut the gate.

As he led Wang Yan inside, the disciple asked, “Master Wang, why are you here?”

“Master Gong is retiring. Everything I am today, I owe to Master Gong’s mentorship. I had to come.” Wang Yan stepped inside. “It’s only right.”

“Master Wang is a man of his word. Rest here for now. Master won’t be back for a while—I won’t disturb you.” The disciple bowed and withdrew.

Those left to guard the mansion were trusted. Wang Yan had met this man before—no cause for concern.

Wang Yan lay on the side-room kang bed and fell asleep instantly. The Japanese had gone mad—this loss hurt. They were hunting them like animals. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. Now, with a moment’s relaxation, exhaustion overwhelmed him.

Gong Baosen returned with a large group of disciples, slightly drunk. The same disciple rushed to intercept him, whispered urgently in his ear. Gong Baosen’s eyes sharpened—he sobered instantly. Then, he masked his reaction, returning to his earlier demeanor.

Honestly, Gong Baosen was torn. If Wang Yan hadn’t come, he’d feel regret. But now that he had, he was both startled and delighted.

He dismissed his disciples and took Ma San and Gong Er to his reception room.

He didn’t see Wang Yan inside, so he turned and lifted the curtain to the side room, stepping in. Ma San and Gong Er followed behind.

Wang Yan’s post-trauma reflexes were sharp—Gong Baosen’s movement jolted him awake. He rolled instantly to the wall, pistol appearing in hand, lunging forward.

His pistol was already chambered and loaded in his space—he drew and fired without hesitation. Fortunately, he recognized Gong Baosen in time and didn’t shoot—otherwise, Gong Baosen would be dead.

Only when Wang Yan was right before him did Gong Baosen react. Behind him, Ma San and Gong Er hadn’t moved—they’d just seen a flash, then Wang Yan with a gun.

Wang Yan holstered his pistol and bowed apologetically. “Master Gong, my apologies. Habit.”

Gong Baosen laughed. “Hah, I understand. No problem. Don’t think about it. Sit down.”

Wang Yan nodded to Gong Er, then sat on the kang. He ignored Ma San entirely.

Gong Baosen noticed Wang Yan’s gesture and smiled. “Let me introduce you—this is my daughter, Gong Er.”

Wang Yan addressed Gong Er: “Miss Gong, hello.”

Gong Er nodded. “Hello.”

Gong Baosen said, “Enough formalities—we’re family. No need for such politeness.” He turned to Gong Er. “Go brew some tea.”

Gong Er glanced at Wang Yan, then left to make tea.

Without being asked, Ma San sat behind Gong Baosen. He now understood—Gong Baosen had told him everything about Wang Yan. Honestly, it scared him. Still, he refused to yield. If Wang Yan didn’t like him, did he have to like Wang Yan? Just avoid him—that’s enough. His master’s authority should protect him.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Gong Baosen said to Wang Yan, seated across the small table.

“Everything I am today, I owe to Master Gong’s guidance. How could I not come for such an important occasion?”

“You…,” Gong Baosen smiled warmly. “Just now, I saw your grip—your hand trembled slightly. You’re injured?”

Wang Yan glanced at Gong Baosen in surprise—he hadn’t thought he’d hidden it so well, yet this old man still noticed. “Master Gong has sharp eyes. Minor wounds—nothing serious.”

Gong Baosen didn’t believe him. “In that gunfire, ‘minor’? How bad?”

“A graze on the leg, a bullet to the shoulder. Both treated. Nothing to worry about, Master.”

Gong Baosen frowned. “You’ve been active again? Why didn’t I hear anything? In the past, your operations made headlines—this time, not a whisper.”

Wang Yan explained: “Old Yang’s Anti-Japanese United Front and I did it together.”

“Huh…” Gong Baosen gasped. “A full company? Heavy casualties?”

“We crippled them. Need time to regroup.”

Gong Baosen sighed. “Ah… good men. Good men.” He paused, then changed tone. “Enough of that. Let’s talk of something pleasant. Actually, you didn’t need to come—Foshan’s Jingwu Association invited me to hold another retirement ceremony.”

At that moment, Gong Er entered with tea, poured for them, then sat quietly beside them. She listened, but had no place to speak—neither she nor Ma San could interrupt.

She’d known of Wang Yan since age fifteen, never met him. Now, at twenty, she’d finally seen the legendary man.

Wang Yan said, “Master Gong, while I’m here, I suggest you move south. You’ve struggled here already—my presence only adds constraints. The situation is unclear. Staying longer is dangerous.”

“I know all that. Let me think. Let me think.”

Wang Yan didn’t press further—he knew Gong Baosen wasn’t stubborn. He’d come to his own conclusion.

They chatted casually, then parted. Wang Yan was exhausted—he collapsed again into deep sleep.

In another room of the mansion, Gong Baosen dismissed Ma San and spoke with his daughter.

“You always complained about not meeting him—why didn’t you say a word today?” Gong Baosen teased. He’d admired Wang Yan since 1932, when Wang Yan first led men north. But following Wang Yan meant instability—no one knew when he’d be killed. His wish was simple: he wanted Gong Er safe. A suitable match, a stable life—he’d wavered, torn. He’d delayed so long, now she was twenty.

Gong Er blushed. “He doesn’t seem as imposing as the legends say.” She’d trained since childhood, preferred martial arts over dresses—but when it came to matters of the heart, even a warrior girl felt shy.

Gong Baosen saw right through her. He sighed. “Have you decided?”

“I have.” She’d met the son of a family friend Gong Baosen had arranged for her. Compared to him, she preferred Wang Yan. After all, she had to marry. She couldn’t marry an ordinary man—whether Gong Baosen approved or not, she wouldn’t even consider one. Now, she’d found someone she admired—someone who stirred her heart. That was enough.

The next morning, Wang Yan woke refreshed, washed, disguised himself, and ate breakfast brought by Gong Er. She watched him strangely—he didn’t mind, assuming it was just a girl’s curiosity.

After eating, Wang Yan stretched lightly in the room. He planned to leave today—many tasks awaited him.

Gong Baosen came after his meal, paused at Wang Yan’s disguise: “Leaving today?”

Wang Yan nodded. “Too much to do. We suffered heavy losses. We’ll likely arrive in Foshan around the same time.”

“I won’t waste your time—I’ll be direct. What do you think of Gong Er? Is she suitable for you?”

Wang Yan paused. “You mean…?” Now he understood why Gong Er had looked at him strangely.

Gong Baosen said, “Exactly. What’s your answer?”

He didn’t need to fight for it—he had no objection. He bowed immediately. “Your humble disciple humbly accepts.”

Gong Baosen nodded, satisfied. “I’ve picked the date—August 10th next year. I have only one daughter. You’d better stay alive, boy.”

Wang Yan nodded firmly. “Master Gong, rest assured. I understand. About your earlier suggestion to move south—”

“Not urgent. Wait a while. Go now.”

Wang Yan nodded reluctantly, bowed, and took his leave. “Your humble disciple takes his leave.”

Outside, he saw Gong Er absentmindedly scuffing the ground with her foot. He stepped forward. “I’m leaving. We’ll meet again in Foshan.”

Gong Er nodded. “Mm. Be careful.” Then she called out as he turned to go. “Wait—I’m Ruomei.”

Wang Yan turned back, murmured: “Ruomei. Understood.” They locked eyes for a moment, then he walked away.

Gong Er didn’t follow. She just watched his figure vanish around the corner.

Inside, Gong Baosen watched his daughter, motionless, a smile on his lips. Good. So good.

He departed north in late spring, returned in the heat of summer.

Back in Foshan, Wang Yan tidied up and sent word to Zhou Qingquan to join Ye Wen for dinner.

After dinner, Wang Yan asked, “Are the supplies ready?”

“Long ago. Hidden as you ordered.” Zhou Qingquan nodded, then asked, “Why so much this time? What’s happening?”

“Our unit was shattered. We need to recruit more men.”

Ye Wen gasped. “Shattered?” He knew the strength of that unit—five men could kill him.

“Yes.” Wang Yan nodded and recounted the events.

Both men were stunned. Even hearing it terrified them—multiple times they nearly died. Too close.

Wang Yan changed the subject, and they spoke of family matters.

Ye Wen smoked and said, “By the way, Ah Yan, the Jingwu Association told me they’ve invited Master Gong to hold his retirement ceremony. It’s the day after tomorrow. Did you know?”

Wang Yan replied, “Of course. I was there when Master Gong held it in Fengtian.”

Ye Wen nodded. “Good.” He’d feared Wang Yan might not know about Gong Baosen’s arrival and might commit a breach of etiquette.