Chapter 64

The next day, night, Foshan railway station.

Wang Yan, along with Grandmaster Chen of the Jingwu Association and other senior members, straightened their clothes and perked up at the sound of the train's whistle.

The train halted, and Gong Baosen descended with a large group of disciples, including Gong Er and Ma San.

"Ha! Long time no see, Grandmaster Gong, your spirit remains as vibrant as ever!" Grandmaster Chen hurried forward to greet him.

"No, no, Grandmaster Chen, you're just as formidable as ever," Gong Baosen replied politely, nodded to Wang Yan, glanced at the others present, and bowed his hands in greeting: "Gong here thanks you all for waiting so long."

These people were nowhere near Gong Baosen's level—they were stunned and returned his bow with reverence.

"Grandmaster Gong, you've endured a long journey—rest first. We've arranged everything for you," Grandmaster Chen said, extending his hand: "Please, Grandmaster Gong."

"Thank you, Grandmaster Chen. After you," Gong Baosen said.

Wang Yan had no business speaking here—he followed the group to the place the Jingwu Association had arranged.

Grandmaster Chen and the others accompanied them to a welcome banquet, then left without further disturbance.

Gong Baosen sipped tea and asked: "How's your injury?"

"Recovering well. Haven't fought much these past months," Wang Yan smiled. "By the way, Master Gong, I forgot to mention before—Master Ding is in Foshan."

Gong Baosen froze mid-sip. "Brother?" Gong Er and Ma San beside him also froze, staring at Gong Baosen, waiting for him to speak.

Having weathered storms, Gong Baosen did not rush—he steadied himself and asked: "Where is he?"

"At the Jin Building, where the ceremony is tomorrow," Wang Yan said. "I met Master Ding back in '31, but he feared you'd worry, so he asked me not to tell you. You won't blame me, will you, Master Gong?"

"It's fine," Gong Baosen waved his hand, as if recalling old memories, and sighed: "All these years, he's had it hard."

Wang Yan wisely stayed silent, greeted Gong Er, and left.

Though twenty years had passed since the movement began, a generation's time—another hundred years wouldn't be too late, let alone now. Gong Er still couldn't fully relax around him face-to-face, so he didn't bother chatting with her or the other one.

Rushing won't get you hot tofu—this will happen eventually.

The next day, Jin Building, martial artists gathered in force.

"In my life, I've accomplished only three things… At this retirement ceremony, the one I wish to test with—I'd like a southern boxer. Pick one."

After saying this, Gong Baosen left with his men.

Wang Yan had no place to speak—he simply stood aside with Gong Er, watching the spectacle.

As before, to meet the true Buddha, one must pass Ma San—there was a fierce fight. After seeing Ding Lianshan, Gong Baosen returned and scolded Ma San, sending him back to Northeast China.

Whether Ma San caused trouble or was sent back to Northeast China, Wang Yan neither stopped nor spoke. Emotionally and rationally, it wasn't his place to interfere.

Just as with Ye Wen's earlier sparring with Wang Yan, he too had no choice but to step forward against Gong Baosen.

This time, however, Gong Er didn't chatter, because Wang Yan had already sparred with Ye Wen. So this match ended in no clear winner. In truth, Gong Baosen never cared about victory or defeat—he sought only to guide the next generation and pass on the spirit.

Naturally, Ye Wen won. Wang Yan carefully observed their exchange and estimated that even at his peak, Gong Baosen would have struggled against Ye Wen's listening-to-the-bridge technique. Ye Wen often sparred with Wang Yan, and of course had used listening-to-the-bridge with him and the other one—but he'd used it only once, then spent three days in bed and never used it again with them.

After finishing his business and visiting old friends, Gong Baosen didn't stay long—he returned to Northeast China with reluctant Gong Er.

At the Ye family mansion, Zhang Yongcheng fed her one-year-old daughter, occasionally reminding Ye Zhun and Zhou Guangyao, while listening to Wang Yan, Ye Wen, and Zhou Qingquan talk.

Wang Yan picked up a chopstick of food and asked: "How do you feel, Master Ye?"

Ye Wen, mid-sip of soup, choked slightly, coughed twice to recover, and said: "Yan, stop teasing me."

Zhou Qingquan laughed: "Ah Wen, it's not teasing. Even outside the martial world, I've heard—you're now the hottest man in Guangdong Province."

"Qian Ge is right—don't you have that much confidence?" Wang Yan agreed with Zhou Qingquan, then added mischievously: "Right, Master Ye?"

Zhang Yongcheng, listening, burst out laughing, then noticed Ye Wen's helpless glance and quickly stifled it.

Ye Wen rolled his eyes, lowered his head, and ate in silence. There was no way to argue, no way to win a fight, no chance for revenge.

After dinner, the three men sat as usual, drinking tea and chatting.

"Qian Ge, buy more supplies," Wang Yan said after sipping tea.

Zhou Qingquan frowned: "Didn't we just stock up last time? Something happened?"

"Nothing's happened yet, but something feels off—I can't shake the feeling a storm's coming. Restless." Wang Yan sighed, then turned to Ye Wen, who was comfortably puffing smoke beside him: "Ah Wen, pull out some of your idle cash too. Better safe than sorry."

Neither objected—Wang Yan's instincts were always spot-on.

Less than a year passed, and Wang Yan grew increasingly urgent. Besides writing letters to Gong Er, he recruited and trained men, stockpiled supplies, and rotated small-scale northern training drills, awaiting change.

In '37, the incident erupted, the world gasped, war began—and Wang Yan took a detour north.

The train creaked slowly to life. Wang Yan, in a long robe and glasses, sat quietly in the corner. The border crossing was near, and inspections were strict.

At that moment, a man sat across from him, eyes cold, staring fixedly at Wang Yan.

Wang Yan recognized his face—he stared back coolly: "What do you want?"

"To settle who's better."

"There'll be a chance. Need help?" Wang Yan glanced behind him, murmuring.

Yixiantian spoke slowly, word by word: "I'll wait." Then he stood and walked away.

Several Japanese soldiers with rifles spotted his back and shouted: "There he is!" Rushing toward him. The noise drew more people running in that direction.

Wang Yan shook his head—so reckless. Even being hunted, he still had the nerve to challenge someone to a duel.

He reached Fengtian safely, slipped into the Gong family mansion, and slipped into Gong Baosen's study.

As soon as he entered, Gong Baosen's sharp eyes locked onto him. Recognizing him, Gong Baosen relaxed slightly and smiled: "You came without saying a word?"

"Things are bad, Master Gong—we can't wait any longer. Shanghai's become a bloody mess with over a million people fighting. The Japanese wolves' ambitions are obvious. If I stir up more trouble now, they won't hold back." Wang Yan didn't answer directly—he sighed: "Master Gong, leave. There's more room to maneuver over there."

"At my age, what's the point of leaving?" Gong Baosen said. "I'll stay. You take Ruomei."

Wang Yan sighed: "Will she agree, Master Gong?"

"I know you want to do something here, to uphold the Chinese Martial Arts Association's name. But Master Gong, staying here means certain death. Only by living longer can you last longer. And you can bring all your people to my side—expand your force. Wherever you are, you're killing the Japanese."

Seeing he remained silent, Wang Yan quickly added: "Master Gong, when you have a child someday, I plan to give the first boy your surname—Gong." Gong Baosen had once had a son who died young—this had been his regret.

Hearing this, Gong Baosen's emotions surged. He fell silent for a long while, then said: "I'll think about it… I'll think about it." He waved his hand: "Go see Ruomei."

Leaving Gong Baosen to think, Wang Yan climbed over the wall into Gong Er's courtyard and found her sitting, gazing up at the stars.

Hearing the noise, Gong Er instinctively adopted a horse stance and reached out, lowly demanding, "Who's there?"

Wang Yan stepped out of the darkness: "It's me."

Gong Er lowered her hand, stepped forward two paces in delight, then suddenly remembered it was inappropriate and halted, saying, "Why did you come here?"

"Isn't there trouble brewing? I was worried about you and Master Gong." As he spoke, Wang Yan walked up to Gong Er: "Go persuade Master Gong—I can't get through to him."

Gong Er said, "You've written me plenty about this—I've already persuaded him many times."

Looking into Gong Er's eyes, Wang Yan said, "Try again. I just told Master Gong our first son will take the Gong surname."

How could a daughter not know her father's heart? Hearing Wang Yan's words, Gong Er was stunned, staring at him in disbelief: "You… you're serious?" Then she realized—he meant he wanted to have a child with her.

"Of course I'm serious."

Gong Er's face flushed crimson; she lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze: "Who wants to have a child… with you?"

Wang Yan naturally pulled Gong Er into his arms and laughed: "Of course with you."

Stiffening in Wang Yan's embrace, Gong Er quickly recovered and shoved him away: "I… I'll go persuade my father." Without another word, she turned and ran off.

Wang Yan smiled, entered the room, lay on the kang, and fell asleep soon after. He was exhausted from constant travel, his spirit tightly wound.

Gong Baosen, lost in meditation, was startled awake by Gong Er; seeing her flushed face, he smiled faintly: "Come to persuade me?"

Nodding, Gong Er, still blushing, said, "Father, Wang Yan said our child will take the Gong surname—don't you want to see your grandchild?"

"Ah, of course I do… but…"

"Father, I know you want to stay here and do your work. But by helping Wang Yan, you can do even more." Seeing Gong Baosen fall silent, Gong Er threw a tantrum, declaring firmly: "This time, I decide—it's settled. Pack tomorrow, leave the day after." Without waiting for Gong Baosen's sighs, she turned and ran off.

Returning to the courtyard, Gong Er found no one there, entered the room, and woke Wang Yan, who had just dozed off.

Wang Yan rubbed his face: "What did he say?"

"Pack tomorrow, leave the day after."

Wang Yan rose: "Alright then. It's late—let's sleep." He turned to leave.

Gong Er grabbed Wang Yan's arm: "Sleep here." Realizing it sounded odd, she added, "The Gong household is full of eyes—better not be seen."

They exchanged glances for a moment; Wang Yan said, "Fine, I'll follow you." Then he lay back down.

"Wait, I'll get you a pillow and blanket." Gong Er called out, rummaging through a cabinet to pull out a set of bedding.

Wang Yan thanked her, pulled the quilt over himself, placed the pillow, and pulled the blanket over his head to sleep.

Gong Er understood Wang Yan's situation and didn't overthink it. Quietly tidying up, she lay beside him, gazing at him silently, and fell asleep without realizing it, a smile on her lips.

The next day, Wang Yan woke refreshed, glanced at Gong Er beside him, and quietly stepped outside.

Facing the morning sun, he stretched widely, then began practicing fist forms on the spot.

After randomly practicing two sets, Wang Yan stilled himself and took a deep breath.

Watching Wang Yan finish, Gong Er said, "Your fist style is different."

Wang Yan didn't answer, smiling gently: "Practice?"

No sooner had the words left her lips than Gong Er stamped her right foot and launched a Cannon Fist straight at Wang Yan's chest. Wang Yan sidestepped, used her momentum to shift his body, then lightly kicked her thigh. She stumbled forward several steps, steadied herself, turned back with a glare of shame and anger, and charged again—swinging a palm chop at Wang Yan, her left hand coiled and ready.

Wang Yan blocked the chop, closed in, leaned slightly to evade her hidden left hand, then shoved her back with a palm strike, following with another. Gong Er reacted too slowly; she watched helplessly as Wang Yan's palm turned into a grip. In a blur, she found herself in his arms again.

Slumped in Wang Yan's arms, Gong Er stared blankly at him.

At that moment, the door banged loudly and was shoved open; Lao Jiang's voice rang out: "Second Miss, it's time to—" Before he could finish, Lao Jiang froze at the sight before him, turned, and hurried to shut the door.

"It's fine, Lao Jiang." Gong Er snapped out of it, shot Wang Yan a glare, and gave him a light tap: "Put me down."

Gong Er stepped down, adjusted her clothes, and said, "I'll go eat first. I'll have Lao Jiang bring you something later." Then she left.

Lao Jiang grinned broadly at Wang Yan, gave him a thumbs-up, and followed after her; the monkey on his shoulder bared its teeth at Wang Yan.

In the study, the group drank tea and discussed matters after eating.

"Master, you go," Ma San said to Gong Baosen. "I'll stay in Fengtian to guard the home—someone must be here."

"Do you think the home needs you to guard it? Are there no other Gong family members?" Gong Baosen sipped his tea: "Come with us."

Ma San opened his mouth to speak, but Wang Yan cut him off: "Brother Ma, a home is where people are—come with us." Wang Yan knew why: Ma San resented him, didn't want to be tied to him and Gong Er. If not for wanting Gong Baosen to live longer, he'd let Ma San go to hell.

Looking at Wang Yan, Ma San's expression was unreadable; he opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing.

Gong Baosen nodded in satisfaction: "Alright, go pack. The road ahead is dangerous—travel light. Once you arrive, you'll lack nothing."

Everyone responded and dispersed to pack.

Wang Yan was left in the study; Gong Er accompanied Gong Baosen as they wandered the mansion again and again.

"I wonder if we'll ever come back…"

Gong Er said nothing—she didn't know if they'd return either, and her mood sank.

"Ah…" Gong Baosen sighed deeply: "Go see your mother. Say goodbye."

Gong Er, eyes red, murmured, "Mm."

In 1937, late August, Gong Baosen led his disciples and students south in batches.

After days of travel, Wang Yan brought them safely to Guangzhou. The long journey had long passed their wedding date. After brief discussion, they agreed: delay it. A grand ceremony was impossible now—just a simple meal in Foshan would suffice.

Though called a meal, it couldn't be just that. They were people of standing; even simple affairs demanded dignity. Thus, Wang Yan busied himself upon returning to Foshan: arranging lodging for the Gong family disciples and sending invitations to friends and fellow martial artists.

With the Japanese too preoccupied to notice this little ant, he seized the chance to settle matters quickly—yet even this promised countless complications. So he recalled all his men and made extensive preparations.

The night before the wedding, at Wang Yan's home.

Wang Yan sipped tea: "Qiankun, are the supplies in place?"

Li Qiankun nodded: "All arranged."

"What about the men?"

"As you ordered—our people surround every tavern near Foshan; the outskirts are ready too."

"Good. Go. Tell the brothers to be careful. I'll treat you to wine later."

Li Qiankun grinned: "Heh, don't worry—everything's secure." Then he left.