Chapter 65

(Today's light drinking left me slightly drunk. I can't even move anymore, and I'm a bit fuzzy about what I wrote—don't bother reading if you can't make sense of it.)

The fifteenth day of the ninth month, Year 26 of the Republic of China. October 18, 1937, Gregorian calendar.

Wang Yan's wedding day.

At Foshan's wine house, guests flooded in that day, the scene bustling and lively.

The wedding was simple; even Gong Er and Gong Baosen said nothing. Given the times, it was already good enough.

Amid gunfire and shouts, the ceremony concluded; Wang Yan delivered Gong Er home, then returned to the wine house to greet guests who had come from all over.

The guests chatted about the martial world and the fate of the nation, some distracted, others furious. A few sensed something was off and left midway under false pretenses.

When most had finished eating, the staff cleared the tables and served tea; instantly, the atmosphere grew cold, no longer the earlier bustle.

Wang Yan, dressed in his wedding robes, stood at the front, scanning the room: representatives from the Foshan Jingwu Association, the Shanghai Jingwu Association, who had risked their lives to come; branches of the Chinese Martial Arts Association; the Central National Martial Arts Institute; delegates from Tianjin, Shandong, Sichuan, and other regions; and masters or leading disciples of Taiji, Xingyi, Bajiquan, Baguazhang, and other schools, seated in factions. At this critical juncture, the finest of the martial world—excluding those who had joined the army—were all here.

Wang Yan himself, no matter how skilled, could never command such respect. This was due to his actions over the years, the endorsement of veteran elders including Gong Baosen, and even Li Qiankun, the Li family's Crown Prince, who had called in a favor from Li Shuwen.

As Wang Yan scanned the room, silence fell. He said: "Today is my wedding day. Thank you, elders and fellow martial artists, for coming to celebrate." He then bowed deeply with clasped fists, paying respects to all.

Below, everyone returned the bow in unison, but no one spoke—they all knew this was not the point.

Wang Yan straightened and continued: "In 1931, the Japanese shelled the Beidaying barracks and gradually seized the entire Northeast. The elders trusted me, Wang Mou, and sent elite disciples to join me in the Northeast, fighting for over five years. During that time, nearly a thousand died—they were all worthy men." He bowed deeply toward the north, then bowed again to several elders seated before him.

The elders, unable to hide their grief, waved their hands silently.

Wang Yan continued: "I, Wang Mou, have always led from the front. I am not afraid of death, nor have I ever sought fame by sacrificing my brothers' lives." As he spoke, he stripped off his wedding robe, then his inner shirt, revealing his muscular frame and the network of scars crisscrossing his body, turning slowly to show them all.

The crowd below stared at the countless scars, gasped in shock, and fell silent.

One elder, displeased, said: "What are you doing? Humiliating us? Put your clothes back on."

"Yes. We've all seen it."

"Put them on."

Wang Yan put his clothes back on. He knew, even without thinking, that some had thoughts they weren't voicing.

"The results need no elaboration—you've all heard them. These were won with blood and lives. I want you to know: I, Wang Mou, have no regrets." He raised his voice sharply: "Now, over a million people in Shanghai are in chaos…" He then laid out facts, explained the situation, and when he saw the crowd stirred to fury, he asked: "I, Wang Mou, believe that when the nation falls, the home perishes. I refuse to be a slave to a conquered land. What about you?"

Someone shouted from below: "We won't be slaves!" Wang Yan had arranged several people beforehand—otherwise, the emotion wouldn't have been stirred.

More voices rose in agreement; gradually, the shouts merged into one.

Wang Yan nodded, gestured for silence, and said: "If all of you share this sentiment, then I ask for your aid."

Someone said: "Whatever you need, just say it."

Seeing one speak up, others quickly voiced their willingness to help.

Wang Yan said: "What we need is people. I ask you to send some disciples. Allowances and compensation will not be lacking. Of course, many schools and organizations have already sent disciples to join the army—I won't force you. War means bloodshed and death. Do what you can, give what you have."

The group discussed further matters, then dispersed. Wang Yan stood at the door, bidding each guest farewell individually.

He knew well: though their words sounded noble, how many would actually come remained uncertain. Not all here were motivated by patriotism; many acted for family or sect interests. As long as they didn't betray the country, their choices were understandable.

When everyone had left, Gong Baosen arrived with Ma San, Ye Wen, and others: "Go home. Mei has been waiting long enough. It's your wedding day—talk tomorrow."

Wang Yan nodded, watching Gong Baosen and the teasing Ye Wen and others walk away.

As the last guests vanished, Li Qiankun stepped forward: "Ah Yan, it's all settled. You worried for nothing—only two squads showed up, a few dozen men."

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"Better safe than sorry. Alright, go settle the brothers. I've got a bridal chamber to enter."

Li Qiankun grinned mischievously and left with his men.

Back at the residence, entering the room, Gong Er sat quietly on the bed.

Wang Yan asked: "Have you eaten?"

Gong Er nodded: "I've had a little."

"Such a fine moment must not be wasted. Let's begin." With that, he pushed her down as she cried out "Ah…"

Gong Er, trained in martial arts since childhood, had a strong constitution… a night of passion…

The next day, Wang Yan served Gong Er breakfast, chatted awhile, then went to Gong Baosen's temporary lodging.

Seated in the main hall, Lao Jiang poured tea for everyone, then sat aside, playing with a monkey.

Wang Yan said: "Master Gong, you may soon be needed as an instructor."

"No problem. I've done this before when I was in the palace." Gong Baosen set down his teacup and sighed: "I've read your methods—they hurt both others and yourself."

"There's no other way. The nation is in crisis—there's no time to let them grow slowly." Wang Yan said: "But… Master Gong, there will be no peaceful place left. You could invite some veteran elders here—it would be safer. We could pool our wisdom to develop effective methods. You know, over the years I've studied those herbal formulas. After we win this war, spreading them will greatly improve our people's physical strength—a great benefit to the nation and its people."

Gong Baosen listened, fell silent for a moment, then said: "What you propose is feasible. I'll reach out and see."

Wang Yan nodded and turned to Ma San beside him: "Ma Senior Martial Brother, you'll also serve as an instructor. Master Gong is old—your hands will have to manage it."

Ma San grumbled: "I know that without you telling me."

Wang Yan smiled unconcerned: "Alright, that's all. Master Gong, I'm off."

Gong Baosen waved dismissively, not answering—he was already thinking about whom to invite.

In the following days, disciples and students arrived steadily from all over, coming to support Wang Yan. It took considerable time to settle them all.

November 11: the Nationalist army suffered heavy losses; Shanghai fell; the Japanese launched a major offensive.

December 13: Jin Ling fell; the massacre began.

Affected by this, some of the martial artists who had come earlier joined the army directly, some brought their families to join Wang Yan, some sent their disciples away… some guarded coffins, while others did nothing at all, their intentions unclear.

Many of the veteran elders invited by Gong Baosen arrived with their families; many others did not.

Wang Yan began training his men and relocating those who had come to join him. He didn't just help those who offered—those who had helped him on his journey south years ago, he could not refuse.

Barely married, Wang Yan had to separate from Gong Er and head to the battlefield.

Now he commanded several thousand men, but most had never fought; weapons and ammunition were scarce. The Japanese troops, overall, were highly disciplined and well-equipped—planes and artillery made them impossible to match. No wonder the Nationalists, with 800,000 men, lost over 300,000 dead and wounded fighting 200,000 Japanese.

So they could only roam the southern front, launching constant small-scale raids, expanding their strength through Mobile Corps Commander warfare, and delaying Japanese advances.

The Japanese had no solution: large units couldn't catch them, and chasing with small units only ended in defeat. Frustrated, they could do nothing. The Japanese total force was over a million, fighting on multiple fronts simultaneously. Encirclement was impossible—their main forces were already engaged elsewhere, and they lacked sufficient manpower.

In 1938, what was meant to come would come; he could not control the overall situation. On the eve of the Yangcheng Campaign, Wang Yan led his unit back to Foshan.

After so much time had passed, Wang Yan's unit had grown considerably; coupled with Zhou Qingquan's continued business ventures, though affected by the war, they still had some surplus, and at the very least, firearms and ammunition were never lacking.