Chapter 66

He hurried back to his home in Foshan, but Gong Er was not there.

Wang Yan went straight to the Ye family mansion; as expected, Ye Zhun was playing noisily with his younger siblings in the main hall, while Gong Er sat beside Zhang Yongcheng learning embroidery.

When she saw Wang Yan enter, Gong Er let out a soft "Ah!" and pricked her finger with the needle.

Wang Yan stepped forward quickly, took her hand, and examined it: "How could you be so careless?"

Gong Er said nothing, only gazed at Wang Yan with tear-filled eyes. After their marriage, he had left soon after; for the past year, they had seen each other rarely, their meetings few and far between.

That pitiful look truly stirred something in Wang Yan; he pulled her into his arms and whispered softly: "There, there, I'm back now."

Gong Er clung tightly to him, unwilling to let go.

Zhang Yongcheng watched with a smile, saying nothing. The children had stopped playing too, staring wide-eyed at the scene; the youngest, somehow having learned it somewhere, covered his eyes with both hands but left a wide gap between his fingers.

"Hey, Ayan, be careful," Ye Wen walked in upon hearing the report: "The kids are watching."

Gong Er had missed Wang Yan too deeply; Ye Wen's thoughtless interruption made her face flush red as she quickly pushed away from him, breaking free from the embrace that had intoxicated her.

Wang Yan shot Ye Wen a glare and snapped: "You really know how to kill the mood." Seeing him about to retort, he cut him off: "Enough joking—time is short. Pack up quickly. We leave tonight."

Ye Wen stiffened: "They've come?"

Gong Er and Zhang Yongcheng both stared anxiously at Wang Yan.

"They're here, and we can't stop them," Wang Yan sighed. "Hurry and pack—light and simple. That's all." With that, he took Gong Er's hand and turned to leave.

"What about Quan Ge?" Ye Wen asked quickly.

"I already sent someone to warn him."

Watching the retreating figure, Ye Wen sighed: "Yongcheng, go pack. We don't have much—just take some clothes."

Ye Wen had truly sacrificed his home for the cause; aside from daily expenses, nearly all his assets had supported Wang Yan—Peide Li had long since fallen into disrepair.

Zhang Yongcheng nodded and hurried off to pack.

Ye Wen forced a smile and distracted himself by playing with the children, but his heart was heavy with gloom and tangled thoughts.

As they talked along the way, the two arrived at Gong Baosen's residence.

When they entered, Gong Baosen was discussing matters with a group of elder masters, gesturing and speaking animatedly. Ever since Wang Yan's earlier words, Gong Baosen had devoted himself entirely to studying these things—even without being asked, he had personally recruited several renowned physicians.

When Wang Yan learned of this, he was genuinely impressed; Gong Baosen's status was enough—he simply spoke, and several came. Unlike him, who had to resort to threats and bribes.

Wang Yan led Gong Er forward, and they both bowed respectfully: "Master Gong, Elder Masters, greetings."

Gong Baosen smiled and nodded, signaling them not to bow further. Aside from the fact that Gong Er's belly still hadn't swollen, he was content with his current life—his spirit had noticeably improved. He understood the difficulty of childbirth in these times.

Knowing how busy Wang Yan was and how rarely he returned unless necessary, he asked in surprise: "Why the sudden return?"

Everyone present waited for Wang Yan's answer; they were here out of respect for Gong Baosen—or, more honestly, to flee.

"Master Gong, the Japanese are coming—within days. We must leave tonight."

At these words, everyone's eyes dimmed, their expressions unreadable.

"Ah…" Gong Baosen snapped out of it, sighed deeply, and said: "Older brothers, go pack your things."

"This world…" The others sighed heavily and dispersed to return home and pack.

Watching them leave, Gong Baosen said to Old Jiang beside him: "Fuxing, go pack too."

Old Jiang replied and turned away.

"Where are we going?" Gong Baosen asked.

Wang Yan answered: "Aomen. Everything's prepared there. Some will be sent to Hong Kong, and other stable southern areas."

Gong Baosen nodded, saying nothing.

Seeing this, Wang Yan said: "Master Gong, we'll return to prepare."

Seeing Gong Baosen wave them off, Wang Yan bowed again and took Gong Er home.

At home, as Gong Er packed, she asked: "Are you coming with us?"

"You know I…" Wang Yan stopped when he saw her hands freeze.

Gong Er said nothing, tears streaming silently as she continued packing.

Wang Yan sighed, stepped forward, and embraced her. Gong Er buried her face in his chest, weeping soundlessly.

After a long while, Wang Yan released her: "Enough. Don't worry—I won't be harmed. Time's short. Keep packing." With that, he left to arrange the evacuation.

That night, armed men surrounded the dock—these were their families and elders.

No words were many: Gong Baosen sighed and patted Wang Yan's shoulder; Ma San gave him a complex glance; Gong Er wept openly, biting her lips to stifle her sobs; Ye Wen stood frozen, clutching his child, silent for a long time; others stared longingly at some spot nearby, unsure if they'd ever see each other again.

Watching the figures waving goodbye grow distant, Wang Yan sighed. His power was limited—he could help only so many. This many was already the limit.

In October 1938, the Yangcheng Campaign erupted; the defending forces, outnumbered, fell. Foshan was captured.

Wang Yan could not stop the Japanese massacres.

He could only keep fighting Mobile Corps Commander warfare, constantly fleeing from the Japanese pursuit.

That same month, the Wuhan Campaign ended; the Nationalist forces suffered 400,000 casualties, inflicting over 200,000 on the Japanese, greatly depleting enemy manpower—the war entered a stalemate.

The Japanese offensive was halted; they turned to consolidating occupied territories.

The plot returned to its rightful course: a Japanese brigade of over seven thousand troops occupied Foshan, led once again by the same general, Miura.

That day, Li Zhao, exhausted from serving the Japanese all day, returned home to hear laughter and joy inside—none of the usual gloom.

A smile spread across Li Zhao's weary face as he opened the door: "What's so joyful?" Before anyone could answer, he turned and saw the man sitting nearby: "Wang… Master Wang?" He immediately dropped to his knees: "I had no choice, Master Wang—"

"Enough. The kids are watching. I need your help." Wang Yan caught him before he could kneel.

Li Zhao didn't know why Wang Yan wanted him, but seeing he wasn't here to kill him, he hurriedly said: "Then… Master Wang, follow me." He led Wang Yan into a small side room.

Wang Yan wasted no time, sat down, and said to Li Zhao, who stood obediently before him: "I know you're Miura's interpreter. No time for pleasantries. You need to observe Miura's movements—his troop rotation, meal times, rest schedules, guard shifts at the arms depot, and changeover patterns. You have half a month. Any problem?"

Li Zhao hesitated: "Everything else is fine, but I can't access the arms depot, Master Wang."

"Then get the first two. Once done, I'll get you out of Foshan."

"Alright, no problem. How do I contact you?"

"I'll come find you. That's it. Stay safe. I'm leaving." With that, Wang Yan pushed open the door and walked out. He could handle these things himself, but his exposure was shallow, and oversights were inevitable—he sought Li Zhao to verify a second time, and he had to ensure absolute certainty.

Walking into the outer room, Li Zhao watched the children devouring meat in large bites and smiled contentedly. It was good.

Miyaura still arranged numerous martial artists to fight, humiliating Chinese martial arts; every day he had to kill several.

But compared to the more than two hundred thousand compatriots who had died or fled, these deaths meant little now—they had grown numb.

Wang Yan used his space to evade Japanese inspections, shuttling weapons and ammunition into the city again and again. Meanwhile, his men gradually assembled within the city.

Finally, the time arrived—at Li Zhao's home.

"That's all, Mr. Wang."

Wang Yan nodded, saying nothing, mentally cross-referencing the intelligence he had gathered.

After a long silence, Wang Yan said: "Alright, I know. Pack your things. Wait at home tomorrow night." With that, he stood and left.

"Mr. Wang…" Li Zhao called out. He locked eyes with Wang Yan as he turned back, then said firmly: "Be careful!"

Wang Yan smiled gently at Li Zhao, then turned and departed.

Li Zhao gritted his teeth, watching Wang Yan's retreating figure: "Come back alive."

The next day, night.

Miyaura, accompanied by several subordinate officers, was riding back in a vehicle after inspecting the military camp.

"Be extra vigilant tonight. The soldiers' collective stomachaches are clearly suspicious," Miyaura said to a nearby colonel.

"Yes, General. I've ordered an investigation—it'll be resolved by tomorrow. Fortunately, only a portion are affected; I've already arranged the rest."

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Miyaura nodded, saying nothing.

Suddenly, a single gunshot shattered the silent night.

With the gunshot, the colonel saw what looked like Miyaura's what spurting out, then saw a grenade flying toward him—he had no chance to see anything else.

That single gunshot acted as a signal, breaking the night's silence. Immediately came alarms, Japanese shouts, the explosion of the Chengxi arms depot, and gunfire and battle cries erupting from all directions.

Wang Yan's team had already confirmed: the guards consisted of only one company, about two hundred men. After all, in a city fully under control, that many troops were already excessive.

He fired his shot and immediately turned to flee. The soldiers guarding Miyaura instinctively raised their rifles toward the gunfire, bullets hammering against windows and walls with sharp, crackling sounds.

Simultaneously, large numbers of their own forces surged out and swiftly eliminated these men.

Then Wang Yan led the charge, directing his men to attack everywhere. But the Japanese were no pushovers—perhaps due to bad luck, they took several hits.

Jin Shanzhao rushed over, supporting Wang Yan and shouting: "Mr. Wang, are you alright?"

"Not dead yet. Don't worry about me—help the others."

Jin Shanzhao wasn't foolish—he understood the situation. Seeing Wang Yan's condition was stable, he left a few men to guard him and led the rest away.

Gradually, the gunfire ceased. Then the sounds of Foshan's people erupted—cheers, curses, and sobs.

The cheers were for the invaders' deaths; the curses, for their inhuman cruelty; the sobs, for their dead loved ones.

Hearing this, amid the shocked cries of his comrades beside him, Wang Yan's head tilted sideways and he fainted, a smile lingering on his lips.

That night, Foshan was liberated.

Seven thousand enemies killed; Wang Yan severely wounded; nearly a thousand of his men dead or injured.

The next day, the news spread. Though liberation lasted only one night, it served as a powerful boost to compatriots resisting elsewhere.

Six months later, Aomen.

"You're leaving?" Gong Er asked, curled against Wang Yan's chest.

Wang Yan stroked her hair and sighed: "My body's recovered. I have to go…"

"Then be careful. Don't be so reckless again like last time," Gong Er said, her voice trembling as she recalled how Wang Yan had been brought back six months earlier.

"Don't worry—I promise there won't be a next time." As he spoke, he reached out and teased: "Shall we… again?"

Gong Er, moved, said: "I want to have a child."

He didn't stop his motion, but said: "Wait a while longer. In these times, a child born would only suffer."

"No. I want to have a child." Gong Er stopped her movements, looked into Wang Yan's eyes, and spoke slowly, word by word.

Wang Yan understood—she feared he might die out there and leave no heir. After a moment's thought, he sighed, looking at her stubborn face: "Then have one."

Hearing Wang Yan's consent, Gong Er's stern expression instantly melted into a bright smile like early spring peach blossoms. She slowly leaned in.

Gong Er didn't know Wang Yan's abilities—she dragged him into bed and kept him there for three days before letting him leave.

After bidding farewell to Gong Er, who kept staring at her belly with wistful smiles, and to Gong Baosen, Ye Wen, and the others, Wang Yan set out again—northward, to kill enemies.

Ye Wen watched the departing boat from the shore, sighing deeply. He had repeatedly expressed his desire to join Wang Yan in fighting and avenging their country, but Zhang Yongcheng adamantly refused.

Zhang Yongcheng didn't want anything else—she only wanted her family safe. She had seen with her own eyes how Wang Yan returned last time, and she knew the news of nearly a thousand dead and wounded. If even Wang Yan, with his far superior skills, suffered so badly, what would happen to Ye Wen if he went out? The thought terrified her—and she wouldn't budge.

Ye Wen's passionate fervor had nowhere to go. Wang Yan didn't know. He led his replenished force, continuing his old Mobile Corps Commander tactics—traveling across the country, surrounded, scattered, and betrayed.

No one gave him orders. He'd find any weakly defended spot, strike hard, seize supplies, and flee—then be chased frantically by furious Japanese troops, running from place to place.

After two years of war, sustaining so many men—mostly elite troops—Wang Yan was running thin. Had it not been for Zhou Qingquan in Hong Kong, leading a group working day and night to send him supplies, he would have collapsed long ago.

In 1940, late February, Gong Er gave birth to a son. By then, as the front lines stretched, the Japanese had continuously reinforced their troops, and Wang Yan had been pushed into North China—he missed the child's birth.

Before leaving, Wang Yan had said the child should bear the Gong surname. But Gong Baosen, fearing Wang Yan might die abroad and end the lineage, adamantly refused. Only after Wang Yan returned later, spent time persuading him, and Gong Er became pregnant again, did Gong Baosen agree. He named the child Ji—meaning "to continue the lineage, to pass on the spirit."

Unfortunately, that same year, his close friend Old Yang was surrounded for days, out of ammunition and food, and ultimately couldn't escape. Wang Yan was too far away to help.

In 1941, June, Gong Er gave birth to a daughter. This time, Wang Yan arrived in time—he named her Zhilan.

That same year, December, the Japanese bombed Zhenzhugang, opening the Pacific Theater. Hong Kong fell; Aomen was besieged but not attacked. Zhou Qingquan had fled ahead, escaping unscathed. The people Wang Yan had relocated there were mostly safe—nearly all survived. As for whether they cursed him or not, Wang Yan didn't care. People were never satisfied—where was there peace left in these times?

The siege of Aomen caused prices to skyrocket, plunging the people into misery. Wang Yan saw it, but he couldn't save them—he was powerless. First save yourself, then save others. The families and brothers following him numbered over ten thousand, scattered across many places. He could only guarantee they survived. Beyond them, he truly had no way.

Wang Yan kept his force active on the battlefield. Because his escape route lay in Hong Kong, he primarily operated in the southern theater. He had also cooperated many times with the legendary Liu Heizai.

The dangers, needless to say, were countless—he nearly died several times, yet stubbornly survived.

By August 1945, two mushrooms fell. Japan surrendered unconditionally. The War of Resistance ended.

The entire nation exhaled a collective breath, stepping out of their homes to mourn the dead amid a nationwide celebration tinged with sorrow. Yet amid this festive atmosphere……

Wang Yan, accompanied by a large group of followers who refused to return home, along with his family and friends, and many other refugees unwilling to go back, crossed the sea and headed toward Kowloon, a place that, for a series of reasons, had long been abandoned and held hardly any inhabitants.

Moreover, at this very moment, it was precisely the time when power structures were shifting.

If no unforeseen events occurred, he would spend the remainder of his days there.