Chapter 67

Wang Yan comforted the group, who regretted the filthy, chaotic environment, with an inspiring, passionate speech that reignited their hope for the future.

He then organized everyone to assign rooms, restore water and electricity, and thoroughly clean the entire Chengzhai, working tirelessly for many days.

In a large room cleared out, Wang Yan stood in the center, surrounded by Gong Baosen, Ding Lianshan, and a host of elder masters from the medical and martial arts circles, key members of his team, respected family representatives, as well as Ye Wen and Zhou Qingquan; standing behind them were Ma San and other flagship disciples from various families.

Giving speeches alone won't work—you must properly assign roles to those present for it to matter.

"You've already explained what's going on," shouted an elder martial artist. "Now we need something concrete—a plan. Everyone followed you here because they trust you. Don't let them lose heart."

All eyes turned to Wang Yan, waiting for his reply.

After scanning the room, Wang Yan bowed and said, "Elder Zhou is right—we all know this. Everyone here knows what kind of man Wang Mou is. I would never deceive you."

"I'll be frank: we've got over ten thousand people here who need food and shelter. In the early days, we'll endure hardship. But once we get past this phase… we'll eat well and drink boldly."

Wang Yan explained his ideas, his plans, and what they could achieve—and he completely won them over, leaving them spellbound and yearning.

He cruelly shattered their daydreams and called out: "Quan Ge!"

Zhou Qingquan rose from his seat: "Yan, speak."

"Quan Ge, you still lead the business. Reconnect with your old contacts, rebuild the operations. We'll rely on you in the early days, Quan Ge."

"Don't worry, Yan. No problem."

Wang Yan nodded, gestured for Zhou Qingquan to sit, then turned to the family representatives: "Please go back and carefully count your families—men, women, elders, children, their ages, everything. Soon we'll build factories to ensure everyone has work. Education for the children is vital—we can't delay it. Once you've compiled the data, I'll send someone to bring in teachers."

The family representatives nodded vigorously. These were exactly the concerns they had—now they were mostly resolved.

Wang Yan looked at the elder traditional doctors and the original base personnel, then said: "Elder masters of medicine, please establish a clinic first. With so many people, illnesses will inevitably arise—treat the families. When idle, resume your previous work. Later, pick a location and compile a full list of needed supplies."

"Previous work" meant researching and improving herbal formulas, and assisting Gong Baosen's group in developing efficient, simple body-strengthening methods. When Wang Yan brought them to Aomen, they had already reorganized themselves: the elder generations from medical and martial arts circles each led younger disciples into two separate groups, focusing on research—complementary by nature, and they occasionally exchanged insights, achieving modest progress.

The traditional medicine group remained silent; their elder leader nodded to show understanding.

"Master Gong, you'll continue as before." After receiving a nod of confirmation, Wang Yan addressed Gong Baosen's group: "Here we have elders from both north and south. This is a matter of great benefit to the nation and its people. Please give it your full effort."

Gong Baosen and his group had no objections—they all nodded. Their old bones and weary limbs had little left to offer, but this was still something they could contribute.

Leading the team were Li Qiankun, Jin Shanzhao, and others. Li Qiankun, due to domestic political conditions and his family's alignment, had not returned home and followed Wang Yan instead. Jin Shanzhao simply had a hardy fate—he'd suffered injuries worse than Wang Yan's, yet still climbed to the upper ranks of the group.

Wang Yan told them: "The team must not disband. Stay vigilant—we're not safe yet. Unidentified individuals should be contained if possible, but don't kill them outright. Maintain training, but drop the techniques I taught you. Pick up your own family arts again. So many elder masters are here—learn from them."

Seeing them nod in agreement, Wang Yan turned to the group: "That's mostly it. Does anyone have questions?"

The room fell silent. No one spoke.

After a long pause, an elder hesitantly asked: "Can we… can we go back?"

At these words, others perked up, their eyes filled with hope as they stared at Wang Yan.

"Yes," Wang Yan knew that deep-rooted homesickness couldn't be dismissed with words—the pain of leaving one's homeland was unbearable. After a moment's thought, he said: "When the domestic situation stabilizes, those who wish to return may do so."

By then, in two years, once they'd built something up, whether these people would still want to leave remained uncertain.

After speaking, Wang Yan dismissed them: "That's all for now. If you have questions, find me anytime. Everyone, get to work."

Watching the crowd disperse, Wang Yan sat down and drank several large gulps of tea, his throat parched and dry.

"Master Gong, is there anything here you find uncomfortable?" With only close associates remaining, Wang Yan set down his teacup. "I'll try to fix it."

Gong Baosen waved his hand and laughed: "Nothing uncomfortable. Everything's fine, fine." His daughter Gong Er and Wang Yan had always been deeply affectionate; his own family line had been continued; Ma San, though imperfect, had matured with age. He spent his days studying martial arts with his old comrades and occasionally teaching disciples. Now, as peaceful days loomed—even if conditions were poor—he no longer had to live in constant fear. He was more than satisfied.

It was getting late; Wang Yan chatted with them a while longer before dismissing them.

The others needed no oversight—they were doing well. After all these years of friendship, they all knew who he was. If they had problems, they'd already told him long ago.

Ye Wen's fate had changed—he kept his wife and children safe, never suffering hardship or pain. During their time in Aomen, Ye Wen spent every day discussing martial arts with the elder masters. They never withheld their secrets; they openly taught him their family's most potent techniques.

Though he'd never endured his original fate, Ye Wen remained Ye Wen. Based on the system Wang Yan had compiled, he developed his own. His goal differed from Wang Yan's: Wang Yan sought to kill; Ye Wen sought to duel. Thus, while his techniques lacked lethal power, they were otherwise sound—causing little bodily harm and hardly shortening his lifespan.

But what saddened him was that when he taught his methods to Wang Yan's men, they praised them enthusiastically—yet never practiced them again. There was no way: Wang Yan's men had trained for years, killed countless times, and each carried a heavy killing intent. They were conditioned to strike only to kill—"You die, or I die."

That was why Wang Yan told them to stop practicing those techniques—because in a few years, they'd be nearing retirement. Better to train in stable, nurturing arts that would help them live longer.

Ma San was over forty now, with many children. Having served beside Gong Baosen for years, his martial skill had improved significantly—stronger than when he was thirty, and he now bore the bearing of a true martial master. He'd challenged Wang Yan many times, yet never lasted three moves. He knew he'd never surpass Wang Yan—acceptance came, whether he liked it or not.

…………

The Chengzhai had lain abandoned for years; living quarters were mostly poor. Wang Yan's own quarters were merely larger—not much better than anyone else's. Now, with so few people, they were far more spacious than the historical population of fifty thousand.

Returning to his clean, tidy room, he saw Wang Zhilan chasing Gong Ji around the room, shrieking with laughter. Gong Er sat nearby organizing belongings, glancing up occasionally.

Gong Ji was now five years old and had always been raised by Gong Er. The boy had been quiet and easygoing since childhood. Gong Baosen never overindulged him—only played with him occasionally to enjoy family warmth.

Wang Zhilan was four this year. Gong Baosen said she was just like Gong Er had been as a child—constantly rowdy and unruly. That was why she was assigned to care for Gong Ji—she was the elder.

Seeing Wang Yan enter, Wang Zhilan screamed "Dad!" and leapt at him. Wang Yan caught her easily, spinning her twice as she giggled uncontrollably. Gong Ji, after calling "Dad," simply stood and stared up at him.

Wang Yan set down the pouting girl, scooped up Gong Ji, and spun him around several times—much more vigorously than before. Gong Ji feigned solemnity, silent, but his grinning mouth betrayed him.

After playing with the two children for a while, he told them to tidy up and prepare for bed, then turned and embraced Gong Er, who had been smiling quietly for a long time.

Gong Er leaned into Wang Yan's arms and asked: "Is everything settled?"

"Mostly. Now we wait and see. No matter how much I say, they'll still half-doubt."

"Do you really believe it? What you described—I can't even imagine."

"Don't worry. When have I ever lied to you? You love opera, right? Soon I'll build you a grand stage—let you sing your heart out. Use this time to practice—you don't want to embarrass yourself later."

Feeling slighted, Gong Er sniffed: "I'll wait for your grand stage." Then she pushed him away to soothe the children to sleep.

Wang Yan was thirty-five; Gong Er was six years younger—twenty-nine. They were an old married couple with two children, yet sometimes still played childish games for fun.

Amused by Gong Er's dainty back, he washed up, picked up a book, and leaned against the pillow to read.

It was an ancient, hand-bound medical text he'd taken from the elder masters—old, now priceless; in sixty or seventy years, its value would be incalculable. He'd once studied medicine halfway before turning to fighting, his mind clouded by chaos. Now that things had settled, he picked it up again.

He hadn't read long when Gong Er returned, having put the children to sleep and washed up. Others were watching the children—no need for them to stay up at night.

Gong Er pulled the book from Wang Yan's hands and set it aside. She swung her leg over him, straddling his waist, feeling the slow, steady rise of his arousal. With a sultry smile, she said: "Let's have another child."

She saw peace now and wanted to bear another child to continue Wang Yan's lineage. He understood—it was all for him. He said nothing, simply rolled over and pinned her beneath him…

In the following time, the Chengzhai developed quietly, unwatched—perhaps even pretended to be unseen.

Following Wang Yan's guidance, Zhou Qingquan used his old connections to run shipping operations with Wang Yan's men, earned money, and gradually acquired land near the Chengzhai to build factories—low-tech, designed solely to support large numbers of people. The Chengzhai's living conditions improved greatly. He also spent money to bribe police officials, slowly securing official identification documents for the families.

At the same time, Wang Yan sent people north to recruit many schoolmasters and bring them over to teach school-age children among the families.

Naturally, many homeless locals from Hong Kong Island and people who had come down from the north also drifted over; Wang Yan did not drive them away, but settled them all along the outskirts of Chengzhai.

In 1946, Gong Baosen and his team, after years of research, finally achieved results. What they compiled required about sixty minutes to complete one set, activating most of the body's muscles; consistent long-term practice indeed improved physical fitness and conferred some offensive capability. But for optimal results, one still needed those herbal formulas—though none had been improved, and they were not something that could be widely adopted.

This system was essentially useless: if an ordinary person had the stamina to continuously twist, turn, stretch arms and legs for an entire hour, he wouldn't need to practice it at all. If practiced in segments, it did yield some benefit—after all, it was exercise—but the physical improvement it offered was less than running two laps.

Still, results had been achieved; improvements could come later. After much deliberation, they finally named it "Strengthening Body Martial Exercises." Wang Yan had originally wanted to call it "First Set of Radio Gymnastics," but realizing it lacked musical rhythm, he wisely kept that foolish idea to himself.

That same winter, Gong Er fulfilled her wish and gave birth to a son. Wang Yan named the child "Xing," for he would strengthen martial arts, and by the time the child took charge, martial arts would flourish.

In 1947, the historical event in which the Hong Kong government expelled residents without identification from Chengzhai never occurred. After learning the origins and strengths of these people, they abandoned the idea. It wasn't that they couldn't defeat them—their army, navy, and air force, with planes, tanks, and artillery, could surely crush ten thousand men. But considering potential losses and international repercussions, they weighed everything and abandoned the operation, letting them fend for themselves.

Chengzhai remained the lawless enclave it had always been, only cleaner and more orderly than before.

That same year, Gong Er was thirty-one. Wang Yan fulfilled his promise to her by building an opera house outside Chengzhai. Gong Er took the stage to perform, with close friends as the audience. Gong Baosen watched his daughter on stage with a beaming smile and tender eyes, utterly content. Wang Zhilan pulled Gong Ji by the hand, jumping and shouting loudly, finally fulfilling Gong Er's childhood dream.

While Gong Er was singing on stage, one of his subordinates came to him: "Mr., someone has come to Chengzhai looking for you. Says he made a promise with you on a train years ago."

Wang Yan nodded. "Bring him in."

Soon after, the subordinate led in a well-groomed man in a suit, placed a chair for him, bowed to Wang Yan, and left.

"Sit," Wang Yan said, his eyes fixed on Gong Er on stage.

Yixiantian ignored the glances around him, sat down without a word.

Long after, Gong Er finished her performance. Wang Yan smiled and carried the two children forward to present her a bouquet, gently wiping away the tears in her eyes, while he and the children comforted her with soft words.

She returned to the stage to thank the friends who had come to support her, then the gathering dispersed.

Wang Yan had Gong Er take the children home first, then returned to where Yixiantian sat quietly drinking tea: "You came just to settle who's better?"

Yixiantian set down his teacup, stood up, and faced Wang Yan: "Just to settle who's better!"

As he spoke, Yixiantian flung open his razor and assumed a starting stance.

To show respect, Wang Yan patted himself, pulled out a dagger, gestured toward Yixiantian, and said, "Come."

Yixiantian was direct—he knew Wang Yan had defeated every school and never lost. He seized the initiative, lunging forward with a powerful step, slashing his razor diagonally upward to cut Wang Yan's throat.

Wang Yan reacted swiftly, his dagger striking the razor with a crisp clang. He blocked the blade, then flipped his wrist and struck Yixiantian's right wrist. Yixiantian cried out in pain, his hand numbing, the razor slipping free. Instantly, he reacted—instead of grabbing the razor, he used the force from his arm to twist his body into a horse stance and drove a spear elbow straight into Wang Yan's chest. Wang Yan sidestepped, thrusting his dagger forward.

Yixiantian held the spear elbow pose, feeling the blade's edge against his throat, then slowly lowered his stance and rose: "You win." He turned to leave.

Wang Yan blocked him: "Chengzhai needs a barber. Will you take the job?"

Yixiantian froze, turned back, stared at Wang Yan for a long moment, then spoke slowly, word by word: "My name is Zhang Li."