[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film-":3,"chapter-from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-68":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","From the God of Medicine: A Journey Through Film and TV Worlds",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2333994,4564,"Chapter 68","from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-68",68,"\u003Cp>From 1945 to 1949, except for a tense moment in 1947, it was generally a period of stable development.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With Wang Yan guiding from behind, Zhou Qingquan led Zhou Guangyao to achieve great success, bolstered by armed backing, enabling rapid expansion. Factories and companies were continuously built, with large numbers of families from the settlement recruited and retrained. Through this, Wang Yan fulfilled his initial promise, achieving a relatively quality life for the settlement families.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Life now was far better than before; those who once clamored to return home had almost all disappeared, except for a few elderly who could not bear to leave their homeland.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under the Hong Kong government’s tacit approval, vast tracts of land around the settlement were purchased and uniformly planned for development. The impoverished masses gathering nearby were mostly hired into factories, becoming self-reliant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Along a street outside the settlement, dozens of martial arts schools opened collectively, decorated with lanterns and banners, setting off firecrackers and performing lion dances.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan strolled with Gong Baosen and other veteran elders, watching the grand spectacle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Excellent! Excellent!” Gong Baosen exclaimed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Baosen could never tire of this scene. He had long dreamed of spreading Northern fist styles southward and Southern fist styles northward, but fate was cruel. After elevating Ye Wen, he had barely begun to act when war erupted. His lifelong ambition remained unfulfilled; to say he was not heartbroken would be false.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen was also deeply troubled. He had once vowed to make a grand mark, only to see his efforts end abruptly—leaving him with lingering regret.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had thought his chance was gone, yet a turning point arrived. In 1937, Gong Baosen fled south with Wang Yan, where his life experienced a second spring.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The masters Gong Baosen invited were all of high caliber; their sparring and exchanges became a process of absorption and integration. Constantly refining their techniques by adopting strengths and compensating for weaknesses, his Gong family Bagua and Xingyi evolved repeatedly. Others did the same—there was no longer any distinction between Northern and Southern fist styles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other veteran elders were equally content. At their age, fame and fortune were no longer lacking; they had only this one remaining wish.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Looking back now, our old sectarian divisions seem utterly ridiculous,” an elder remarked, gazing at the throngs of people.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Someone nearby laughed and said, “Ha! Why dwell on that? Just focus on the path ahead.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Baosen stared blankly. “Yes… focus on the path ahead.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen, noticing Gong Baosen’s mood, quickly interjected: “Master Gong, don’t overthink it. You once told me: ‘Never let go of a dream—it will echo.’ Now it’s echoing. There’s still much for you to do.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan had wanted to speak just then, but Ye Wen beat him to it; he merely smiled quietly beside them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ma San added: “Ah Wen’s right, Master! You taught me: ‘Better to advance a hair’s breadth than halt for a hair’s breadth.’ You still have room to improve.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Baosen paused, then burst into loud laughter. Without a word, he strode forward with light, steady steps.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan and the others exchanged glances and laughed heartily, catching up to Gong Baosen ahead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er’s life had grown even more vibrant. She hadn’t been boasting—she truly was exceptional. In just two years, she had become a celebrated performer. Naturally, her status as the settlement’s lady added to her appeal—this could not be changed. People came for varied reasons: some to curry favor, others simply for spectacle. Regardless, every show was packed, wildly popular.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The three children were growing strong. Gong Ji and Wang Zhilan were nine and eight respectively. When Gong Ji turned six, Gong Baosen personally began training him in his signature Bagua and Xingyi. Once Gong Ji started, Wang Zhilan refused to be left behind, demanding to join. After some thought, Gong Baosen simply began training them both.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Zhilan had always been wild; after training, she became even more unruly. Among the settlement’s children, she was the undisputed leader. Wang Yan had specifically instructed other families not to remind the children of their status or titles. No one ever spoke of such things to them, so they had no concept of hierarchy—they attended school together, carefree and oblivious. Whether others whispered behind their backs, Wang Zhilan had no equal among children her age.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Ji, of course, pretended to be serious. Wang Yan had watched them spar; he estimated Wang Zhilan wouldn’t last three moves. But of course, she always won—that was mandatory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The youngest, Wang Xing, was only two and a half. Her mother was busy performing, so Wang Yan raised her. She was just as mischievous as Wang Zhilan had been as a child.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Notably, Li Zhao, who had followed Wang Yan since the beginning, was placed by him into the Kowloon Police Department, conveniently located in their area.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the proliferation of martial arts schools, martial spirit spread across Hong Kong Island. Many came to enroll. This influx inevitably affected local practitioners, drawing attention from native masters. They earned little, were exploited by foreigners, and harbored resentment—but they were powerless to resist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That day, at Wang Yan’s home, he stared helplessly at Wang Xing, whose face was smeared with ink. Wang Xing thought Wang Yan was playing with him, giggling and reaching out to grab him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan had placed the child on the large desk to play while he wrote calligraphy. He hadn’t noticed, and now the entire desk was a mess. This was a patriarch—he’d be killed if Gong Er returned and saw her child like this. After all these years, Gong Er’s once-shy daughterly demeanor was long gone; she never indulged his antics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sighing, Wang Yan picked up the giggling Wang Xing to clean him up. Just then, Gong Er entered, humming a tune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er saw Wang Xing, dangling from Wang Yan’s arm, kicking and grinning at her. She shot Wang Yan a glare, then turned to the child: “How do you watch a child? Look at this mess…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan pretended not to hear, glaring at Wang Xing, who clapped and howled. Seeing this, Gong Er grew angrier: “I’m telling you—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, just as Gong Er was about to launch into a long tirade, a subordinate knocked and entered, stifling a laugh: “Sir, a martial artist named Hong Zhenan says he represents the Hong Kong martial arts community and wishes to meet you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan glared at the subordinate, ordering him to bring the man in. He turned to Gong Er: “See? Someone’s here. I’ll go check.” Without waiting for her reply, he walked out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er glared at Wang Yan’s back. Unable to scold the father, she scolded the son. Regardless of whether he understood, she turned to the wriggling Wang Xing and began lecturing him, venting her pent-up frustration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan entered the reception hall to find a subordinate leading in a large, greasy-faced fat man, then retreating to serve tea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the subordinate left, Hong Zhenan bowed: “Mr. Wang, I’ve long heard of your name. Meeting you today proves your reputation is well-deserved.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not at all, you’re too kind,” Wang Yan returned the bow, gesturing: “Please sit.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hong Zhenan thanked him and sat upright.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The subordinate brought tea. Wang Yan sipped, set down his cup, and said: “I hear Master Hong comes representing the Hong Kong martial arts community. What brings you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hong Zhenan knew merely being received was a favor—he wouldn’t waste time on flattery. He grew serious: “To be frank, Mr. Wang, we struggle under the foreigners’ rule…” He detailed their hardships, then added: “I know it’s presumptuous to come unannounced, but we have no choice. I beg you for a chance to survive. Name your conditions—I can agree to anything.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His words were blunt, but suited Wang Yan’s taste—he hated indecision. After a moment’s thought, Wang Yan said: “Opening schools is fine. One condition: follow the rules. Can you do that?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As long as they followed his rules, Wang Yan didn’t care. Survival of the fittest—competition drives progress. If you can’t beat them, you have no right to complain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hong Zhenan nodded eagerly: “No problem! No problem! Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan nodded, accepted his thanks, and lifted his tea. Seeing this, Hong Zhenan respectfully took his leave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From then on, all martial arts schools in Hong Kong gathered on Martial Arts Street outside the settlement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To regulate the development of Hong Kong’s martial arts community, Wang Yan, the veteran elders, Ye Wen, Zhang Li of Yixiantian, Hong Zhenan, and others relaunched the Chinese Martial Arts Association. Wang Yan became president; Ye Wen and Zhang Li became vice presidents, continuing the principle of “Strengthening the Race, Protecting the Nation; Strengthening the People, Self-Defense.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those who wield weapons inevitably develop violent impulses. With these diverse individuals now possessing combat ability, conflicts were unavoidable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan couldn’t—and wouldn’t—control other regions, but within the settlement’s vicinity, the Chinese Martial Arts Association was the law; his men remained formidable, and anyone causing trouble would be swiftly punished. Yet suppression proved worse than guidance; martial arts themselves held no inherent superiority—it was the people who did. Thus, arena duels arose. Wang Yan established one simple rule: no strikes to vital or lethal points. Everything else was allowed—no weight classes, no restrictions. If you’re strong, step forward. Fight however you please.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan had already consulted the veteran elders on this matter, making clear that no school could teach secret killing techniques to anyone outside their direct disciples.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elders understood perfectly and said nothing. Thus, schools taught three sets of techniques: traditional, improved, and duel-optimized.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The traditional set preserved each school’s foundational methods, ensuring their legacy. All styles shared common roots—someone might one day emerge, building upon them to forge their own path, just as they themselves had done.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The improved set reflected each master’s lifelong innovations—techniques they had refined over decades, too precious to abandon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The duel-optimized set removed all lethal moves—eye gouges, throat strikes, groin kicks—entirely redesigned for arena rules.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan did his best to protect duelists’ lives. Still, many died in combat—there was no way to prevent it. No one dared speak of “humanity” here; those who gained fame, wealth, and glory knew the risks. If you lost on the arena, you had no right to complain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The stakes were high, tempting many. Wang Yan didn’t want complications. He had distributed gifts to the Hong Kong government and police. The foreigners feared unrest and dared not overreach; they were content with their share.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In September 1949, the mainland conflict ended. The defeated, fearing retribution, fled to Taiwan and Western nations. The powerless were abandoned—some followed orders to join the mountains, others were captured, some crossed the sea to Hong Kong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These newcomers were no better. Though defeated, they arrived armed. Seeing the settlement’s booming prosperity, they coveted it. Who had the bigger fist? Wang Yan’s fist was bigger. A band of opportunistic soldiers couldn’t match his elite men.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After losing some men and eliminating their officer leaders, the remaining soldiers were sent to factories as forced laborers—three to five years minimum. Seeing this brutality, others who hadn’t joined backed down. Their status meant nothing here; they quietly became impoverished civilians.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for the commotion from the fighting, the foreigners saw it as dogs fighting—better if they all died. They sent observers, saw the outcome wasn’t what they wanted, and ignored it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still, many skilled professionals came—doctors, teachers. After screening, they were all placed in schools and hospitals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In April 1950, the border closed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That day, Wang Yan, Ye Wen, and Zhou Qingquan sat together for dinner for the first time in a long while. Zhou Qingquan was now overwhelmed with work, refusing all advice. Wang Yan and Ye Wen often spent time together; Ye Wen occasionally taught at Martial Arts Street. Wang Yan was truly idle—besides caring for the children, he had nothing to do.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er, Zhang Yongcheng, and Zhou Qingquan’s wife chatted. On the floor, several crawling toddlers fought with those just learning to walk. Meanwhile, well-behaved children sat quietly together—Gong Ji, Ye Wen’s child, and Zhou Qingquan’s child, all similar ages, pretending to be serious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Notably, Zhang Yongcheng was incredibly fertile—his youngest child was rolling on the floor with Wang Xing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside, chaos reigned, punctuated by the women’s occasional shouts. The three men were accustomed to it, finding it warm rather than annoying, sipping tea as Ye Zhun and Zhou Guangyao served them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Zhun was now over twenty, long married. Zhou Guangyao was even older—no need to mention his status.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan sipped tea and said: “Brother Quan, the border is closed—that’s critical. Hand your duties over to Guangyao. He can run now—he’s capable.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Guangyao’s eyes lit up with hope. He’d followed his father for years without ever making decisions—his calm nature had kept him from exploding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But Ah Yan, Guangyao is still…” Zhou Qingquan, having trained him for so long, remained uneasy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan interrupted: “What ‘but’? Children have their own fortune. I’ve told you before: step down. Look at me and Wen—how easy we have it. After a lifetime of toil, enjoy your grandchildren, savor life.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen nodded solemnly beside him—he managed nothing, big or small. Zhang Yongcheng handled everything. Even Ye Zhun never asked him for help—he knew his advice was useless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ignoring Zhou Qingquan’s hesitation, Wang Yan said: “It’s decided. You’ll accompany him first to meet people. After that, you step aside. Guangyao will run the company.” He turned to Ye Wen: “Wen, what do you think?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan had spent years in Mobile Corps Commander warfare—he had many connections, all now in suitable positions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen nodded: “Ah Yan’s right. We’re old. Let the young take the stage. Brother Quan, retire. Train with me, drink tea—it’s good.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Qingquan had no reply. His two closest friends—both his brothers, one his elder—agreed. He nodded reluctantly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Zhou Qingquan’s nod, Zhou Guangyao’s hand trembled as he poured tea—his heart raced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan scolded with a smile: “Don’t just celebrate. If you mess up, I won’t care—but look at your father’s Wing Chun. What’s his skill level?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t worry, Uncle. I guarantee no problems,” Zhou Guangyao vowed firmly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Qingquan grunted, silent, already thinking he’d better pick up his training again—might come in handy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone dispersed, each to their duties.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under Zhou Guangyao’s management, Wang Yan advised him on transporting goods northward, applying for TV licenses, registering film and security companies, and more. After giving these instructions, Wang Yan left him alone—given the circumstances, even a fool could thrive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan quietly enjoyed life, occasionally drinking tea with Gong Baosen and others, exchanging ideas. He strolled the streets with the children, watching neighborhoods change daily. He taught them martial arts, calligraphy, and medicine. Life was peaceful, comfortable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t enjoy it long. He didn’t seek trouble—but trouble found him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That day, a fat man brought a smaller fat man—Hong Zhenan arrived with the police officer from “Ip Man 2,” named Fei Bo.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan invited them to sit. Both shook their heads. Wang Yan didn’t insist, watching Hong Zhenan silently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hong Zhenan hurriedly said: “Mr. Wang, this officer is from my former district. He represents the foreigners.” He regretted coming immediately—but he had no choice; an old friend had begged him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan gestured for Hong Zhenan to sit—he was dismissed. He turned to Fei Bo: “One foreigner or many? What rank?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“R-Report to Mr. Wang… it’s… one… one foreigner,” Fei Bo stammered, watching Wang Yan’s furrowed brow. “He… he’s… the… the Chief Superintendent.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan waved his hand—he had no interest in the rest. This was trouble.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He walked to the phone, dialed, waited, then spoke: “Hello, Chief Mc, this is Wang Yan. Did you order a low-ranking officer to come insult me? What are you trying to do? Hmm?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After listening a moment, Wang Yan asked: “What’s the foreigner’s name?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fei Bo blurted: “M-McCoy.” He was stunned. He’d known Wang Yan was powerful, even heard of the battle six months prior—but he never imagined Wang Yan would call his superior directly over a Chief Superintendent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan gave the name, listened briefly, then said: “Fine. I’ll wait for your explanation.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hung up, sat down, and told them: “You may leave. This has nothing to do with you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The two fled as if released from prison, thanked him hastily, and rushed out.\u003C\u002Fp>",2741,"2026-06-20T21:08:40.823Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","c8d60030714a336b690bd30870382d458f098160ff1e56e07caef86d6bbe76ce","from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-69","from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-67",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Ffrom-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--cover.jpg"]