[{"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-70":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},2333996,4564,"Chapter 70: Chapter Seventy: Return","from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-70",70,"\u003Cp>February 5, 1951, New Year’s Eve, noon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lanterns and decorations hung everywhere inside and outside the fortress; the air was thick with the scent of various delicacies. Children roamed the streets in groups, leaping and playing, occasionally following the smells to a shop, where they would sneakily snatch food while the shopkeeper scolded them with a smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the past, this place would have been a haven of vice—gangsters, brothels, drugs, filth. Now, under Wang Yan’s rule, such filth had no place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, prostitution couldn’t be fully banned, for the people of the fortress were the wealthiest group on Hong Kong Island, second only to the foreigners. If they chose to sell themselves, and transactions were fair, Wang Yan wouldn’t interfere so broadly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for internal unity within the fortress, Wang Yan couldn’t guarantee it indefinitely, but within three generations, it was certain. After three generations, he’d likely be gone anyway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To celebrate the fortress’s great progress, they ignored regional customs and held a grand banquet for the tens of thousands within. Those who arrived later were not treated as outsiders—Wang Yan promoted integration. Anyone who came was now a person of the fortress; the celebration was enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“In 1945, we crossed the sea here, and for the first time we…” The loudspeaker carried Zhou Guangyao’s voice, and people everywhere fell silent, listening to the changes of the past five years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then Wang Yan spoke two more sentences, offering encouragement, and the banquet officially began.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan sat with Gong Er, Gong Baosen, Ma San, Ye Wen, Zhang Yongcheng, Zhou Qingquan, and others. The children couldn’t sit still—they’d long since run off somewhere. But they wouldn’t starve, and no one dared kidnap children from the fortress. Though the scene inside was lively, outside, countless patrols stood ready for emergencies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After taking a sip of wine, Gong Baosen smiled warmly: “These days just keep getting better…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ma San poured more wine for Gong Baosen: “Master’s right. Back in Macau, we never dared dream of this.” He raised his cup: “Wang Yan, I toast you—you’re truly capable.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ma San finished his cup in one gulp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan chuckled and drank his own: “Brother Ma, you’re too modest. This is all thanks to everyone’s efforts. What could I possibly have accomplished alone?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned to Zhou Qingquan: “Brother Quan, how have these past few months been? You’ve put on some weight.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Qingquan smiled shyly: “Not bad. Just… not used to being idle.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen laughed: “Your face is round now, Brother Quan. Why not come train with me?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone laughed at Zhou Qingquan—he’d clearly gained weight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Qingquan had suddenly become idle, unaccustomed to it. He felt old, indulged himself, spending his days eating and drinking with the children.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Look at Master Gong—he’s been retired for years, yet lives more comfortably than anyone else.” Wang Yan picked up a dish and placed it in Gong Er’s bowl: “Retirement doesn’t mean you stop doing things. Do what you want, enjoy life—but don’t just eat and drink all day. Your health matters.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Qingquan nodded, raising a cup to Gong Baosen—he truly admired the old man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The revelry eventually faded; the banquet lasted until past eight in the evening. After cleaning up the mess, people laughed and chatted as they returned home to keep vigil and welcome the new year.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At Wang Yan’s home, three children stood dirty and huddled against the wall, while Gong Er scolded them angrily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Ji lowered his head in silence—his clothes were dirty because Wang Zhilan had dressed him; he couldn’t complain. The youngest, Wang Xing, grinned foolishly at Gong Er.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Zhilan gave Wang Yan a pleading, sideways glance, hoping he’d rescue them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan gave her a look of “good luck,” and under her despairing gaze, slipped quietly into his study. He didn’t want to stay—Gong Er had grown increasingly nagging, and he didn’t want to catch fire.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a long while, Gong Er stormed in, irritated: “It’s all your fault—and my father’s. Look what these three have become! Zhilan’s one thing, but Ji—when he was young, he was so well-behaved. Now he’s turned reckless.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Calm down, calm down.” Wang Yan rose, helped Gong Er sit, and massaged her shoulders: “Boys are better off being lively. Otherwise, they’ll turn into silent little pots.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I know, but he’s going to be…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Take over? I know. Ji’s only ten—plenty of time. Besides, you know his skills—he’s no weakling. Don’t push the child too hard.” Interrupting her, Wang Yan noticed movement outside the door and called out loudly: “If you really can’t handle it, focus on Zhilan. Ji’s been raised by her. Who says women are inferior? Let her learn from you, his mother.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As soon as he spoke, muffled “oohs” came from outside, followed by retreating footsteps.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er shook her head and smiled: “Zhilan will fight you to the death. But you’re right—she does need discipline. She’s grown so big, running around like a fool.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan checked the time: “Exactly. Let’s not talk about them. Tomorrow’s New Year’s Day—your opera house has a big show. Get some rest.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er nodded, went to check on the three children, then returned…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At thirty-four, Gong Er was like a she-wolf, fierce and hungry…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan’s life remained quiet. Unless it was a major matter, he didn’t need to speak. In his spare time, he played with the children, drank tea and chatted with Gong Baosen, Ye Wen, and others, trained in martial arts, practiced calligraphy, studied medicine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After years of stable growth, the fortress grew crowded. Following Wang Yan’s orders, Zhou Guangyao began large-scale development, building new buildings in concentric circles around the fortress, adding all necessary facilities. Gradually, residents moved out, preferring clean, bright, spacious homes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As fewer people lived inside, the fortress underwent major renovation to become its administrative center. After respectfully preserving the outer walls, the interior was decorated in ancient, elegant, grand, and majestic style—completely unlike the weathered exterior.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since most residents had moved out, a “Fortress Management Committee” was formed by the original settlers to manage affairs, headquartered inside the fortress. The Chinese Martial Arts Association’s offices and all top fortress leaders also operated from within.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For his mission “Strengthening Martial Spirit,” he aggressively promoted it across Hong Kong and sent people abroad to register companies called “Fight,” spreading the rules, cultivating fighters, and making the fortress’s arena the pinnacle. Over the years, the arena grew larger, attracting top fighters from Southeast Asia, Europe, and America.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fights resulted in deaths and injuries; overall, foreign fighters had lower win rates. The best fighters remained those from the Chinese Martial Arts Association. It had to be this way—no one could be allowed to kill on your own doorstep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By 1954, in the martial arts street’s Wing Chun school, Wang Yan drank tea with Ye Wen and Zhou Qingquan, who held his granddaughter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen said: “Ah Yan, I’ve recently taken on a new disciple—exceptional talent. What do you think?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Let’s see,” Wang Yan said indifferently. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen nodded and called to his disciple: “Go get Zhenfan.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan heard the name and felt a strange familiarity—he frowned, straining to recall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Until a boy stepped forward respectfully. Wang Yan looked at his youthful face, and slowly recognized the shadow in his memory—he realized: Li Xiaolong’s real name was Li Zhenfan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Among nearly a hundred martial arts schools on Martial Arts Street, he’d ended up under Ye Wen’s tutelage—fate indeed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come, Zhenfan, meet… you call him Master Wang.” Ye Wen thought for a moment and said to Li Zhenfan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Zhenfan bowed respectfully: “Master Wang.” He’d been there long enough to know who Wang Yan was—he’d heard plenty of wild rumors, and knew this man was dangerous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hmm, stand up,” Wang Yan said. “Your master says you’re good material. How old are you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Zhenfan rose and thanked him: “Thank you, Master. I’m fourteen.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Perfect—my son’s fourteen too. Let them train.” Wang Yan called to a subordinate: “Go find Ji.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan had Li Zhenfan warm up while he continued chatting with Ye Wen and Zhou Qingquan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, Gong Ji arrived with two followers and a group of half-grown boys.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hello, Uncle Yan! Hello, Uncle Ye! Hello, Uncle Quan!” “Dad, Uncle Ye, Uncle Quan!” Wang Zhilan flung herself at Wang Yan; Wang Xing, too late to reach him, dragged behind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The children politely greeted the elders, then stood quietly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen and Zhou Qingquan nodded. Wang Yan said: “Enough. Behave yourselves.” He pulled the two boys aside, then pointed to Li Zhenfan: “Everyone, make space. Ji, train with him.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The children scattered quickly, clearing a central area.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fortress had a strong martial spirit—everyone who came was a martial artist’s family. Once children reached age, their elders taught them. On Martial Arts Street, training was free and open to fortress children—learn whatever you liked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was Wang Yan’s way of compensating those who had followed him through mountains of corpses, far from home. He’d treated them well—benefits and privileges were abundant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Ji and Li Zhenfan bowed to each other, then took stances. Zhou Qingquan’s granddaughter stared wide-eyed, babbling and reaching out to grab them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They faced each other, waiting for openings. Suddenly, Gong Ji stepped forward, lunging with a crashing punch. Li Zhenfan deflected with a questioning hand, then struck straight for the face with his palm. Gong Ji ducked, circled behind Li Zhenfan, and aimed a palm strike at his ribs. Li Zhenfan calmly twisted, brushed aside the blow, kicked diagonally at the shin, evaded, dropped into a horse stance, and jabbed his finger toward the throat. Gong Ji swung his arm away, thrusting a straight punch—just as Li Zhenfan’s fist arrived. Both struck each other’s chests, stepping back two paces each…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After watching awhile, Wang Yan saw: Gong Ji had the edge in overall strength—he’d trained since childhood, nourished with expensive herbs to toughen his body. Li Zhenfan lacked that advantage. In technique, however, they were evenly matched.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Enough,” Wang Yan called. To the panting boys: “Good lads. Train more often. Dismissed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The children politely bid farewell to the elders. Gong Ji pulled Wang Zhilan; Wang Zhilan dragged Wang Xing; together they walked out with Li Zhenfan, laughing and chatting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Watching them leave, Ye Wen sipped his tea happily: “Well? Not bad, right?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Qingquan picked up a pastry and handed it to his granddaughter: “Even I can see—he held his own against Gong Ji. He’s no slouch.” He’d spent years among martial artists—he knew exactly what Gong Ji was capable of. His own grandchildren had been heavily trained too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Indeed. Train him well. Recommend him for the program,” Wang Yan affirmed. He knew Ye Wen’s intent—to give Li Zhenfan the secret formulas, boost his potential while young.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ye Wen had his own formulas, but they weren’t refined over twenty years. Those formulas were developed by experts blending Eastern and Western medicine—not mediocre men. Though simplified, combining so many prescriptions had long since improved efficacy—though at a higher cost.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the Chinese Martial Arts Association’s system to replenish fresh blood and ensure continuity: any school with promising talent could nominate them, and they’d receive intensive training. This training wasn’t just combat—it emphasized moral character. It had been running for years, but results would take a generation to show.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After discussing this, the three continued drinking and chatting aimlessly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1955, the Vietnam War broke out. China and the Soviet Union teamed up, defeated several opponents. Wang Yan continued shipping supplies as usual, and sent people secretly to unstable Southeast Asian nations affected by external factors. Back when he retreated, he’d already moved many people there; after years of development, he’d built influence. Now he expanded aggressively—black or white.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d dabbled in multiple world technologies, but this one was the earliest—he wouldn’t abandon it. As early as 1947, when they stabilized, he’d had Zhou Qingquan begin operations. After Zhou Guangyao took over, he kept secretly recruiting talent, investing, and he refused to lose.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On New Year’s Eve, 1958, Gong Baosen gripped Wang Yan and Gong Er’s hands tightly: “My life has been worth it. Don’t grieve. It’s time. This path is yours now—keep walking.” With that, he passed away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The great master Gong Baosen died peacefully in the fortress at age eighty-eight. He’d already lived over a decade longer than expected, aided by health regimens. Had he not been so fierce in his youth, he might have reached a hundred. But without those struggles, there would be no Gong Baosen today.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er was heartbroken, kneeling by the bed, whispering over and over: “He was fine this morning…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan silently comforted the three children. He’d seen too many partings. Gong Baosen lived to eighty-eight—long life. Gong Er would understand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ma San, eyes red, knelt with his children and grandchildren all night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old Jiang sat nearby, stroking the monkey’s head, mumbling incoherently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The body lay in state for three days. Wang Yan contacted friends back home and returned with Gong Er, the children, Ma San, and others to the mainland. Gong Baosen had wished to be buried beside Gong Er’s mother.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan stayed by Gong Er’s side for a long time until she gradually adjusted. But from then on, she never performed opera again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1965, on Li Zhenfan’s suggestion—he’d won a cha-cha championship—and with help from several music masters, they created the third set of martial exercises with music. It became mandatory in primary and secondary schools across Hong Kong. After so many years, Wang Yan had finally seized the educational front.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d also participated in film production early on, and was deeply fascinated. With his rising status in the Chinese Martial Arts Association, he followed fate’s path into filmmaking—but this time, it went far more smoothly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fortress directly funded and supported Westerners, acquiring film studios and theater chains in Europe and America. Scripts were based on the experiences of fortress elders or their stories. In that turbulent era, each collected tale was a rare treasure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That same year, Gong Ji married Ye Wen’s daughter. Wang Zhilan married Ma San’s youngest son. Wang Xing became engaged to Zhou Qingquan’s second daughter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gradually, Wang Yan, Ye Wen, and the older generation stepped back, retiring to enjoy their twilight years, while the next generation took charge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fortress and the Hong Kong government maintained surface peace, but covert struggles never ceased.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After years of development, Kowloon became the jewel of Hong Kong Island—prosperous, clean, safe, with no troublemakers daring to cause chaos. The fortress’s enterprises spanned countless industries, becoming a behemoth controlling Hong Kong’s entire economy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Children who emerged from the fortress gradually infiltrated the Hong Kong government. Though they couldn’t reach the top, their sheer numbers in the lower ranks allowed them to influence outcomes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Zhao, heavily promoted by Wang Yan, became the leader of the Chinese police force—even foreign officers below a certain rank had to respect him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The “Fight Arena” had become world-famous, deeply rooted in public consciousness. Whether you recognized it or not, whether you participated or not, it was the pinnacle of the field. Compared to unrestricted, no-holds-barred fights that often ended in death or injury, other contests were trivial. If others tried to create a similar arena without Chinese participation, no one would watch—it would bankrupt them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1970, Zhou Qingquan died at age eighty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1983, Ye Wen passed away peacefully at age ninety. He’d lived without hardship, with comfort and security. He’d survived eleven extra years, taught more disciples, discovered more talent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That same year, the fourth set of “Health-Building Martial Exercises” became the mandatory morning exercise for primary and secondary students nationwide. Martial arts schools sprang up across China.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 1997, Hong Kong returned. The first Commissioner of Police was Li Zhao’s son. Wang Yan was invited to the ceremony; afterward, he spoke at length with the leadership. The fortress was inevitably split—not for any other reason than its sheer size.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That same year, eighty-one-year-old Gong Er said she missed home. Wang Yan took her back to Fengtian to live.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since Gong Baosen’s death, Wang Yan had always remained by Gong Er’s side, helping raise the children and grandchildren. As the grandchildren grew up, they gradually stopped managing them, and the two of them walked slowly together along Hong Kong’s streets, watching the bustling prosperity they had once never imagined.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since arriving in Fengtian, Gong Er’s health declined daily. Wang Yan felt sorrow but forced a smile, hiding it, doing everything to comfort her. He took her daily through Fengtian’s streets, listening to her stories of childhood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In 2000, on a snowy winter day, amid the frosty plum blossoms in the courtyard, Gong Er passed away at age eighty-four. As she died, she held Wang Yan’s hand, using her last strength to rasp: “I love you.” It was a confession she’d held her entire life, never spoken aloud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That day, Wang Yan wept uncontrollably, unable to speak a word. Gong Er was the woman who had walked his entire life, the woman he had cherished his entire life. And now she was gone. Just like that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The children held the funeral in tears, and on the day of burial, snow fell endlessly across the sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gong Er was buried beside Gong Baosen and her mother, just as when she was a child, playing on one side while her parents laughed at her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since then, Wang Yan limped to her grave every day to mutter a few words and keep her company in conversation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan had no friends left; those former subordinates, those kindred spirits he once talked with, were all gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was old, and no longer had strength. Old injuries from his youth ached faintly; at night, he always woke startled in his dreams, then tossed and turned, unable to sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At Gong Er’s grave, the phrase Wang Yan spoke most often was, “When will I die?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The children were all doing well and no longer needed his guidance. Chinese martial arts had long been the best in the world; the arenas outside the fortress were paved with the bones and blood of doubters. The passion for martial arts in Huaguo was so intense that everyone truly knew some form of kung fu. Due to systemic factors, crime rates were already low; after one generation of universal martial training, very few people went around seeking fights anymore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Films about Chinese martial arts, as long as their quality was adequate, were guaranteed modest profits and box-office success.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang Yan’s skin was covered in age spots, his hair so thin you could count the strands, his eyes blurred, his ears dull, and after walking a short distance, he always needed to rest for two minutes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finally, in the winter of 2003, amid swirling snow, Wang Yan received a long-awaited message from the system, notifying him he would return in twelve hours.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Without help, Wang Yan shakily walked to Gong Er’s grave. After sending away those who cared for him, he began murmuring to her, recounting every detail of his life—speaking for a long, long time…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At some point, a brilliant blue light flashed…\u003C\u002Fp>",3197,"2026-06-20T21:08:40.823Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","a6b6496f7812e045e6757f7f5e37ff73d17f4cb7a95edc73d41ee1c4240a17b3","from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-71","from-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--chapter-69",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Ffrom-the-god-of-medicine-a-journey-through-film--cover.jpg"]