Chapter 946

The special forces’ combat went smoothly; despite the enemy’s preparedness on Zheyin Mountain and the lack of rain, they still perfectly resolved the battle, with no soldiers killed outright—the most severe injury being a gunshot wound to the thigh. Wang Yan surgically removed the bullet on-site, disinfected the wound, and returned to the country without incident.

After two days of rest, they flew back to Beijing and parachuted down. They had always trained in this; at first, Wang Yan always jumped first.

After all team members submitted their combat reports, the commanding officer visited the camp to inspect and offer condolences, affirming the special forces’ value and the necessity of expansion. He asked Wang Yan for suggestions on the unit’s codename. Wang Yan didn’t pretend—he spoke plainly and proposed “Canglong,” a name that was auspicious, imposing, and anciently solemn. The officer laughed and approved it.

The unit’s designation was numerical, like the 14th Army, 40th Division, or 118th Regiment—things Wang Yan couldn’t decide on a whim. He hadn’t reached that level, nor was it his place to decide.

Thus, the special forces became the “Canglong Special Forces Battalion,” with Wang Yan single-handedly serving as both battalion commander and political commissar. It was decided to expand combat personnel to five hundred, selecting outstanding candidates from each military region to fill the remaining four hundred. Adding logistics and administrative staff, Wang’s battalion now commanded a thousand or so personnel.

Yet his rank did not rise—he remained deputy regimental commander. The difference was, he was now a formal deputy regimental commander assigned to the combat roster, no longer the previous administrative deputy. Clearly, this deputy commander role now carried far more weight.

It was 1980; he was twenty-six years old…

This return to Beijing, he didn’t stay long.

His main purpose was to give the commanding officer a face-to-face report on the next phase of the special forces’ development. Now that they had a designation, a codename, and expanded personnel, his mission was complete.

He debriefed the soldiers on their prior combat and formulated a new training plan. He also updated the selection criteria and distributed it to all military regions.

The selection criteria needed constant iteration and optimization. Even Wang Yan couldn’t perfectly grasp the balance at once—he had to keep refining and detailing it. Even if he could master it immediately, he couldn’t do so, for he had to leave room for others to summarize.

Due to the high-intensity training and the early stage of unit construction, Wang filled the ranks with many researchers: nutrition specialists, training experts, sports medicine specialists, and so on—continuously studying and summarizing.

Every aspect—meals, training, rest, tactics—was studied by researchers who continuously optimized and adjusted each component to make them more rational, better enhancing soldiers’ combat effectiveness and safeguarding their health.

Wang also visited Xiao Suizi’s home with her, where her parents scolded him severely and didn’t even let him eat a bite—highly unpleasant. For Wang Yan, it meant nothing. Before Xiao Suizi could comfort him, he was already comforting her.

Naturally, he should comfort Xiao Suizi—it was because of him that she had made sacrifices. Even though she was considerate, he couldn’t let her pay more.

He spent evenings with Hao Shuwen and Lin Dingding, staying in Beijing for less than a month before resuming his touring career.

He returned to Beijing again in the spring of 1981.

Wang Yan bought various meats and vegetables; that night, Hao Shuwen, Xiao Suizi, and Liu Feng’s entire family came to his mansion for a meal together.

Watching Wang Yan cheerfully serving food to the child, Liu Feng sighed: “We haven’t seen each other in over a year. Look, my son’s already this big.”

“Are you mocking me?” Wang Yan shook his head with a smile. “Last time I returned to Beijing, I was swamped with affairs and stayed less than a month. I heard from Shuwen and the others that you three were doing well, so I didn’t disturb you.”

“How could I not know you’re busy? I’m just marveling—time flies. Sometimes I look back at the past and feel like it was yesterday, but when I count it up, since our days in the Cultural Troupe, it’s already been eight years. So much has happened, so many changes.”

“Normal—you’re approaching thirty. This kid can even buy liquor now. It’s natural to reflect on life. Didn’t we decide earlier to develop the economy? Now we’ve even started contracting. The economy has clearly improved over the past two years; you can see more buildings in the city. In another twenty years, it’ll be a complete transformation.”

Xiao Suizi asked curiously: “Hey, speaking of economic development, I heard they’ve started downsizing the military?”

Liu Feng nodded vigorously: “I heard too. You had foresight.”

“They’ve been downsizing for a while. Even when we were in the Cultural Troupe, we underwent reorganization, and after the Vietnam War, it continued. Last year, all branches issued orders to reduce forces. You heard this news because the Cultural Troupe started downsizing, right? Didn’t your comrades there mention it?”

Hao Shuwen replied: “Xiao Balle and Zhuoma wrote letters saying all division-level Cultural Troupes are being disbanded. Everyone’s scrambling—each trying their own way to find a new place. Didn’t you say you’d retire and go into business once things became clear? Now the commanding officer values you so much, and you’ve got so much work—any thoughts of leaving?”

“Times change. If I resigned now, not to mention others, your father would immediately demand to shoot me. As for the workload—it’s secondary. No one is indispensable. But the unit is still new and needs me; it’s not time for me to step down yet. We’ll see later.”

Wang Yan looked at Liu Feng. “Do you have any plans?”

“Do you have an arrangement?”

“No. It’s up to you. If you’re bored, I’ll give you advice and some money—you can retire and go into business. If you’re happy where you are, stay put. It’s your choice. But if you go into business, it’ll be far harder than now—you might not have time for home.”

Liu Feng looked at his wife and child, then at his current life: “The kid’s still young. We’ll see later. I don’t have big ambitions—this life feels good enough. We just earn little; spend a bit here, a bit there, and nothing’s left. I might never repay you.”

“I should’ve given you a full set of military boxing right back in the Cultural Troupe—you keep nagging about this.” Wang Yan leaned on the table, pointing his chopsticks mockingly at Liu Feng.

“I’m just being honest. I’m not afraid you’ll forget—I’m afraid I’ll forget. Talking to you reminds me too. Come on, drink, drink.”

They chatted over dinner, then saw off Liu Feng and his family.

In the alley, Liu Feng rode his 28-inch bicycle, with a small wooden chair strapped to the crossbar. Liu Jingxiu held the handlebars, his short legs swinging back and forth. On the rear seat sat He Xiaoping, seated on one side. The three vanished into the distance.

Watching their backs, Xiao Suizi felt a pang of envy.

She turned to Wang Yan, who was smoking: “I’m leaving. Don’t see me off—don’t interrupt your two.”

“Stay a bit. Chat, talk. Come on, let’s go back and have some tea.” Wang Yan turned and strolled slowly back into the courtyard.

Hao Shuwen and Xiao Suizi followed behind, ambling along.

Back in the study, Wang Yan sat again, brewing tea. The two women sat casually beside him—neither sat properly. Hao Shuwen sat cross-legged; Xiao Suizi sat sideways, legs draped over the armrest, her trendy jeans accentuating her curves.

“You’re not leaving again, are you?” Hao Shuwen idly filed her nails.

“No. From now on, I’ll just diligently train troops, research equipment, and write books.”

He truly didn’t need to leave anymore. The special forces had proven their worth in battle, expanded their ranks, and had no shortage of personnel. Now he only needed to oversee. He couldn’t have his battalion produce elite soldiers only to personally charge into battle with a rifle—what was the point of training, of special forces, if he just risked his own life?

His earlier touring and field research was complete, and he now only needed to write it into a long novel—but it would take years. He’d always have something to do.

Even if he had nothing else, he’d pick up his instruments again and practice. When he first arrived, he’d planned to learn several instruments to cultivate his spirit during idle moments. But years of busyness had left him only decent at the suona.

Wang Yan sipped tea and asked: “You two are graduating this year, right?”

“Of course—time flies, already four years. You got plans?” Xiao Suizi held her teacup, gently blowing on it.

“What plans do I have? I’m asking what you want to do. Some things need early consideration.”

Hao Shuwen said: “The state assigns jobs. We’re the first college students after the restoration of the college entrance exam—we’ve got advantages. Especially since our school isn’t bad, our assignments won’t be terrible.”

“I mean what you want to do—not what the state assigns.”

“If you ask me, you know—I want to be a writer like you. I love writing. I also want to open a big bookstore, filled with books, where I can read and write all day.”

Xiao Suizi spoke, her face full of longing.

Hao Shuwen sneered—she thought this girl was trying to annoy her.

She said: “I don’t know what I want to do.”

“You studied political economy—go into economics. Earn me a bookstore,” Xiao Suizi urged.

“Hmm, she’s right. If you don’t know what to do, go into business. But maybe wait until after you have a child—it’d be inconvenient otherwise. I’m not pushing you—your parents are always reminding me I’m their only son.”

Hao Shuwen rolled her eyes. “You’re already a landlord—how could your family not thrive?”

Xiao Suizi chimed in: “Exactly, exactly.”

“Even if I’m a landlord, I have no clan. It’s up to you two—if you’re willing, my family line can thrive. Honestly, whether to have a child? I don’t care. Do it if you want, don’t if you don’t.”

“But Suizi, you don’t need Shuwen to earn you a bookstore. I heard they’re discussing private businesses. Wait until next year—see if you can register. Then find a shopfront and open one directly—it won’t cost much.”

“We’ll see. It’s still too early to talk about this.”

“So, will you have a child?”

“You’re annoying. I’m leaving.”

Wang Yan stepped forward and hugged Xiao Suizi. “I told you, why rush?”

“Hey, I’m still right here!”

“Come too.”

“Ah～～”

“Damn it, I knew you had ulterior motives.”

“I’m a landlord now—I haven’t even enjoyed the pleasures of two wives. Is that proper?”

Wang Yan hadn’t forgotten Lin Dingding, but his interactions with her were simple and direct—all words spoken in bed. Lin Dingding asked little—money to spend, seeing him occasionally, having problems solved—that was enough.

She didn’t know when she’d been captured by him, but now that things were this way, she didn’t want to break it—everyone was fine…

Wherever he was, Wang Yan’s life was always comfortable.

By day, he was either at the military camp outside the city or in meetings at the Equipment Department; by night, he organized interview notes and wrote “Blood-Stained Splendor.” Occasionally he traveled—just to observe soldiers’ field training or to the seaside, watching them swim through crashing waves in full gear.

He wrote his book for three years—not because he was slow, but because he had so many other tasks. First, he wrote “My View,” a 700,000-character book; the commanders all praised it.

After all, storytelling was far more engaging than dry data. Whether it was truly good—that was a matter of personal opinion.

As for “Blood-Stained Splendor,” it spanned 1.7 million characters—not only explaining the month-long war, but also portraying countless soldiers and officers at all levels, none of which required secrecy.

Upon publication, the reception was good. Many articles on the Vietnam War had been published, but none matched Wang Yan’s scope. He even addressed why the war started, why it began at that time—international questions others, even those with grand vision, lacked the courage to tackle.

Meanwhile, most writers of the time had caught their breath and were mostly writing about the past—continuously for forty years.

Notably, Wang Yan’s “11th Army” won the first Mao Dun Literature Prize. The first award covered works published between 1977 and 1981; “11th Army” was published in early 1977, just in time.

This book established Wang Yan’s literary status—endorsed by countless major figures, impossible to ignore. The judges were anxious: award it, and they felt uneasy; don’t award it, and they couldn’t assert authority. There was a story behind it.

Wang Yan, of course, didn’t want to cause trouble—he agreed to the award and even attended in person, showing great respect.

In 1988, when military ranks were restored, thirty-five-year-old Wang Yan became one of the first recipients.

By then, the special forces had expanded to over two thousand, enough to be called the Canglong Special Forces Brigade. Wang Yan still played a crucial role, and his contributions were immense—he was promoted smoothly.

But he wouldn’t hold the position long—he’d been running special forces for nearly ten years; it was time to step down.

Yet Wang Yan didn’t care—he was happy to have leisure.

In truth, he rarely had leisure; he still played a major role in the Equipment Department. He was simply too good at stirring things up—the more he researched, the more intensely he pushed.

Too brilliant—that’s my fault. Thank you, Living Father, for letting me have this fault…