A Life of Attributes Starting as a Nobleman in the Republic of China Era

Chen Che stood there, his tactical baton hanging at his side, and remained silent for a long time.

The morning light streamed in through the window, falling on him and gilding him with a faint golden hue.

"Master," he suddenly spoke, "I want to give it a try."

Sun Congzhou nodded, walked to a chair nearby, sat down, and picked up his teacup: "Try it. I'll watch from here."

Chen Che closed his eyes, gripped the tactical baton with both hands, and slowly raised it in front of him.

He didn't rush to make a move, but stood quietly, feeling his every breath, the power of his legs on the ground, and the sensation of his hands touching the stick.

Then, he moved.

The first move was still "Staff One". But this time, the staff movement was slower than before, and there was even an almost imperceptible pause in mid-air. That was him looking, judging, and waiting for his opponent to show a weakness.

The second move is the "Staff Second" in staff techniques. Originally, it was a sweeping motion, but he changed it into a half-sweep and half-thrust. The tip of the staff draws an arc in the air and finally stops in a defensive stance.

The third move, the fourth move...

After the beating, Chen Che opened his eyes and found himself drenched in sweat, but his mind was clearer than ever before.

Sun Congzhou put down his teacup and slowly stood up.

"Congratulations." A relieved smile appeared on his face. "From today onwards, you truly begin to understand what kung fu is."

Chen Che bowed deeply: "Thank you for your guidance, Master."

Sun Congzhou waved his hand, walked to the door, then suddenly remembered something, turned back and said, "Remember, martial arts are not something you practice, but something you comprehend. The higher your level, the more you need to comprehend. No one can help you on this path; you have to walk it yourself."

Chen Che's suite has only three bedrooms, which can only accommodate Chen Che, Chen San, and Sun Congzhou.

Sun Congzhou and Chen San returned, and Chen Shi's mission to protect Chen Che was also completed. He bid them farewell and returned to the Central Martial Arts Academy.

Chen Che practiced the Nameless Staff Technique while also practicing three sets of miscellaneous martial arts; time flew by.

More than ten days have passed in the blink of an eye.

The meeting between Chen Che and the elders of the Zhabei Wopeng, which was arranged by Qian Bo and Li Yu, is today.

As dawn broke, Chen Che put away his staff and stood up, the fine beads of sweat on his forehead glistening in the sunlight.

The later moves of the Nameless Staff Technique were repeatedly rehearsed in his mind, and the essence of the three miscellaneous martial arts flowed through his chest.

"Young Master," Chen San's voice came from behind, "You should change your clothes and go. The appointment is at nine o'clock in the morning."

Chen Che nodded, put the tactical baton back into the quick-draw holster on his waist, and turned to walk into the bedroom.

Zhabei slums—this name was legendary in the underworld of Shanghai. It wasn't a specific place, but a general term for the slums of the Zhabei area, a gathering place for refugees from all over the country, unemployed workers, and desperate poor people. And the slum elders' council was the one that made people in charge.

No one knows how many members the Elders' Council has; all that is known is that whether it's gang warfare or police investigations, if the shantytown area is involved, the Elders' Council's opinion must be sought first. They don't fight for territory, don't deal in opium, and don't have their own branches, yet they command respect from powerful forces like the Green Gang and the Hongmen.

Chen Che changed into the moon-white long robe prepared by Chen San and straightened his collar in front of the mirror.

The young man in the mirror had a calm gaze and a sharply defined face; he was no longer the arrogant playboy he had been when he first arrived in Shanghai a few months ago.

The three of them went downstairs, where Uncle Qian was already waiting in his vintage car at the door.

Today, Uncle Qian was wearing a dark gray robe and a black top hat.

"Young Master Chen." Uncle Qian opened the car door himself when he saw him come out. "Get in and we'll talk."

The car drove out of the French Concession, through the bustling Nanjing Road, and headed towards Zhabei. The street scene outside the window gradually became dilapidated; wide roads turned into narrow alleys, and two-story Western-style buildings became low shacks. The air was filled with the mixed smell of coal smoke and sewage, and groups of two or three ragged people squatted by the roadside, their eyes vacant yet wary as they watched the passing vehicles.

"Young Master," Uncle Qian broke the silence, "when you see the elders later, whatever they say or do, don't take it to heart. Those people have spent their whole lives struggling at the bottom; they've seen more people than we've eaten rice. They're not bad at heart, just a bit rough in their methods."

Chen Che nodded: "I understand."

The car stopped at the entrance of an alley; it was too narrow to go any further.

Chen Che got out of the car and looked around. The alley was dark and damp, with crooked shacks on both sides, pieced together from planks, tarpaulins, and sheet metal, resembling a group of beggars huddled together for warmth. Overhead, tattered clothes hung haphazardly to dry, and underfoot was uneven, muddy ground.

But Chen Che didn't go inside. Instead, he turned to Uncle Qian and said, "Uncle Qian, let's go somewhere else."

Uncle Qian was taken aback: "Young Master Chen, what do you mean?"

"This place is too small." Chen Che's gaze went beyond the low roof of the shack to a more distant view. "I don't want to see just a few elders, but everyone in this shack. Please tell the elders that I'll be waiting for them in the open space over there."

He pointed to a patch of wasteland not far away. It was an open space on the edge of the shantytown, which was said to have originally been a small workshop. After it burned down, it had been abandoned ever since. It was about the size of two or three basketball courts and could accommodate several hundred people.

A hint of surprise flashed in Uncle Qian's eyes, then he nodded: "I'll go and pass on the message right away."

Chen San stood beside Chen Che and whispered, "Young Master, what are you doing...?"

"Third Brother," Chen Che interrupted him, gazing at the dilapidated shacks, "Do you know why I came here?"

Chen San shook his head.

"I want to buy this place," Chen Che said softly.

He paused for a moment, then lifted his foot and walked towards the wasteland.

"I want to build a branch of a traditional Chinese martial arts school here."

Chen San paused, his pupils shrinking slightly.

Chen Che didn't turn around, and said as he walked, "The shacks of Zhabei are a melting pot of all sorts of people. The people here need two paths most—one is the path to survival, and the other is the path to a good life. The National Martial Arts Academy can give them not only kung fu, but also rules, dignity, and respect."

"Young Master, this piece of land..." Chen San quickly caught up, "Although this shack area is dilapidated, it has at least a thousand households and involves the livelihoods of too many people. The Green Gang, the Six and a Half Hall, and the police station have all refused to touch this piece of the pie, not because they don't want to, but because they can't."

"I know." Chen Che had already walked to the center of the wasteland, stopped, and looked around. "So I'll see the elders first, then everyone else. I want them to know that I'm not here to steal their jobs, but to give them jobs."

Chen San fell silent.

A morning breeze swept across the wasteland, stirring up bits of ash and dust. In the distance, people in the shantytown began to peek and peer in this direction, and news traveled like the wind among the low shacks.

After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the first to appear were five old men.