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

They emerged from different alleyways, their steps slow yet steady, their clothes worn yet neat. The five men stopped about three zhang away from Chen Che. The one in the lead was a thin old man with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, but his eyes were surprisingly bright.

"Young man, Mr. Qian said you have important matters to discuss." The old man spoke, his voice hoarse but strong. "My surname is Zhou, and the people in the shacks give me face by calling me Uncle Zhou. These gentlemen are all old bones who have lived in this area for decades. You can speak your mind."

Chen Che clasped his hands in a respectful greeting: "Uncle Zhou, esteemed elders. I, Chen Che, have come here today to discuss something with you all—"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the five people before looking at the growing crowd behind them.

"I want to buy this land with its shacks, tear it down, and rebuild it."

As soon as he finished speaking, the surroundings fell silent.

Immediately afterwards, like water splashed into a hot oil pan, a cacophony of voices erupted from the crowd. Some cursed, some sneered, and some rolled up their sleeves, ready to charge forward.

The five elders' expressions also changed.

Uncle Zhou's eyes were sharp as knives: "Young Master Chen, do you know what you're saying? There are over 1,300 households and more than 5,000 people living here. Demolish it? You want them to sleep on the streets?"

"No." Chen Che met that gaze and said, word by word, "I'll let them sleep in apartment buildings."

He took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Uncle Zhou.

It was a hand-drawn sketch—a dozen or so neat rows of buildings with a wide open space in the middle, where figures practicing martial arts were drawn.

"This is a sketch of the Shanghai branch of the Central Martial Arts Academy." Chen Che's voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears. "The branch covers an area of ​​thirty acres, including training grounds, lecture halls, dormitories, and a canteen."

"The branch needs manpower: security guards, cleaners, helpers, and cooks. People from the shacks will be given priority in hiring. Shops will be built around the branch, and people from the shacks will have priority in operating the shops."

He finished speaking in one breath and quietly looked at Uncle Zhou.

The wasteland was deathly silent.

The five elders stared at the sketch as if it were something unbelievable. The commotion in the crowd gradually subsided, replaced by confusion, doubt, and a glimmer of unbelievable hope.

After a long while, Uncle Zhou raised his head, his sharp eyes slightly reddened.

"Young man, do you know who owns this land?"

Chen Che shook his head: "I don't know, but I'll talk to them no matter whose it is."

He said in a deep voice, "If I get the land sorted out and the houses built, would you be willing to live there?"

The wasteland was completely silent.

Zhou Bo stared at Chen Che for a long time. In his cloudy yet sharp eyes, there was scrutiny, suspicion, and a hint of barely perceptible emotion. The crowd behind him was silent; everyone held their breath, waiting for an answer.

"Young Master Chen," Uncle Zhou finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "what you just said—the apartment, rent, work, and tuition all free—I've lived for over sixty years and have never seen anything like it. It's too good to be true."

He paused, his withered hand slowly tracing a line in the air as he pointed to the dilapidated shacks behind him: "Do you know who lives here? Disaster victims fleeing famine, factory workers forced out of their homes, women kicked out by their in-laws, and countless orphans—unwanted wild children, growing up like stray dogs in these shacks. They've stolen, robbed, even risked their lives. You give them houses, jobs, and even teach them kung fu? What are you after?"

Chen Che met his gaze without flinching.

"Uncle Zhou, you asked what the plan is for? I'll be frank." He raised his hand and pointed to the training ground on the sketch. "This place will be the Shanghai branch of the Central Martial Arts Academy in the future. The academy needs people—lots of people, young people, qualified people, and people who can endure hardship—to open and teach students and to carry forward its traditions."

He took a step forward, his voice deepening: "There's not much else in this shack, but a lot of people, especially children. These children, whether someone takes care of them or not, all grew up rolling around in this mud. They stole when they had no food, they robbed when they had no way to survive, but that wasn't their fault, it was just that this world didn't give them a way to live."

"But what if I give them a way to survive? What if they can eat their fill without stealing or robbing, and stand tall as human beings?"

Uncle Zhou's eyelid twitched.

Chen Che looked him into the eyes and said, word by word, "Today, in front of everyone, I, Chen Che, will add one more condition—"

He took a deep breath, and his voice suddenly rose:

"Once the branch school is completed, I promise to select five hundred talented young people from the shacks and bring them into the martial arts school. They will be taught for free, with food and lodging provided, without charging a single penny!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the crowd erupted in chaos.

"Five hundred!"

"Food and lodging included?"

"Really...?"

Some couldn't believe their ears, while others' eyes were already red. The women squeezed in the crowd covered their mouths tightly, tears streaming silently down their faces. The boys, their faces dirty, wore blank expressions, as if they understood, yet also as if they didn't.

The four elders behind Zhou Bo exchanged a glance, a hint of shock flashing in their eyes.

One of the hunchbacked old men couldn't help but speak up: "Young Master Chen, five hundred children, providing food, lodging, and martial arts instruction, how many silver dollars would that cost in a year? Have you done the math?"

Chen Che turned to him and said frankly, "I haven't calculated it in detail, but it's definitely a lot."

"and you……"

"Sir," Chen Che interrupted him, a slight smile playing on his lips, "Do you know how many people will come to learn martial arts after the National Martial Arts Academy is built? Do you know how many wealthy businessmen across China want to send their children here, even if it means paying exorbitant tuition fees? Five hundred children from shacks are the branch's expenses, but also its foundation. When these children graduate and leave, what will they say when others ask? Will they say they came from shacks, or will they say they came from the National Martial Arts Academy?"

The hunchbacked old man was stunned.

Chen Che then looked at Uncle Zhou, his tone sincere: "Uncle Zhou, I won't lie to you, I do have selfish motives. My master, Sun Congzhou, told me that martial arts aren't something you learn through practice, but through enlightenment. What I've come to understand these past few days is this: no matter how high one person's skill level is, it's still just one person's skill. But if I can help five hundred children learn martial arts, that's the skill of five hundred people. These five hundred people will grow up, start families, have children, and their children will also practice martial arts. Ten years, twenty years, fifty years—you do the math, how many people is that?"

Uncle Zhou remained silent.

The elders behind him also fell silent.

The wind on the wasteland stopped, and even the hushed whispers gradually faded away. Everyone looked at Chen Che, at this young man dressed in a moon-white long robe with a tactical baton at his waist.