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

The night breeze, carrying the fishy smell of the Huangpu River, swirled at the alley entrance. Chen San took two steps forward and asked in a low voice, "Young Master, is that Mr. Xu... reliable?"

Chen Che paused. He didn't turn around, but looked down at the dark green jade pendant in his hand. In the moonlight, the symbols engraved on it glowed with a faint light, like a half-closed eye.

"I don't know," he said, "but he has no reason to lie to me."

Chen San opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing more. The master and servant walked through the alley one after the other, their shadows stretched long and short by the dim streetlights.

It was already 10 p.m. when Chen Che returned to his apartment in the French Concession. Instead of packing his luggage, Chen Che sat down at his desk and wrote down Xu Xiucai's words from memory. This was a habit he had developed since childhood—the more important something was, the more he wanted to put it on paper and ponder it repeatedly.

The Mohist lock, the Shaolin key. The Big Dipper divides into seven parts, martial arts serve as the guide.

He looked at the sixteen characters, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

"Young Master," Chen San brought in a cup of hot tea, then hesitated before saying, "We're going to Shaolin Temple, but that's a monastery. Do you think they'll teach you martial arts? Besides, this is the Republic of China era; do monks still care about these things?"

Chen Che picked up his teacup, took a sip, and remained silent. He believed some of what Xu Xiucai said, and was skeptical of others. But one thing was certain—the notes left by his grandfather did indeed mention a place name many times: Shaolin Temple.

He opened his grandfather's notebook and turned to the page with the bookmark. On the yellowed page, his grandfather's handwriting was neat and meticulous:

"The mechanisms of the Mohist school cannot be solved by mere trickery; they require the internal force of martial arts to open and close freely. All martial arts in the world originate from Shaolin, with the Yi Jin Jing being the foundation of all meridians. If one wishes to delve into the secrets of the Mohist school, this skill is indispensable."

He had read this passage countless times, previously dismissing it as some kind of obsession of his grandfather. Tonight, as he read it again, every word felt like a nail driven into his heart.

"We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning." Chen Che closed his notebook. "Go buy two train tickets to Zhengzhou. We'll go to Zhengzhou first, then transfer to Dengfeng."

"Two tickets?" Chen San was taken aback. "Young Master, aren't you taking me?"

"You stay in Shanghai." Chen Che stood up and walked to the window. "Mr. Xu needs someone to keep an eye on him. If anything happens, please look after him for me."

Chen San panicked: "How can that be! The old master instructed me before he passed away to stay by your side at all times—"

"The situation in Shanghai is just as important." Chen Che turned around, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Three of the seven watchtowers are in Shanghai. If someone tampers with things while I'm away, at least you can send a message."

Chen San opened his mouth, but in the end he just nodded heavily.

The sound of the night watchman's clapper came from outside the window; it was past midnight.

Before dawn the next day, Chen Che left home carrying a leather suitcase. He didn't let Chen San see him off, only saying, "I have urgent business to send a telegram to Dengfeng County," before hailing a rickshaw to go to the North Railway Station.

The train departed at 7:10. The third-class carriage was packed with peddlers and laborers, the air thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and sweat. Chen Che found a window seat, clutched his suitcase to his chest, and gazed at the receding Shanghai skyline outside the window.

Factories in Zhabei, farmland in Jiangwan, awning boats on the Suzhou River… those familiar scenes flashed by one by one, like a Western-style magic lantern show playing in reverse. He suddenly remembered the scene when his grandfather took him to Zhou Fuji Grocery Store for the first time. He was only seven or eight years old then, and Xu Xiucai didn't have so many white hairs. He patted his head and said to his grandfather, "This child has good potential, but I don't know if he'll ever have that day."

Now, "that day" has finally arrived.

The train passed Nanjing, Bengbu, and Xuzhou. The scenery outside the window changed from a water-rich land to yellow earth, and the crops in the fields changed from rice to wheat. It got colder and colder in the carriage, so Chen Che wrapped his coat tighter around himself and took a nap against the window frame.

In his dream, he saw the basement again, and the seven stone caskets. But this time, a dragon was coiled atop each casket; its scales were black, and its eyes were red. He tried to approach, but the dragon suddenly spoke, its voice deep and resonant like a bell—

"The lock of the Mo family, the key of Shaolin. What will you use to open it?"

Chen Che suddenly woke up with a start, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

The train was stopped at a small station with a sign that read: Kaifeng.

Kaifeng. It's still over a hundred li away from Dengfeng.

He wiped his sweat and took out the jade pendant that Xu Xiucai had given him from his suitcase. The morning light shone through the car window, illuminating the dark green jade surface, and the wavy symbol suddenly seemed to come alive, shimmering slightly in the light.

Chen Che held the jade pendant in his hand and closed his eyes.

The train started moving, clattering westward. The tracks stretched into the misty distance, like two endless lines. He didn't know if Master Jueyuan of Shaolin Temple would see him, he didn't know what kind of kung fu the "Yi Jin Jing" was, and he didn't know if a scholar like himself, who was weak and powerless, could learn the basics of martial arts.

But he knew he had to go.

He wants to finish the path that his grandfather couldn't complete.

It was dusk when the train arrived in Zhengzhou.

Chen Che carried his suitcase out of the station, his eyes filled with drab, low-rise houses and potholed dirt roads. A dozen or so porters squatted in the station square, waiting for work. Seeing him emerge, they swarmed around him, asking in thick Henan dialect if he needed a ride or a hotel. Chen Che waved them off, found a roasted sweet potato stall by the roadside, bought one, and ate it while inquiring about buses to Dengfeng.

"Dengfeng?" The old man selling sweet potatoes looked him up and down. "Young man, are you going to Shaolin Temple to burn incense?"

Chen Che nodded.

"That's unfortunate," the old man said, taking a puff of his pipe. "There was a heavy rain a few days ago, and a section of the mountain road near Dengfeng collapsed. All the mule carts heading south have stopped these past two days. If you want to go, you'll probably have to wait two or three days."

Two or three days. Chen Che frowned; he didn't want to waste too much time on the road. Just as he was about to ask again, a man leading a donkey approached him: "Sir, are you going to Shaolin Temple? I know this road well. I'll take the back road, go over the Eighteen Bends, and we'll be there by noon tomorrow. It's just that the road is bad, so it'll cost extra."

"How much?"

The man held up three fingers: "Three silver dollars."

If Chen San were here, he'd definitely haggle for ages. But Chen Che wasn't in the mood. He pulled out three silver dollars from his pocket and handed them over. The man's eyes lit up, and he quickly took them, gritted his teeth, and shoved them into his pocket with a grin: "Sir, you're so generous! My name is Sun Er, you can just call me Old Sun. Shall we go now?"

Chen Che looked at the sky; the sun had already set below the eaves of the western houses, and dusk was spreading like a thin veil.

"Traveling at night?"

"Don't worry," Sun Er patted his chest. "I've walked this road for over ten years; I could walk it with my eyes closed. Rest assured, sir, there's a lantern on the donkey; it's well-lit."

Chen Che hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He didn't want to wait in Zhengzhou for two or three days; he felt that things in Shanghai were like a taut string that could snap at any moment.