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

Zheng Debiao raised his gun. Chen San pulled Chen Che behind him and pulled out a short knife from his waist with his other hand.

The footsteps grew closer. Then came light—not the dim, flickering light of a lantern, but a stark, blinding, buzzing light, as if something had torn a hole in the night.

"Flashlight," Zheng Debiao cursed under his breath. "Damn it, they're Japanese."

Five people emerged from around the corner of the passageway.

Four Japanese soldiers followed behind Akutagawa, fully armed, wearing helmets and carrying Type 38 rifles, their bayonets gleaming coldly under the carbide lamps. They were clearly not an archaeological team—Akutagawa's "exploration" was backed by military personnel.

"Young Master." Akutagawa gave a slight bow, speaking fluent Chinese with a deliberate, almost unsettling politeness. "We meet again. I didn't expect you to be interested in this... Mo Family Ruins."

Chen Che looked at him but did not return the greeting.

"The Mohist school's 'Earth Fire' tradition," Akutagawa murmured, as if talking to himself. "It's recorded in the *Mo Jing*, but it's always been considered a legend. Using human blood as a catalyst and tung oil as a base, a thousand-mile-long underground fire is laid, ignited one by one, and passed on from one place to another..." He looked up, his eyes burning even brighter. "Young master, do you know where this blood channel leads?"

Chen Che did not answer.

"A path leading to a lamp." Akutagawa stood up, brushing the ash from his knees. "A lamp that has burned for two thousand years. The fire that the Mohists brought from the State of Chu was no ordinary spark, but—"

He paused for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words, or perhaps enjoying the drama of the moment.

"—It is the fate of the nation."

The two characters echoed briefly in the passageway before being absorbed by the stone wall and vanishing without a trace.

Chen Che remained silent for a long time. The lantern swayed slightly in his hand, and the light and shadow moved across the wall, making the tiny inscriptions flicker like the whispers of Mohists from a thousand years ago.

"Mr. Akutagawa," Chen Che finally spoke, "do you believe in the fate of a nation?"

Akutagawa was slightly taken aback.

"I believe it," Chen Che said, "but I don't believe that the fate of a nation can be determined by a lamp, a stone, or an object. The fate of a nation is a matter for the living, not the dead. You come all the way from Tokyo to Zhabei, armed with guns and soldiers, and sneak into someone else's ground to look for a lamp—are you an archaeologist or a thief?"

Akutagawa's smile finally disappeared.

"Young master," he said, his voice turning cold, "I respect your scholarship, but please don't vulgarize the subject. This lamp, which the Mohists call 'Eternal Burning,' doesn't burn ordinary lamp oil, but rather—"

He crouched down again, took out a small knife from his pocket, gently scraped off a bit of the dark red substance from the inside of the blood groove, crushed it in his palm, and sniffed it.

"The oil from the merfolk of the East Sea, the immortal herb of Kunlun Mountain, and the blood of the Mohist masters of all ages." His voice softened, almost a whisper. "Every sixty years, the lamp oil is added, and each time it must be fueled by the blood of the current Mohist master. This lamp has been burning since the Warring States period, only interrupted once—at the end of the Yuan Dynasty, the year of the Red Turban Rebellion. The last Mohist master died in the war, and the oiling was interrupted for sixty years. By the time the Ming Dynasty was established, the lamp had gone out."

He stood up, clapped his hands, and continued in a calm, narrative tone:

"Interestingly, the Yuan Dynasty lasted 97 years, and the Ming Dynasty lasted 276 years. The time the lamp went out was exactly the same as the lifespan of the Yuan Dynasty. After the Ming Dynasty was established, the descendants of the Mohists rediscovered this underground palace and relit the eternal lamp—and then, the Ming Dynasty burned for another 276 years."

He looked at Chen Che, and the fanatical light in his eyes reignited, even more intensely than before.

"Young Master, do you think this is a coincidence?"

Chen Che remained silent. His fingers tightened slightly on the handle of the lantern.

Akutagawa took a step forward. The muzzles of the Japanese soldiers' guns moved slightly with his steps, always aimed at the chests of Chen Che and his group.

"At the beginning of the Qing Dynasty, they found the descendants of the Mohists and forced them to hand over the location of the eternal lamp. Then—" Akutagawa's voice became very soft, as if he were telling a secret, "they reduced the wick. Not extinguished it, but reduced it. They didn't want this lamp to burn too brightly like it did in the Ming Dynasty. What the Qing Dynasty wanted was longevity, not a grand spectacle."

"So the Qing Dynasty burned for 268 years," Zhou Banxian suddenly interjected, his voice hoarse, "eight years less than the Ming Dynasty."

Akutagawa glanced at him and nodded.

"Eight years," he said. "Not much, but not little either. Now the Qing Dynasty is gone, and the Republic of China has been established. This lamp—" His gaze passed over Chen Che, landing in the endless darkness deep within the passageway, "whether this lamp is lit or extinguished, no one knows. If it's extinguished, then the Republic of China—"

He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood what he meant.

The passageway was so quiet you could hear everyone's heartbeat. The flame of the lantern flickered once, then flickered again.

"So what are you doing here?" Chen San suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, "To move this lamp back to Tokyo for your Emperor? To make China's national destiny belong to Japan?"

Akutagawa shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I need to confirm one thing. If the light is off, then I don’t need to do anything. If it’s still on—” he paused, “I’ll turn it off.”

silence.

Then Zheng Debiao suddenly raised his gun.

This time, he didn't give up.

The gun did not fire.

It wasn't that Zheng Debiao didn't want to fire, but Chen Che suddenly grabbed his wrist. Zheng Debiao was very strong, but Chen Che's fingers were like iron clamps around his wrist bones, causing him to gasp in pain.

"Young Master!"

"Listen to me." Chen Che's voice was very low, so low that only Zheng Debiao could hear it. "If you fire here and hit one of us, the remaining four will kill us all. Then they'll keep moving forward, find the eternal flame, and extinguish it. You die, I die, the flame goes out, and the nation's fate is over. Think about it."

Zheng Debiao's eyes turned red.

"Then what should we do? Let them—"

"Follow them," Chen Che said. "Let them go first."

He released Zheng Debiao's wrist, turned around, and faced Akutagawa.

"Mr. Akutagawa," he said, "you are more learned and know more than I do. Now that you have found your way here, we cannot stop you. I have only one request."

Akutagawa raised an eyebrow.

"Please speak."

"Let's follow," Chen Che said. "I also want to see this two-thousand-year-old lamp."

Akutagawa stared at him, his gaze lingering on his face for a long time. Then he smiled—this time, the smile seemed to truly reach his eyes.

"Young master," he said, "you are a smart man. Please."