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

Those scarlet eyes slowly rose in the darkness, like a demon emerging from the earth. Chen Che's pupils contracted slightly as he shielded Chen San behind him, his right hand already resting on the short blade at his waist.

"Who goes there?"

The voice came from the darkness, low and hoarse, with a metallic, grinding quality. It wasn't Zhang Xiaolin's voice, nor the voice of the left and right protectors that Sun Congzhou had described.

Chen Che did not answer, but stood there quietly, letting the snow fall on his shoulders.

Inside the iron gate, a massive figure gradually emerged from the darkness.

It was a giant nearly two meters tall, bald, shirtless, with strange blue patterns tattooed on his bulging muscles. Those patterns seemed to writhe in the snowy light, like living snakes. His eyes were crimson, with vertical pupils, unlike any human Chen Che had ever seen.

What caught Chen Che's attention even more was his breathing pattern—with each inhale and exhale, the muscles in his chest rose and fell dramatically, and with each exhale, two streams of white mist-like air shot out from his nostrils, lingering in the air for a long time. The rhythm of that "breathing" was perfectly synchronized with the pulsation of the entire house.

"The night watchman of the Six and a Half Hall," Chen San whispered from behind. "Uncle Qian mentioned him, but he never said he looked like this."

The giant looked down at Chen Che, his vertical pupils devoid of any emotion, as if he were looking at an ant that had strayed into his territory.

"Keep away, strangers." His voice remained low. "Back off."

Chen Che raised his head and met those crimson eyes.

"I want to see your leader."

The giant was silent for two seconds, then let out a deep laugh. The laugh seemed to come from deep within his chest, making the snow on the ground tremble slightly.

"Hall Master?" he repeated, tilting his head. "What are you, that you dare to see the Hall Master?"

Before he finished speaking, his large, fan-like hand suddenly grabbed at Chen Che.

His speed was completely disproportionate to his size, so fast that his trajectory was almost invisible. His five fingers were spread wide, each one like it was cast in iron, carrying a whistling force.

Chen Che did not back down.

He shifted his left foot slightly and turned his body half an inch to the side. The large hand brushed past his collar, the resulting gust of wind making it flutter loudly. At the same time, his right hand, like a nimble snake emerging from its hole, precisely gripped the giant's wrist.

The giant's red eyes narrowed.

He felt a strange force seeping into his meridians along Chen Che's five fingers. It was not like ordinary internal energy, but more like a living thing, flowing backward along his blood and qi, heading straight for his heart.

"you--"

He tried to pull his hand away, but found his wrist gripped as if by iron clamps, unable to move. The strange force had spread to his elbow, and his entire right arm began to go numb.

Chen Che raised his head, his expression still indifferent.

"I said," his voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached the giant's ears, "I want to see your leader."

For the first time, a flicker of emotion appeared in the giant's crimson eyes—not fear, but confusion. He had guarded this house for three years and had seen countless reckless intruders, but none of them had managed to frustrate him so easily on the very first move, like this young man before him.

"You're not from Shanghai," the giant said in a deep voice. "Even Shanghai doesn't have skills like yours."

"I'll say it one last time." Chen Che's fingers tightened slightly, and the giant's wrist bones creaked. "Take me to see the hall master."

The giant gritted his teeth, a fierce glint flashing in his crimson eyes, and swung his left fist out suddenly. This punch was faster and more ruthless than the previous claw strike, carrying a resolute determination that there was no turning back.

Chen Che sighed.

He released the giant's wrist, leaned back, and the heavy punch grazed just above his nose. Then, he braced himself on the snow with both hands, springing up like a bow, and his knee slammed solidly into the giant's chin.

The giant grunted, his massive body staggering back two steps before crashing into the iron gate with a dull thud.

He shook his head, his confusion deepening in his crimson eyes. He had clearly felt the force from the young man's knee far exceeding what his size should have allowed, even—it didn't seem like human strength.

"Who exactly are you?" The giant's voice finally carried a hint of seriousness.

Chen Che straightened up and patted the snow off his clothes.

"Chen Che," he said.

The giant's crimson eyes suddenly narrowed.

Chen Che.

Those two words sounded like some ancient incantation, instantly draining the color from the face of the two-meter-tall giant. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but only managed to utter a series of indistinct syllables.

Just then, a voice came from deep within the house.

The sound was not loud, yet it pierced through the swirling snow and the thick walls, clearly reaching the ears of everyone present.

"Let him in."

The giant shuddered, immediately lowered his head, and stepped aside to clear the doorway.

Chen Che glanced at him and stepped over the threshold. Chen San followed closely behind, but was stopped by the giant as he passed by.

"The hall master only said to let him in." The giant's voice returned to its previous deep tone.

Chen San's expression changed, and he was about to speak when Chen Che's voice came from inside: "Third Brother, wait for me outside."

Chen San hesitated for a moment, then retreated back into the snow.

-

The house is much larger inside than it appears from the outside.

Chen Che walked through a dimly lit corridor, the wooden planks under his feet creaking dully. Black curtains hung on the walls on either side of the corridor, embroidered with symbols he couldn't understand in gold thread. A peculiar fragrance filled the air, like sandalwood mixed with the bitterness of some kind of herb.

At the end of the corridor was a carved wooden door, half-open, letting in a dim, yellow light.

Chen Che pushed open the door and entered.

The room was surprisingly simple. There was an eight-immortal table, two armchairs, and an incense burner in the corner, from which wisps of smoke rose. On the table by the window sat a pot of tea and two teacups, one of which was still steaming, clearly freshly poured.

But Chen Che's attention was not on these objects.

His gaze fell on the person sitting in the armchair.

He was a man who looked to be in his early forties, wearing a gray long gown, with a thin face and three long tufts of beard, looking like a down-on-his-luck schoolteacher. His hands were placed on his knees, his ten fingers long, slender, and fair, more meticulously maintained than a woman's.

The only thing that didn't fit his frail appearance was his eyes.

Those eyes were very dark, as dark as bottomless well water, devoid of any light, yet they exuded an invisible pressure. Being stared at by those eyes was like having a venomous snake locking your throat.

Chen Che stood at the door, meeting the man's gaze.

"Left Protector of the Six and a Half Hall, Mr. Su."

Mr. Su nodded slightly, a faint smile appearing on his lips. The smile was gentle and refined, yet it made Chen Che's back involuntarily tense up.

"Please sit down." Mr. Su gestured to the armchair opposite him. "The tea is freshly brewed, Lapsang Souchong. You should be able to enjoy it."