"Where did a fake foreign devil like you come from, daring to act so bold in Shaoxing?"

Since returning to this era, this was the first time someone had cursed at Chen Ke in such a manner. He wasn't the least bit angry. In fact, since arriving in this time and space, Chen Ke had found that his capacity for fury had been dampened to the extreme. For over a month, everything he saw felt fresh and novel; even as he gradually identified with the period, he found it impossible to summon genuine rage. How many people in this age truly understood him? Since they didn't know him, their prejudices, misunderstandings, and hostilities were meaningless.

Hearing his new title of "fake foreign devil," Chen Ke did his best to suppress a laugh. It wasn't just the name that was amusing; the man was actually speaking in official speech—or rather, the Henan-inflected dialect popular in the late Qing bureaucracy. His pronunciation was off, making it sound quite comical.

Xu Xilin had already stepped forward, exchanging a few words in the Shaoxing dialect with the leader of the group. The man clearly wasn't listening; he walked straight toward Chen Ke. Chen Ke didn't know who he was, but given that the man had arrived with the thugs Chen Ke had thrashed the day before, coupled with that roar of anger, he certainly wasn't here to deliver flowers. Chen Ke shifted his weight into a defensive stance; if he were to take a beating, it would still hurt.

Seeing Chen Ke’s movement, the man gave a vicious smile. "Oh, so you're a practitioner. Your grandfather here is Hua Xiongmao, a Martial Arts Graduate. You think you can lay a hand on me?"

Xu Xilin rushed up to block Hua Xiongmao, who continued to shout filth and curses. Amidst the chaos, Chen Ke asked loudly, "Are we doing this through the public way or the private way? State your path."

"What public or private? Speak clearly!" Hua Xiongmao shoved Xu Xilin aside and demanded.

Chen Ke replied in a low voice, "The men behind you tried to rob me. If we go the public way, we’ll settle this with reason. If we go the private way, we’ll settle it with our fists. I can see you have some skill, brother; surely you aren't the type to pester people like a common thief?"

"Haha! You fake foreign devil sure have a way with words," Hua Xiongmao laughed loudly. "Public or private, your grandfather here is the law and the logic!"

The words had barely left his mouth when he felt a gust of wind against his face. He looked up to find Chen Ke’s fist stopped dead right in front of his nose.

Hua Xiongmao was startled and scrambled backward. Chen Ke had already retracted his fist and stood calmly. The thugs behind Hua began to jeer and curse. A dangerous smile flickered across Chen Ke’s face. "So, it's the private way then?"

"Screw your mother!" Hua cursed. "Your grandfather isn't afraid of your private way!"

Again, as soon as the words fell, Chen Ke lunged. Hua Xiongmao dodged, but Chen Ke didn't even stop for him. He bolted straight for the thugs. His movements were like lightning; his fists struck out with unerring precision, hitting each thug square in the xiphoid process. He then executed two quick backward leaps, putting distance between himself and the group.

The thugs didn't realize what had happened at first. Though the blows had sent them stumbling back, there wasn't much immediate pain. They opened their mouths to shout, but suddenly their entire bodies went rigid as if struck by lightning. A searing pain erupted in their chests; it felt as if their ribcages were being crushed by an invisible vice, draining every ounce of their strength. Their bodies slumped lower and lower until they were curled on the ground, unable to even make a sound.

Chen Ke turned back, his eyes fixed on Hua Xiongmao. Hua felt as though he were being stared down by a predatory beast and found himself unable to move.

Before his "travel," one of Chen Ke’s hobbies had been combat sports, frequently sparring with friends who were ex-military or plainclothes detectives. Since arriving in this era, he noticed he had changed—at the very least, his body was significantly stronger than before. It was this physique that had allowed him to survive the thousand-mile journey from Henan to Anhui as a stranger. The dangers he had faced on the road were not easily summarized. These thugs were nothing to him. He had been hit in the xiphoid process more than a few times during sparring; he knew exactly what it did. The shock to their internal organs would keep them down for quite a while.

Now, only Hua Xiongmao remained. As the saying goes, many ants can kill an elephant, but as long as Hua had no other help, Chen Ke was confident he could handle him alone.

Xu Xilin hurriedly stepped between them, speaking rapidly in the Shaoxing dialect. Hua responded in kind. Though his tone remained fierce, Chen Ke could sense that his momentum had weakened considerably.

Finally, after some unknown persuasion from Xu Xilin, Hua Xiongmao turned to check on the fallen thugs. Xu Xilin turned back. "Wenqing, you must come to my place early tomorrow."

"Brother Boxun, I shall certainly pay you a visit." The two men bowed and parted ways.

Hua Xiongmao shouted something after them, but Qiu Jin scolded him, and he fell silent. Though he wanted to look back and see what was happening, Chen Ke resisted the urge. There was no need to invite unnecessary trouble.

Before he knew it, he had spent half the day chatting with Xu Xilin and the others. It was already afternoon. Having established a connection with Xu Xilin, Chen Ke was in high spirits. Since he had nothing to do back at his lodgings, he decided to wander the streets of Shaoxing. The sun was bright, and as he walked westward, the glare hit his eyes. Knowing it would look odd, he nonetheless pulled out the polarized resin sunglasses he had bought for thirty-six yuan and put them on. He was already a spectacle; now, he was the absolute center of attention.

Chen Ke had read many of Lu Xun’s stories. Shaoxing in 1905 was exactly as described: a small city with no industry to speak of, save for a few handicraft workshops. People walked slowly, looking leisurely. It was the exact opposite of the "unflappable" attitude pursued by people in the 21st century. The commoners he saw would laugh at the smallest trifles and fly into a rage over the tiniest slights. Perhaps because their daily lives lacked change, they were hyper-sensitive to any variation.

Children looked timidly at Chen Ke’s "bizarre clothing," while idlers pointed from a distance. Nearly everyone’s gaze was drawn to him. By now, Chen Ke could take it in stride. From Zhengzhou to Shaoxing, being stared at was common, and he had dealt with more than a few provocateurs. With the sunglasses on, he looked somewhat like a "Terminator," and the crowd’s gaze held more "fear" than curiosity, which actually saved him some trouble.

Since he was in Shaoxing, it would be foolish not to visit the "Xianheng Wine Shop." However, he had no idea where it was. He wandered for a long time without seeing the sign. When he asked passersby, either the language barrier got in the way, or they simply shook their heads.

After an hour of fruitless searching, he saw a shop up ahead with a sign that read "Laiheng Wine Shop." It was a modest three-bay tiled building with a counter for warming wine by the door. Chen Ke stepped inside. The young shop assistant looked barely ten years old. He moved to welcome Chen Ke, but upon seeing the sunglasses, he froze in fear, awkwardly blocking the doorway. The shopkeeper behind the counter shouted a couple of scoldings; the boy scrambled back to the wine heater, and the shopkeeper came out to greet him.

"Does this gentleman wish for wine?" The shopkeeper was in his fifties, wearing a long robe. His face was weathered with age spots and wrinkles. He wore a skullcap, with a thinning grey braid trailing down his back. He looked neat and tidy.

"I’d like some wine," Chen Ke replied with a smile.

"This way, sir." The shopkeeper led Chen Ke into a side room. Chen Ke stopped in his tracks as soon as he crossed the threshold. Shaoxing really was a small place; there sat Hua Xiongmao, the man he had nearly come to blows with earlier, occupying a table alone and nursing a bowl of wine. Just as Chen Ke was about to turn and leave, Hua looked up. Seeing the sunglass-clad Chen Ke, Hua’s delicate brows furrowed. Chen Ke felt it was a bit awkward; they hadn't fought earlier, so they couldn't exactly start now. But leaving in such a cowardly fashion would ruin his mood for a drink.

After a moment of silence, Chen Ke took off his sunglasses. "Brother, I’m the one from before. My name is Chen Ke. I came for a drink and happened upon you. It must be fate. Truly, fate."

It was a terribly awkward opening, and it caught Hua Xiongmao completely off guard. The shopkeeper, unaware of their previous confrontation, smiled and said, "Ah, so the gentleman knows Graduate Hua." He quickly led Chen Ke to the table next to Hua’s. "What would you like to eat and drink, sir?"

Chen Ke noticed Hua’s spread was simple, with only two bowls of wine. "The same as this Mr. Hua will do."

The shopkeeper checked. "Forty-two copper coins." Once seated, Chen Ke pulled out a coin purse modified from an eyeglass case and counted out the money. The shopkeeper turned to Hua. "Graduate Hua, would you like anything else?"

Hua waved him off, and the shopkeeper departed.

There were few people in the room. Hua stared at Chen Ke for a few moments before returning to his meal. Chen Ke’s seat was well-positioned; he could see both Hua and the doorway. If anyone rushed in, he would have plenty of time to grab a stool and defend himself. As he pulled out a cloth to wipe his lenses, the boy brought in a bowl of rice, two side dishes, and two bowls of wine. Chen Ke began to eat.

The food was excellent. The preserved vegetable with braised pork was far superior to the mass-produced, hormone-fed pork he had eaten in the 21st century. As he was enjoying his meal, Hua Xiongmao suddenly brought his wine bowl over and sat next to him.

"You said your name was Chen Ke, right?" Hua asked.

"Indeed," Chen Ke replied.

"You don't mind if I join you, Brother Chen?" Hua suddenly asked with a grin. Hua had the face of a Jiangnan beauty—sharp features, a straight nose, narrow eyes, and skin that was tanned but fine-grained. It was a face hard to dislike.

"Not at all," Chen Ke answered.

"Brother Chen, Mr. Xu said you’d be visiting tomorrow and invited me as well to settle our conflict. I see you’re a martial artist; we can talk things out between us. No need to make things difficult for Mr. Xu, right?"

"I think that’s for the best," Chen Ke replied, noting the underlying tension in Hua’s voice despite his pleasant demeanor.

Hua moved his dishes to Chen Ke’s table and continued, "It seems Brother Chen studied overseas."

"I did."

"You must feel quite superior then?" Hua’s smile remained.

"I don't see it that way. I simply studied abroad; why should that make me different from anyone else?"

This answer caught Hua by surprise, as did Chen Ke’s calm, natural attitude. Before Hua could respond, Chen Ke raised his wine bowl. "Brother Hua, a toast."

Hua didn't touch his bowl. Chen Ke didn't mind; he took a sip and continued eating.

"I hate fake foreign devils more than anything," Hua blurted out after a long silence.

"Oh, I see." Chen Ke’s voice was devoid of emotion. "I don't like them much either."

"In Shaoxing, when we catch an adulterer, we cut off their braid. That way, everyone knows they’ve done something shameful as soon as they see them," Hua continued to provoke.

This was a curious bit of information for Chen Ke. After thinking it over, he actually burst out laughing. "Is that so? Most of those 'fake foreign devils' part their hair down the middle; they really do look like they’ve had their braids cut."

Hua suddenly felt that Chen Ke was an incomprehensible being. Chen Ke’s short hair made him look more like a monk than someone who had lost a braid. He felt his own provocation had fallen flat. He had expected Chen Ke to fly into a rage; instead, Chen Ke treated his words as a joke. This, in turn, began to irritate Hua.

"Does Brother Chen even have ancestors?" Hua gritted his teeth and finally asked.

Chen Ke took another sip of wine before answering. "Of course. Without ancestors, how could I be here?"

"And can the dress and hairstyles of those ancestors be so easily discarded?" Hua pressed. He was certain Chen Ke could not joke his way out of such a sharp question.

Chen Ke smiled—or rather, his face took the shape of a smile, but his eyes remained cold. His voice dropped to a low, localized murmur that only Hua could hear. "Which dynasty’s ancestors are you referring to? The Song? The Ming? To my Ming ancestors, anyone wearing a braid would be a traitor, or at the very least, a slave of a fallen nation."

Chen Ke’s bright gaze locked onto Hua’s.

Hua’s expression shifted from confusion to a sudden, stunned realization. He stared at Chen Ke in shock. Chen Ke did not look away, his sharp eyes pinning Hua in place.

"So that’s how it is," Hua exhaled. It seemed he understood Chen Ke’s meaning; his provocative air vanished instantly. He tried to say something more but couldn't find the words. He simply repeated, "So that’s how it is."

"Brother Hua, drink." Chen Ke raised his bowl. This time, Hua did not refuse. He clinked his bowl against Chen Ke’s. "Brother Chen, cheers."

The two spoke no more of Chen Ke’s personal history, turning the conversation to the local cuisine. When Chen Ke asked about the Xianheng Wine Shop, Hua told him it had already closed its doors.

In the late Qing, "Revolutionaries" weren't exactly a rarity in Shaoxing. Among radical intellectuals, "Revolution" was almost a fashion. The Qing court lost every war it fought, bringing humiliation upon the nation. Dissatisfaction was public; the vast majority of intellectuals believed the world needed to change, differing only on whether that meant "revolution" or "reform." Chen Ke’s boldness in hinting at his revolutionary stance was largely based on his knowledge of this historical reality. In this late Qing agrarian society, the government’s power at the grassroots level was practically non-existent. Even if Hua reported him, without hard evidence, no one would come to arrest him.

Seeing the change in Hua’s attitude, Chen Ke grew curious about this Martial Arts Graduate. "Brother Hua, why do you dislike overseas students so much? Just because they look like fake foreign devils?"

"A lot of those 'Religious Cases' are stirred up by people like them," Hua replied.

"Ah, I see." Chen Ke realized the issue. "You’re right, Brother Hua. That is indeed the case."

In those years, foreign powers were eager to plant their influence in China and were very active in missionary work. When conflicts arose between Chinese converts and the general populace, the foreigners would back the converts to the hilt, leading to a constant stream of "Religious Cases." As a Martial Arts Graduate, Hua was part of the social elite; he naturally resented the "privileged convert class" that rose up on the back of foreign power.

"I am Chinese; naturally, I won't believe in some foreign religion. You can rest assured on that point, Brother Hua. In fact, I loathe foreign religions most of all," Chen Ke said.

Hua smiled slightly. "Brother Chen, you’re clearly not from around here. What brings you to Shaoxing?"

"I’m visiting Mr. Xu tomorrow morning. Since you’ll be there as well, why don't we wait until then to talk? I’m happy to be drinking with you today; let’s not spoil the mood with troublesome affairs." Chen Ke brushed the question aside. Hua was tactful enough not to press further.

***

Chen Ke rose early the next morning. In this era, without electricity, his habits had naturally reverted to the traditional cycle of rising with the sun and sleeping at dusk. He checked his watch; it was only five in the morning, but the sky was already lightening. He wasn't one to lounge in bed; once awake, he got up.

After washing, shaving, and checking his gear, he headed out. Shaoxing had breakfast stalls, but instead of the fried dough sticks common in the north, the food was rice-based. In his memory, meat *zongzi* were delicious. He found a street vendor, bought a meat *zongzi*, and ate it standing there. Because he was meeting Xu Xilin, he pulled out a paper tissue to carefully wipe his mouth and hands, then crumpled the tissue and tossed it on the ground. The locals, already staring at him, began to whisper at this strange display.

*I can't stay in Shaoxing for long,* Chen Ke thought. His appearance and behavior were too far removed from the locals. How was he going to convince Xu Xilin to head to Shanghai immediately?

He strolled to the Xu residence, a walk that took less than fifteen minutes. His slow pace only drew more stares. He checked his wrist: 8:00 AM. He wasn't sure if Xu Xilin was even awake. Just then, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Qiu Jin.

"Wenqing, good morning," she greeted him.

"Good morning, Sister Qiu," Chen Ke replied, bowing.

"Wenqing, you really have a lot of watches. Do you want to pawn the one on your wrist too?" she asked playfully.

"Sister Qiu, please don't tease me," Chen Ke said, his face flushing slightly.

"Haha!" Seeing his embarrassment, Qiu Jin laughed. "Come in." She led him through the main gates. Qiu Jin was a cousin to Xu Xilin, so the servants merely nodded in greeting. They sat in the back hall. Qiu Jin pulled a piece of paper and handed it to Chen Ke. From her sleeve, he caught a glimpse of the watch he had given her. It wasn't a rugged model, and on her slender, strong wrist, it sparkled with a crystalline light that didn't look out of place at all.

Chen Ke looked back at the paper. It was a promissory note. It stated that Chen Ke was using a watch as collateral to borrow fifty taels of silver from Qiu Jin for a period of two years, interest-free. After reading the elegant calligraphy, Chen Ke took out his very 21st-century disposable pen and signed his name. Qiu Jin squinted at the ugly handwriting and then at the strange pen before handing a small bundle to Chen Ke. He unwrapped it to find forty taels of silver and ten strings of copper coins. He had no idea what the exchange rate was and didn't want to look foolish, so he simply tucked the bundle into his satchel.

As they finished the transaction, Xu Xilin entered the room. After exchanging greetings, Xu urgently asked if Chen Ke had brought more of his writings. Chen Ke pulled out the rest of his drafts—everything he had written since arriving in this era. A month of contemplation had yielded over thirty thousand words, and he wasn't finished yet.

Xu Xilin sat down and began to leaf through them immediately. Qiu Jin picked up yesterday's pages. "Wenqing, I read these carefully last night. I don't know much about European affairs, but I wonder, how much do you know about Japan?"

"Japan? Which aspect did you have in mind, Sister Qiu?"

At this, Qiu Jin looked surprised. Such a confident attitude was rare. She asked eagerly, "Wenqing, what do you think of this Russo-Japanese War?" At her words, Xu Xilin looked up sharply, waiting for Chen Ke to speak.

"War requires money. Japan is out of money. What do they do? They borrow," Chen Ke said with a smile. Qiu Jin was very fond of the Japanese; in those days, most revolutionaries were. Chen Ke knew this, which was why he had to smile. But even as he smiled, he decided he had to make her understand that Japan was no friend to China.

"Who are they borrowing from?" Xu Xilin asked before Qiu Jin could speak.

Chen Ke looked at him and replied, "The United States provided war loans to Japan. Japan used that money as military funding to fight Russia. Therefore, in this war, Russia can afford to lose—at most, they won't cede land or pay reparations. But Japan cannot afford to lose; if they do, they’ll never recover. What Japan wants is control over Northeast China. Once they crush Russia’s Far East military power, they can use the victory as leverage to plunder China’s interests in the Northeast. That way, the war yields a dividend. Russia loses, and as long as they allow Japan special privileges in Northeast China, they won't have to cede their own territory."

As he finished, Xu Xilin and Qiu Jin fell silent. After a long while, Qiu Jin asked, "Wenqing, where did you get this information? Why would America lend money to Japan?"

Chen Ke’s smile turned cold. "This isn't secret information. Sister Qiu, if you go to the financial markets in Europe or America, you’ll find that Japan has issued bonds four times since 1904. Anyone with eyes can see those are war bonds. Now that the war is going in Japan’s favor, those bonds have soared in value. Europeans didn't buy many, but Wall Street in America was the biggest buyer. As for why? It’s simple: the Americans want a piece of the Northeast. Currently, Britain is very powerful in the Yangtze River basin and the Beijing-Tianjin area. America wants a seat at the table, and the Northeast is where they’ve chosen to strike. But since Russia holds the Northeast, the Americans have to break Russia’s position. There is no way to do that except through war."

Xu Xilin’s eyes bulged with rage, his teeth gritted. "Xu Xilin's eyes bulged with rage, his teeth gritted. "Loss of sovereignty and national disgrace! Loss of sovereignty and national disgrace!""

"Brother Boxun, what does the Qing have to fight with? Right now, Japan and Russia are fighting on Chinese soil, and the Qing has actually designated Chinese land as a 'combat zone' for the powers and declared neutrality! Haha! Japan and Russia are brawling in China to see who gets the privilege of exploiting us, and the Qing treats our own land as a foreign battlefield and has the face to declare neutrality? Is there anything more ridiculous in this world?" Chen Ke’s words were hissed through clenched teeth.

*Thwack!* Xu Xilin slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair, crumpling the manuscript in his hand. Realizing he had nearly torn the paper, he hurriedly smoothed it out, looking contrite. "Wenqing, I lost my composure. Does this manuscript of yours contain a way to make China strong?"

"I haven't written that yet," Chen Ke replied.

"Why? Do you not trust me, Wenqing?" Xu’s eyes searched Chen Ke’s.

"No, it’s just that revolution must be taken step by step. Even if I wrote it, it wouldn't be of much use yet. Put it this way, Brother Boxun: if you and I wanted to go to the Northeast right now to drive out the Japanese and Russians, could we do it? And how would we even get there? I know you are dedicated to saving the country, but saving the country requires a method..."

Xu Xilin interrupted him. "As long as it saves China, I, Xu, will not hesitate even if I am ground to dust!"

Qiu Jin’s expression was one of grief and indignation. "Hearing Wenqing talk about the war is entirely different from hearing others. Wenqing, if you truly have a method to save the nation, please, do not hesitate to teach us."

Chen Ke looked at these two revolutionary predecessors, so pained by the state of their country, and was deeply moved. As a time traveler, he could usually maintain a detached perspective, but as he spoke of the Russo-Japanese War, he truly felt it: the war was happening *now* in the Northeast, and Chinese civilians were being brutally slaughtered by both sides. A sudden surge of rage, one he hadn't expected, rose in his chest. This wasn't the rage one feels reading a history book—that was more like shame. This was the rage of living in the moment. Unconsciously, Chen Ke’s fists clenched.

In his mounting fervor, he almost blurted out his entire strategy for national salvation to Xu Xilin and Qiu Jin. But at that moment, a doubt flickered in his mind. Throughout Chinese history, the one who finally saved China was the Communist Party. And the revolutionary program that organization followed would, quite literally, eventually eliminate the very class to which Xu Xilin and Qiu Jin belonged. If he spoke everything now just for his own satisfaction, what would be the result?

Could Xu Xilin and Qiu Jin become committed Communist warriors? Chen Ke wasn't optimistic about that outcome. Thinking of this, he cleared his head, and his excitement cooled. He suddenly remembered that in history, Xu Xilin and Qiu Jin were, at best, part of a "United Front." If he could lead a successful revolution, would they remain part of that front as the process deepened?

As Chen Ke was weighing his words, a servant entered. "Young Master, Graduate Hua is here to see you." Chen Ke clicked his tongue, putting on the look of someone who had much more to say but was frustrated by the interruption.

Xu Xilin stood up. "I’ll go greet him."

Watching Xu Xilin’s retreating back, Chen Ke couldn't help but wonder when he had become so hypocritical. But he knew his approach was correct. A revolution requires secrecy. A revolution is not a dinner party; it is not a series of grand speeches and "frank talk" over wine. A revolution is a revolution. For the ultimate goal, one must use strategy. One must be able to endure.

Suddenly, Chen Ke felt as though he had truly "grown up."