Chapter 119: How to Make Money Is a Dilemma

Is killing the author illegal? Definitely illegal! Then is killing those authors who arbitrarily arrange their own stories enjoyable? Definitely enjoyable! But it's illegal… Bai Lang doesn't want to challenge the law for now—and it seems there are no Bai descendants, so no one steps up to defend Bai Lang's rights. "In the histories these people finally have some integrity, letting me cut them off. Yet they also didn't let the so‑called 'collateral branch' inherit the title—how could a Marquis of Wu'an be inherited by some unknown 'relative'?"

Bai Lang examined these works carefully; of course they also include stories where he travels back in time to conquer the world, save Ming, or rebel… The early works feature more rebellion and are rather naive. The later works still have plenty of rebellion, but they contain more research and are less naive, leaning toward farming and queueing up with flintlock pistols to conquer the world. As for Bai Lang's Shaobao Temple—this temple is in Jinzhou, and it is said to enshrine a water‑polished Purple Gold Halberd that the legendary Bai Shaobao once wielded on the battlefield; this is generally thought to be an iron halberd from the Ming used for martial training, not a combat weapon.

Even with this item, they still didn't believe it—except for the early 'force‑to‑conquer the world' faction and the later comedic‑style faction, virtually every so‑called "rigorously researched" author ignored the water‑polished Purple Gold Halberd, treating it as a tool Bai Lang uses for daily training—basically assuming that the official histories that state Bai Shaobao wielded a pair of water‑polished Purple Gold Halberds weighing sixty‑four jin and could cut down armies and flags invincibly were either erroneous or deliberately exaggerated.

Bai Lang read it and was practically laughing with anger, "Lord, I really don't rely on any flintlock pistols!" A murderous aura surged through his whole body—if there were people in the dormitory, he might have scared a few to death. Photos of the water‑polished Purple Gold Halberd are available online, and Bai Lang even found a metallographic paper stating the weapon was forged from iron, copper, gold and several other rare metal components, weighing about thirty‑two kilograms.

"So I spent 800 points on a weapon, and now I only have one left?" Bai Lang muttered, then kept searching the web, and actually managed to uncover some clues about martial arts. In fact they weren't really clues; Bai Lang found numerous combat videos. In this world there is no such thing called "national martial art", or at least it isn't called by that name.

They are called various fist, palm, and leg techniques, of course also numerous weapon‑striking arts; the West and the East have similar combat styles, and certain phenomena appear in professional fighting. Bai Lang immediately sensed something odd—compared to the exaggerated professional fights of the modern world, at least the jumps and movements are far more extreme. Bai Lang finally found some introductions to combat gyms, which included breathing methods and the use of 'Qi'.

Of course Bai Lang also found the rules that professional sports use to bar these people from joining—when facing the largest basic market, they naturally exclude the more exaggerated "people", and in professional fighting those excluded can earn more money and honor, so they have little interest in other professional sports. By now Bai Lang finally has a direction—how to seek out these things.

Even so, the current mainstream still believes the water‑polished Purple Gold Halberd is mainly a training tool—because since before the founding of the nation no one could wield such a heavy weapon—perhaps a few can try it with both hands, but no one can manage it with one hand, not even those who claim innate god‑strength.

The martial skills here aren't much inferior to those of the past; after watching those combats, Bai Lang thinks they have simply improved within the competition rules. Still, he is confident his own martial skill is the strongest—at least in terms of resistance to blows.

"One can basically infer that every government surely has combat‑oriented 'martial‑world masters', and they may even possess techniques truly meant for killing. Maybe I'll actually see the Hua Shan Sect's swordplay again… hahaha." Since the search results were good, Bai Lang's mood lifted instantly, and even after encountering a fan‑fiction version from Jingjiang that portrayed him in a homoerotic light and a mother‑fied version of Bai Shaobao at the ending, he no longer erupted in fury.

In fact, after the ghost fire vanished, looking back makes one think these people are truly damn geniuses; they could even come up with such jokes—there's no choice, making a living isn't easy, and if you don't write jokes no one subscribes and you starve… Bai Lang deliberately bookmarked a few fan‑writes that praised him, and his mood improved considerably. "For example, I didn't even know I could wield a three‑hundred‑jin phoenix‑wing gilded bronze mace to slaughter everywhere; I also didn't know I could, with one hand, wield a binned‑iron‑tipped steel spear and, with the other, a phoenix‑tail Pu Dao to execute ten rapid strikes. Though the description of my martial bravery still lacks a bit, it's already pretty good."

Bai Lang tipped ten yuan each—he couldn't help it, not that he didn't want to tip more, but the money had already been spent on his sycophant pursuits.

After reading the web articles for a while, Bai Lang felt a weight lift from his heart, believing that in this world he could still gain something, so he cheerfully prepared to go out for a meal.

However, his pocket had little money, so he would probably have to survive on white‑flour mantou and vegetable soup—Bai Lang grew increasingly annoyed by this 'goddess.' When a man's stomach isn't full, he often doesn't think about his lower body. For someone like Bai Lang who trains martial arts, his appetite is huge—if he can't draw energy from the heavens and earth, he must get it from food. Yet that theory has huge loopholes, and Bai Lang didn't want to overthink it; it would fry his brain.

He ate about ten white‑flour mantou in one go and three large bowls of vegetable soup, yet Bai Lang still felt his stomach a bit empty—though his budget was exhausted. Extorting meal tickets is childish behavior, and Bai Lang despised it. At that moment he saw a woman passing by the cafeteria, tall and slender, beautiful and cold‑elegant, wearing clothes he didn't recognize any brand or style of, but instinctively thought they were probably expensive—some vague memory told him she was the goddess.

Bai Lang pulled out his phone, glanced at the photos saved in his album, and indeed it was the goddess from WeChat. Yet Bai Lang didn't know her name; Yu Yu hadn't told him…

"Seeing her is one thing, but I still need to think where to get some cash to spend…" Bai Lang scanned the scene and gave up further inspection, turning to consider how to generate income. Most illegal or disorderly activities were off the table; he didn't mind doing manual labor, but he had no connections. You can't just walk onto a construction site and say 'I'll work' and start; what about a fast‑food restaurant? That might be a route, but Bai Lang simply didn't want to, because he preferred to spend his time on cultivation.

This time, he could no longer act as freely as he did the first time…