Chapter 180: Wind

The ready‑made clothing shop was the place Bai Lang went, and it was rather small—after all, Yansui Town, Fufeng, Shaanxi is a poor place. Both the rich and the poor here mostly make their own clothes, so the shop's business is mediocre. Actually, buying clothes at a pawnshop would be easier; at least pawnshops are easy to find. Bai Lang entered the shop and was unlucky; there were no garments that fit his height and build. He fished out some broken silver pieces and placed them, saying, "Measure me and cut the garment; style? A waist‑binding robe will do."

Bai Lang was broad‑shouldered and tall, so the clerk taking measurements had to stand on a stool to reach him. While measuring, the clerk saw the short hair at the side of Bai Lang's head under his bamboo hat, but was met by tiger‑like eyes beneath his thick, hanging eyebrows. His hands and legs went weak, he dared not speak, and even fell off the stool. "If I hadn't grabbed you, you'd have probably knocked out a few teeth. Boss, you haven't fed the clerk any rice? Look how soft this man is."

A smile tugged at Bai Lang's mouth, but the clerk could only nod meekly and dared not speak; it was the kind of grin a man‑eating insect would have, roughly like licking one's lips. If the clerk were to go out on a job, Bai Lang wouldn't mind—after all, it's just killing. Whether he puts on the new clothes to kill or just kills as he is makes no difference. Making this kind of garment now doesn't seem hard; after all, it's just cutting a big piece of cloth—though the fabric here is rather poor, dull and unremarkable. It's just like the present era: this poor place lacks even silk.

Bai Lang sat in the main hall, sipping the thin, tasteless tea intermittently—deep down he had hoped to finally taste the long‑missed ice‑cold, refreshing tea… He hadn't yet taken off his bamboo hat—Bai Lang is a good person, and he didn't intend to cause trouble for the shop owner. Moreover, in these days, not shaving the "pig‑tail" haircut and just having short hair doesn't seem like a big deal—how far does the court's reach really extend?

Among the countryside folk, many have a bald patch on the front half of their hair, as the poor rarely get haircuts. Bai Lang, being a scheming type, just waits for the authorities to cause trouble; once the clothes are ready, if the officials don't come after him, he'll go after them himself. The professionals who make ready‑made clothes work quickly—within half an hour the garment was finished. Bai Lang donned the robe and a belt, truly looking like a hero.

He didn't bother renting a room at an inn; instead he prepared a scouting spot nearby—this is a garrison area, and although Bai Lang doesn't care much, he still wants to check a few things. Especially how martial strength works in this world: "There won't be any decent masters here; the ordinary people's qi and blood are weak and their power feeble. Even if they practice martial arts, they won't get far." For a Bai Lang who has traversed many worlds, he has already mastered a way to assess a world's martial power—by observing the common folk and the primordial qi between heaven and earth.

Bai Lang wandered the city at his leisure, carrying no weapons, so even the tall, hulking constables didn't bother him—if he had weapons, they'd have a duty to question him, but since he didn't, it's best not to invite trouble. Bai Lang wore his bamboo hat, and those people pretended not to see the short hair beneath it—any sharp‑eyed person could see it, but when a big beast roams the streets, who would dare provoke it? The silver the authorities gave him isn't even enough for settlement costs.

No one wants to burn or bury silver…

Bai Lang walked around and came upon the General's Office. Night was falling when an old man leapt over the wall of the General's Office, shouting, "Flower‑stealing thief?" Bai Lang watched the old man pass over his head, having concealed his aura so the old man didn't notice him at all. An Innate Expert can suppress his aura and hide himself; even if an ordinary person sees him, they would ignore him. That old man possessed martial skill, and could—of course, without martial skill he couldn't have leapt over a wall more than two meters high.

"The Lightness Skill is gentle and pure, showing no haste; it must be from an orthodox sect, though I'm not sure whether it's a Buddhist Sect or a Daoist school," Bai Lang thought to himself. Soon three more figures vaulted over the wall, catching up with the old man; they made no sound, unlike a flower‑stealing gang or their pursuers. They all failed to notice Bai Lang, so he chuckled inwardly, "Interesting, I'll follow and see for myself."

With his solo Lightness Skill spanning ten thousand li, he could have simply leapt over them, but Bai Lang lingered behind them like a wisp of smoke. Soon the four reached a desolate hill outside the city; the old man halted, and the three followers stopped as well. The leading skinny man spoke, "Old Hero Lu, it's been eighteen years—do you still recognize Jiao Wenqi?" Bai Lang was about half a li away, yet the voice sounded as if it were nearby.

Bai Lang crossed his arms and listened to the two parties, "Who is Jiao Wenqi? Who is the old man surnamed Lu? Who is Luo Xinbei Renlong? I've never heard of these small fry." As he kept listening, he roughly pieced together the situation—this old man surnamed Lu was an anti‑Qing righteous man; in his youth he must have bested the skinny fellow named Jiao Wenqi with a single move, and ever since the skinny man has held a grudge. After learning the old man's whereabouts, he brought his allies and, together with a master commissioned by the Shaanxi Provincial Governor, came under cover of night to capture him.

Personal vengeance outweighed official business, and Bai Lang regarded such conduct as courting death. After a few words, the four worthless men began to fight; two stood by with arms folded, perhaps waiting for the right moment, while Old Hero Lu fought alongside the Fatty. Bai Lang slowly closed in, eyes fixed on the skirmish. "Hmm, it's roughly at the level of a small micro‑cosmic circuit breakthrough, but Old Hero Lu's martial skill should be higher… yet the power of the technique is limited."

During the fight, the two others kept joining, and Bai Lang watched as the old man faced three opponents, eventually getting wounded and collapsing, the three attackers staggering away. "Getting more familiar… but I still can't recall." Bai Lang, his spirit attached, stared at the three corpses, "Sword techniques, Hidden Weapon… does anyone use golden needles as Hidden Weapons?"

Bai Lang's question went unanswered, but it didn't stop him from slipping into the Tartar's Green Camp under cover of night. He made no distinction, killing the first person he saw upon entering. Though the solo Lightness Skill is said to excel at short‑range leaps, this level of martial art, backed by Bai Lang's Innate Internal Force, turned him into the wind itself. He swept past several soldiers, who hadn't even reacted before Bai Lang's casual slash—wind blades erupting from his arms shredded their bodies, leaving only a scattered heap of corpse fragments on the ground.

Bai Lang quickly reached the heart of the Junying; it was a perfect infiltration—since every night‑patrol soldier he encountered had already been slain. Moreover, the Green Camp's discipline had collapsed; many simply didn't return at night, leaving a third of the camp empty. Bai Lang inhaled, began to circulate the divine power of the Arhat Benevolent King Fist; under the night sky, a violent storm circle formed rapidly, expanding to cover about a quarter of the camp.

A White Tiger illusion flickered, though vague—this world still has suppression, so manifesting divine power seems forbidden. The wind rose, starting as a light breeze...