Chapter 189: The Journey

Bai Lang's clothes are now already tattered and ragged; in two years of hard cultivation he hardly ever "bought" any clothes, and he doesn't fear cold or heat, and no one comes to this place, so most days he only wears a pair of trousers while training. Now that he puts on the ragged clothes, he pulls the small boat, lifts the canopy, and jumps into the river.

Near its mouth, the Yangtze stretches boundlessly, truly as wide as the sea; Bai Lang expands his Internal Force to seal the gaps in the deformed hull, yet he still cannot stop water from constantly flowing in—only more slowly. After the so‑called Innate Body‑Guarding Qi is stretched, that's all it can do.

The qi of the Golden Bell Shield excels at repelling sudden blows; using it to continuously seal water flow is not its strength. Bai Lang thinks this is better suited to the Daoist sects' water‑like protective qi, and some rare skills might even harness the infiltrating water to turn it into a force that blocks the flow.

"This involves the profoundly subtle technique of borrowing force to strike," Bai Lang thought, watching the water that had risen to his ankle in half an hour on the boat. "Perhaps the yin‑yang transformation is also involved." Yet before the water rises too much and sinks him, he can still find prey.

During the Qianlong era, Songjiang Prefecture was one of the richest places in the world, with countless ships carrying grain and raw silk. All Bai Lang needs is to seize one such ship and get ashore. If he fails, his broken boat can still reach the bank before sinking—at worst he'll have to run a bit farther.

How to kill the Tartar emperor? That is a question.

Bai Lang has several ideas: first, to stride grandly and boldly go to Beijing, then storm the Meridian Gate and cut his way through the three main halls, eventually reaching the Hall of Mental Cultivation or whatever to decapitate the emperor; second, to slip in silently and, without alerting the Tartar court, take the emperor's head and leave.

But there is a third path, perhaps the one that would truly satisfy this fierce tiger—tour the empire's key strongholds, ride alone to crush the Tartar garrisons, then, with the imposing presence of Mount Tai bearing down step by step, assault the city single‑handedly, defeat the so‑called Eight Banners outside the Forbidden City, and finally slay the slave chieftain atop the main hall.

That's truly spectacular; just thinking about it makes Bai Lang feel the tiger in his heart leap and roar with excitement. The Innate Expert involuntarily lets his Internal Force surge, booming the boat beneath his feet to pieces. Then Bai Lang adopts a graceful freestyle stroke and swims toward the distance.

Walking on water? In the original world that's possible; a lone trek of ten thousand miles isn't a fake. But in this world? That's harder. Rather than waste Internal Force, Bai Lang prefers to swim. He saw no ships along the way and swam several kilometers—he didn't lose direction because the shoreline was visible.

He stepped onto the wet land, which is actually the later‑era Baoshan, a bit distant from Songjiang Prefecture. In two years Bai Lang never kept long hair or a topknot, because he doesn't like flowing hair—it's not slick—so when his hair grew long he cut it off with a seized Pu Dao. His hands can act as scissors, so he's kept a cropped haircut all along.

For a rebel, this haircut suffices—at least he's a shaved thief… No matter how he looks, Bai Lang thinks a modern pig‑tail would be ten thousand times prettier. For now, he'll first get some clothes; that's easy—just rob a clothing shop. Songjiang Prefecture has plenty of cotton garments, as many as needed.

Bai Lang put on another bamboo hat, this time casually riding his donkey and pondering where to strike first… "I can't just act now; I need gear! At least a full outfit, and a north‑west warhorse—Mongolian horses won't do."

As Bai Lang urged the donkey forward, he flicked his fingers counting: "A set of chainmail, preferably high‑quality, plus helmet, outer robe, cape, heart‑protecting armor, and a shield; of course weapons must be ready, and a horse… maybe I really need to go northwest to see if I can acquire a large warhorse from the Western Regions."

All this is needed for show‑off, "That's called awe‑inspiring the world! What a vulgar term!" Bai Lang thought the words were crude, even though he's a cultured person—self‑insult is normal. Finding chainmail is easy enough, but locating seven sets of 'ring' chainmail isn't simple… yet there is hope.

But finding a north‑west warhorse is rather difficult.

"Seven‑set ringed… from the front such chainmail is called Mountain‑Pattern armor, yet so far the Tartar army seems never to have fielded such armor? Their arms are that shoddy?" Bai Lang recalled the armor on the soldiers he'd slain and felt quite dissatisfied.

As for weapons, they're easy; even if I have to forge them myself it's no big deal—just some long, heavy iron spears and Pu Dao. Bai Lang muses that he could also forge some arms; after all, brute strength is easy, and he could even coerce blacksmiths—weapons are consumables, and he isn't aiming to craft any legendary swords.

At present he only carries a waist‑sheathed knife and an iron hammer; that's enough for him, and he has plenty of silver—several silver ingots hidden in the donkey's saddlebag, capital earned from occasional 'business' over the past two years.

Bai Lang has been ashore for over a month; although he is the world's top rebel, this pitiful grassroots administration has yet to send anyone to capture him, and the Qing court probably doesn't even know where he is. Bai Lang can even buy a donkey openly and stroll leisurely along the road.

One day, Bai Lang encountered a long line of traveling wagons on the road—this road is a major thoroughfare, with a constant stream of merchants and travelers. The wagons seemed hired by the authorities, as they bore flags, likely a Qing officer's reassignment, carrying family and belongings to his post.

Bai Lang isn't currently planning to kill anyone; he hasn't killed anyone on this journey—his inner tiger's bloodthirst isn't satisfied by slaying a few Qing officials; he has a larger appetite. This brief restraint is to make future fruit sweeter. Moreover, the wagons carry only women, no notable Tartar officials.

Thus he never clashed with the wagon occupants, walking alone on the side. He only saw a youth riding a horse beside the wagon, prompting Bai Lang to murmur, "Clearly a girl, yet dressed as a boy…" With that thought, he turned his head toward the other side of the avenue.

Two dappled horses galloped, their eight hooves flashing, and in the blink of an eye they arrived like a whirlwind. When Bai Lang rides his donkey, he keeps his head down and neck tucked, appearing unremarkable and masking his aura to avoid attention. The two horses sprinted past, and Bai Lang saw the riders—one tall, with long eyebrows and a straight nose, a pale complexion; the other short, with a fierce, rugged look.