Chapter 205: The World in Turmoil

Bai Lang's aura was fierce like a dragon, like a tide. This time he didn't bring any female slaves, so he alone bore everyone's attacks. "Miss, have I killed your father? Most likely you were just serving the Tartars, so your death is not unjust. But coming like this, killing your father means your line ends." Bai Lang fended off attacks while still finding breath to speak. The aura around him was no longer the Golden Bell Shield like a turtle cracking stone slabs—anyway, he couldn't even release it.

Now his aura was more like gusts of wind swirling around Bai Lang; the attacks aimed at him just slipped aside upon contact. "This isn't great—I prefer rebound force." Bai Lang knew he still needed to study; what he had now was a deviated Golden Bell Shield, and he still needed to train further. Once he could integrate several martial arts, he probably wouldn't be like this.

"Something's wrong!" more than one shouted. Their weapons could hardly hit this person; instead, Bai Lang's casual attacks forced them to dodge hastily—they didn't even dare to block, the force was extraordinarily unusual. Bai Lang also didn't understand one point: how internal force augments strength. If this strength isn't just determined by muscle fiber thickness, how does internal force make muscle fibers explode with greater power?

This can't be investigated deeply; perhaps internal force can spontaneously form an internal bony power armor within the body? Bai Lang handled these people with ease—except for the martial skill and swordsmanship of Fire Hand Judge Zhang Zhaochong, which still posed a slight threat, the others' attacks were no threat at all. "I'm invincible in this age—what kind of seed have you grown to kill me?" Bai Lang didn't strike seriously; he was mostly sensing the changes in his internal force.

These people were probably the highest average martial skill Bai Lang had encountered, aside from the chiefs of the Red Flower Society. Judging individually, Zhang Zhaochong was even stronger than the chief of the hall, Zhan Huwei, who hadn't yet made a move. But before Bai Lang they were all the same—someone already failed to dodge and was torn in half by his grasp, the ground already soaked in blood. They grew more disheartened the longer they fought; the rebel before them was careless yet his strikes were horrifically deadly, while their own attacks hadn't even scratched his skin.

What's the point of fighting? Even the little girl who bore a grudge against Bai Lang for killing her father lost the courage to die together—this person is impervious to blades and spears, just as the rumors say. Such mastery of external training is number one under heaven; otherwise the reputation of the number one rebel and number one fierce general wouldn't hold. In the blink of an eye, Bai Lang's tiger claws flashed and seized two more; even though they held the rank of third‑rank guard, they couldn't save their lives.

Bai Lang merely clenched his claws; with a cracking sound, the two victims' skulls were crushed, their bodies limp on the ground, limbs still twitching. He casually shook off the blood and brain matter from his hand; that motion finally broke the remaining people's courage, and they all fled using lightness skill. Bai Lang didn't care if others ran, but Fire Hand Judge Zhang Zhaochong definitely couldn't escape—and Bai Lang wouldn't let him go even if everyone else fled.

Having just unleashed the Wudang Wild Goose Skill, Bai Lang turned into wind, vanishing with a swish, then reappearing beside Zhang Zhaochong on a gust, claw outstretched. Zhang Zhaochong possessed the most orthodox Wudang martial arts; among his peers his Wudang skill was likely the most profound—Wudang's soft force in this world could be called peak perfection. His sword circle sought to deflect Bai Lang's claw force—Zhang Zhaochong also knew Bai Lang's external training was god‑like; a touch from that claw would break bones and shred tendons, so he absolutely could not let it land solidly.

Not to mention landing solidly—even the force emanating from his claws couldn't be allowed to intrude, so his claws had to be kept a foot outside the body. Seeing the sword's circular light, Bai Lang smiled, changed claw to palm, and thrust a palm straight out. This time he used genuine kung fu; his palm strike surged forth like mountains overturning seas, the empty‑space palm force pushing forward as straight as a wall. If Zhang Zhaochong could retreat one zhang in an instant, the palm force would amount to nothing more than a light breeze.

Unfortunately he couldn't, no matter how he tried, so the palm strike hit him. This force sprang from nowhere, a great power bursting from void to slam into him. Zhang Zhaochong's internal force was like a mantis's arm trying to stop a cart—any slight resistance collapsed instantly. The half of his body that took the impact caved in, bones and muscles crushed to pulp, even the fragments of his organs exploded under the immense pressure, blasting out of the abdominal cavity……

Just one palm, and Zhang Zhaochong, a master of his caliber, was dead through and through—fortunately he remained a whole corpse, though resembling mud and missing many organs, the body was still largely intact. "A great hammer... the Southern Dipper Holy Fist combined with the Arhat Benevolent King Fist becomes the Wind's Great Hammer, which fits rather well." Bai Lang stepped over the corpses on the ground and returned to the inn—he had traveled this way openly and openly; unless the enemy blocked him with a large army, he consistently swaggered into inns, lodging openly while killing people.

Such audacious rebels were beyond compare, the world trembled—he went south all the way, and as he approached, the Two Guang regions grew ever more chaotic. Here the Manchu Qing's governing ability could never match the north's; activities to overthrow the Qing and restore the Ming have always ebbed and flowed, but now Bai Lang simply slaughtered those prefects, governors, provincial treasurers, and governor‑generals, thereby almost completely draining the middle tier of Manchu Qing rule.

Manchu officials fled outright, Han officials one‑third ran, the rest stubbornly faced Bai Lang's death threat—just that, future historians might well cheer for Qing history...... As for the Manchu Qing's military officers and garrison, they were worse than the civil officials. Getting them to muster a large army to encircle Bai Lang was impossible, but hunkering down in the barracks to take a beating was their usual pastime.

Since Bai Lang lacked both the time and the interest, these Green Standard troops also learned the clever trick of betraying their superiors. When Bai Lang charged the barracks, they first formed up, meaning 'we soldiers have done our duty for the Qing by drawing pay,' then, before he arrived, they scattered in a riot, abandoning their officers to let the rebels kill them. If the officers were smart and wanted to flee together, given how the Qing now lets rebels run rampant, they probably lacked the ability to behead their own military leaders.

"I think the Great Qing is just a pill." Even Manchus themselves said that. Manchu Eight Banners stationed officers, especially mid‑rank ones, fled faster—before they could even form ranks they were already running, so the lower banner troops also disbanded en masse, except those like the Guangzhou General who couldn't escape. A Guangzhou General like that could only be left to Bai Lang to kill; his own Geshha slipped away secretly. The Guangzhou General couldn't run, but those like the Fuzhou General often submitted petitions to resign—essentially begging for their bones.

The Qing court now also seems unsure how to deal with rebels like Bai Lang; issuing sea arrest warrants does nothing as he doesn't care or hide, openly killing officials with no one able to stop him, and it looks like he alone is about to throw half of the south into chaos.