Chapter 25

Bai Lang didn't want trouble, but trouble would come find him—perhaps that's the fate of a protagonist.

He lived in the suburbs of Bangkok, a city with over four hundred temples; his residence was not far from one of them. Here it wasn't as bustling as downtown, and the temple only served the surrounding faithful, so its grounds weren't large, but the courtyard and garden were still sizable. Bai Lang usually practiced martial arts here, though the commotion wasn't as big as it had been back in Lan Zhou. At this point in this world he had already reached the pinnacle of his cultivation; the reason he still rose early each day to train was merely to maintain his will.

If the goal were merely to temper the body, the Internal Force capable of circulating the minor heavenly cycle could now stimulate every tendon; at this stage a human could, like a tiger or leopard, strengthen the flesh by shaking the muscles. Bai Lang's current training is about seeking inspiration, seeking various insights to fully integrate his martial arts—although he has already merged the Internal Force and external technique of San Shi Er Lu Chang Quan with the Golden Bell Cover. But without practicing the fist, inspiration won't come; after a thousand repetitions, a new feeling will naturally arise—that's what Bai Lang believes.

After roughly half a year of such peaceful days, Bai Lang felt an ominous premonition that day. "Strange, why do I have this feeling? Something feels off... oh well, change of place!" He felt he needed to change his residence. After packing a bit, he opened the door, took a few steps out, lightly tapped the ball of his front foot, and then Bai Lang swiftly employed Grass Flying to drift diagonally backward.

A bullet struck where he had been, but the deviation was large; in fact Bai Lang was still standing in the same spot, and the bullet likely just grazed past without hitting him. "Sniper? A civilian?" Bai Lang shifted his stance so the gunman opposite couldn't aim, then he turned into an alley and vanished from the gunman's sight. "Interesting, they found me? I suppose so—let me see where that gunman is..."

Bai Lang could only determine the direction, but judging from the bullet's trajectory, that direction actually offered only two or three possible firing positions. "And now, if that guy still has a brain, he should have already left." That's what he thought, and he also felt he couldn't catch that guy—even if the opponent hadn't left, could Bai Lang identify him? If that person put away his gun, there are plenty of Thais, and Bai Lang lacks confidence to single out the shooter among a crowd.

"Surely someone saw me, someone I know or who knows me saw me. But that person doesn't need to come to the scene; a photo would suffice." Bai Lang thought the only one capable of all this was that gambling syndicate—who let him slaughter a bunch of their people in one go. Moreover, the killing method was so brutal; even aside from losing a large sum, the sheer fear of such killing speed and power would drive them to find a way to kill Bai Lang.

Probably fear is even stronger.

Bai Lang moved quickly; he went straight to a downtown hotel for a temporary stay—"I'll strike back; waiting for them to come find me would get nowhere. I might as well go after them!" Originally Bai Lang had thought to just let it go, but today's shot made him feel otherwise; he had to kill everyone in that syndicate who could speak.

But how to launch the operation? Bai Lang is merely a seventeen-year-old boy, truly lacking experience in this—he has experience in martial arts, but not in this sort of thing. So he could only turn to the underground boxers and venue lookouts he once knew—people he actually remembered, such as those youths who had once tried to lure him into using addictive drugs, and also his agent.

Bai Lang returned soundlessly to the place where he used to fight, lying low by day and active by night, wearing a mask to conceal his face—those few were probably night owls as well, so it was easier to find them at night in entertainment venues.

Bai Lang quickly found the youth called Cai Shenme—the one who pulled out the drugs. That day the guy had also had enough fun with his low‑life buddies, taken a few pills, and was holding a woman as he prepared to head home. In the next instant a figure approached silently from behind; the woman's legs went limp, and the youth suddenly felt how heavy she had become, not noticing she had already passed out. Before he could react, a hand clamped his neck, dropping both of them to the roadside.

Bai Lang squatted beside him and began questioning in stiff Thai. Since this person could be used to lure him into drug addiction, he likely had some trust within the gang, and Bai Lang wanted to know where his agent was and what the gang's leaders were up to. Under Bai Lang's Internal Force coercion—needless to say, the pain caused by Internal Force probing meridians inside the body is invisible externally, but the numbness and agony are hard to endure—he obtained the information he needed.

This person wasn't a revolutionary fighter with iron will, so naturally he wouldn't give false information—he didn't want to die, and likewise a revolutionary fighter couldn't do this either. After questioning him in detail and noting it down in a small notebook, Bai Lang simply snapped his neck—possessing and selling addictive drugs, this man deserved death, after which he threw the body into the nearby river, tearing it apart before tossing it in.

This was to delay discovery; Bai Lang needed time.

The next person he sought was this one's superior, presumably the head of the line within the gambling syndicate responsible for drug trafficking.

This leader naturally traveled with a retinue of bodyguards; though not a major organization, three or five guards could provide round‑the‑clock protection. Bai Lang chose to attack at his residence, which was similarly an estate, with cameras everywhere. However, the so‑called security was only that—after destroying a few cameras, before the opponent could react, Bai Lang had already used Lightness Skill to rush into the house.

It was truly like a feline; his short‑range strike speed was like thunder. Bai Lang exhaled and shouted, his shoulder slammed directly into the door panel, but the force was directed to push the panel inward. The door panel thus served as a shield, Bai Lang contracted his body and instead lunged out from beneath it at an angle. The bodyguards had some protecting the leader, others wielding shotguns and firing, but they never noticed Bai Lang actually approaching from another direction—after all, they were just country bumpkins, not the US President's guard.