Chapter 251: Pacifying the Bandits

"How's the northern rouge? Bai Lang finally got a taste—just now a servant from the Guard Office escorted him to his quarters to drop off his luggage, and the big horse‑monkey Jiang Xia burst out and hauled Bai Lang into the building. Looking up at the bright sky, Bai Lang thought it hardly seemed like the kind of day for strolling around a brothel, yet Jiang Xia was already impatient. 'This really damages the reputation of a master of interior scenes,' Bai Lang muttered.

The brothels in Zhuodu are just like any others— they don't open while the sun is bright, only after lunch do they leisurely swing their doors, a few patrons sit down to chat and listen to music, and they only become bustling at dusk. By then the girls inside haven't even risen yet, and even Bai Lang, who's hardly ever been to a brothel, knows that. Unconcerned, Jiang Xia hauled Bai Lang straight inside.

He's a master of interior scenes, the head of the Zhuodu Guard Office, so his prestige is sky‑high. The senior host immediately greeted the guests, arranged all sorts of musical and theatrical entertainment, and even called in a top courtesan to serve. Bai Lang had never seen such high‑end fare in a brothel; despite Jiang Xia's ragged look, the big horse‑monkey could still recite poetry and compose verses with great flair. Bai Lang, lacking any literary talent, found himself utterly bored listening to music and watching dances.

But that's all right; at worst he can just let his spirit wander beyond the heavens. Bai Lang disengaged his thoughts, casually playing along with the girls' chatter, while his mind had already drifted elsewhere. The boss's hospitality? The boss was having a blast himself and didn't care about Bai Lang. Besides, another batch of fellow enthusiasts from Zhuodu soon showed up— their martial arts were all impressive, and even the courtesans exuded a genuine qi presence; their skills were certainly not lacking.

'It's just that I haven't reached the innate stage yet… True, if I did reach the innate stage…' He was just thinking that when Jiang Xia's head leaned over. 'Even after attaining the innate stage you can still do this line of work; after all, there are divine techniques that can be grasped through selling jokes.' Bai Lang looked at Jiang Xia. 'Does Jiang Touling possess a mind‑reading art?' he thought. The horse‑monkey chuckled, 'Amitabha, how virtuous.'

Bai Lang twirled his beard, 'Is it heart‑communication or what?' It was his first time feeling so directly that the so‑called 'divine skill' was almost a true supernatural power. 'Come to think of it, the martial art I practice is pretty much like a divine technique—controlling the surrounding wind.' He gave a casual flick, and the wine cup on the table spun smoothly, lifted by a soft breeze to his lips; no matter how the cup rotated, the wine inside seemed sealed by an invisible lid, refusing to spill.

'Like an arm, like a finger, at will. It seems this White Tiger Wind can not only rip opponents apart but also turn into a gentle breeze—though it's not very effective.' The White Tiger Wind made Bai Lang think that a fierce roar tearing foes to pieces is more useful; here it's just… 'It could be used to lift a skirt and catch a flash of skin…' Being in a brothel, that crossed his mind.

These flamboyant men composed poetry and bantered with the courtesans, and at night each retreated to a girl's chamber to continue chatting over tea. Bai Lang was also led to a room by a girl… By reading the cues, he realized the girl wasn't offering an overnight stay; at this upscale establishment you can't end up in bed after a first tea unless you're a world‑renowned poet or an unparalleled master, or ridiculously handsome.

That's a classic brothel; after a few light exchanges with the girl, Bai Lang left—after all, the big horse‑monkey settled the bill. Back at his rented quarters, he finally pulled out his files to study. Scaling mountains to kill, diving into waters to kill—none of those are easy tasks; he still needed to gauge how many skilled opponents were in the area and what the terrain was like. Mountains and rivers pose little issue for a master, but secret passages that let those foes escape would be a problem.

'Whoa, there are innate masters among these mountain bandits…' Bai Lang flipped through the papers. 'Huh? There's even a suspected interior‑scene master? Drilling‑Heaven Rat brother Shu Han? Does such a person exist?' He set aside the mountain‑bandit intel and opened the water‑bandit file: 'White‑striped Gao Shun? Innate master? And the Liu three brothers as well? How come this water‑bandit hideout has four capable fighters?' The thinnest volume was about the lone thief Du Gu Lao Qi.

It's essentially a crime log, listing dates when something was taken from someone's home—each entry notes that the old 'Seven' had warned that he'd come on a certain day to collect, and indeed the theft occurred then… 'He has a certain charismatic flair, but the record gives no details on gender or age—who on earth is this Du Gu Lao Qi?'

Bai Lang thought it best to start with the easy ones—deal with the water bandits first.

The Datong River, a tributary of the Black Tiger River, merges with the Black Tiger downstream about seventy‑five li north of Zhuodu; from there the Black Tiger flows another hundred li north into the North Sea. The water‑bandits' hideout lies on a sandbank in the Datong River—this stretch of water is calm, but the underwater currents are treacherous, and the sandbank comprises seventy‑two maze‑like sections where the bandits are stationed. The sandbanks range from large ones spanning several li to small ones only a few zhang, all sprouting reeds taller than a person, some even with trees.

The river was broad, and the water bandits operated fast boats within it. On the second day Bai Lang left the city; this time he forwent a carriage and used light‑step to reach the riverbank. The river spanned over ten li, and the sandbanks stretched similarly. Where the river narrowed at both ends of the sandbank the current rushed, but in this wide stretch the flow slowed. 'No wonder—both ends are mountains, the river cuts through them, making this a rare flat crossing. No surprise these folk conduct business here.'

Bai Lang stood on the riverbank, scanning the water but seeing no ferry. 'Looks like I'll have to learn Bodhidharma's one‑reed crossing,' he mused. He bundled a few reeds, tossed them into the river, and with a tip of his toe stepped onto them. As his true qi surged, the reeds shot toward the sandbank like arrows. That's how light‑step works—it can make a man as hefty as a sea‑lion fly like a bird, and Bai Lang could stand on a handful of reeds without his soles getting wet.

His true qi stirred the surrounding wind, and Bai Lang, like a reed flower in the breeze, stepped on the reeds to reach the sandbank. Bai Lang can 'see qi'; innate masters can do the same—essentially sensing the life‑force of living beings. He now employed this skill—he also has the advantage of controlling wind, so the wind can carry people's scent, allowing him to probe where anyone might be. On the sandbanks, especially the larger ones, some people were clearing fields. The intel didn't specify which sandbank the water bandits occupied, only that the sandbanks formed a natural labyrinth that easily confuses intruders.

The crossing avoids the sandbanks; once you set foot on a sandbank you'll likely become lost, and the locals only know the paths out themselves—Bai Lang is doubtful, thinking those inhabitants are actually water bandits who only turn to banditry when the chance presents itself.