Chapter 293: Who Does Heaven Spare?

Bai Lang is miserable; the Golden Bell Shield broke, and his whole body was originally estimated to have about seventeen or eighteen broken bones, but after the mishap his body ended up with twenty‑seven or twenty‑eight broken bones, and even the bones that didn't break have fractures. Moreover his meridians were left in intermittent breaks, and with the flesh wounds this time it is truly a complete collapse before rebuilding.

For this kind of bastard master who, without a word, beats his so‑called disciple into this state and then calls it helping him cultivate, Bai Lang wants to say, "May you keep getting caught by the Buddha and forced to squat in a torture kiln!" That baboon demon repeatedly entering the temple is, to Bai Lang, an obvious fact; his face looks like the sort of guy who will spend half his life in a prison cell.

After giving his master that blessing, Bai Lang endures the sharp pain and inhales, intending to circulate Internal Force. First he must unblock the severed meridians, then use true Qi to drive the muscles to reduce swelling and bruises, and finally forcibly realign the bones so he can move—optimistically he estimates at most half an hour to regain mobility.

After that comes applying ointment, but unfortunately he has no good medicines for broken bones or contusions, and he doesn't recall any prescription, so he must rely on his innate true Qi to forcibly set the bones and stimulate growth each day. "Sigh, I'll probably be unable to fight for about two months…" He can still cut people, but charging into battle recklessly as before is unlikely.

He hopes to spend a safe two months recovering, and in those two months he can train the county soldiers. In that time the soldiers should make some progress and be able to practice the short and long weapon techniques that Bai Lang has compiled. This is also Bai Lang's distilled essence work; the combat formation requires simple, unadorned skills—if a sword or spear can kill outright, don't waste time on fancy moves, let the heavy armor handle defense, and don't learn any dodging...

On the battlefield hundreds move as one, random spears thrusting and stabbing; anyone trying to use agile footwork would just sacrifice a batch of comrades. He is not a peerless war hero like Bai Lang, clad in heavy armor and wielding a massive blade with unrivaled divine power, so he should obediently practice the spear‑and‑pole arts and the sword‑and‑shield methods.

Bai Lang has already given his two 'Bu'‑style halberds to two squad leaders among the county soldiers; the two youngsters knelt on the ground, overwhelmed with joy, tears streaming down their faces. Receiving weapons from their own commander, especially a war hero like him, is a tremendous honor. Bai Lang thought that if he ordered those two to die, they would probably obey without hesitation.

Bai Lang's new toy is a 'Bone Bud' that he had the army's blacksmith forge. He instructed the blacksmith to make a terrifying head—a metal sleeve as wide as a bowl, hollow inside like a duck‑egg‑sized hole, meant to fit over a gun barrel; the sleeve is about forearm‑length, covered with four‑edged metal spikes roughly thumb‑length. The head of the metal sleeve is a one‑foot‑long spear blade, double‑edged with a raised ridge in the middle.

The thing is extremely heavy, so the shaft is replaced with a horse‑spear shaft; the duck‑egg‑sized portion is wrapped in iron sheet, and just by its appearance it is a first‑rate weapon. "Hmph, even the gun grip alone weighs eighty‑four jin; this is the real 'touch‑and‑die, hit‑and‑injure' thing." Bai Lang, looking at the drawn blueprint, imagined the spectacle of brains and flesh splattering red and white as it crushes a head in half.

The horse‑spear shaft's cross‑section isn't circular; it was made oval so the blade's grain can be grasped, and the whole weapon is a full zhang long; wielding it would surely require ten‑thousand‑jin divine strength. Unfortunately, even now that it's forged, Bai Lang probably can't use it—until his injuries heal, it's unusable.

Bai Lang also needs to conceal his injuries; he trusts Wei Zhenzhen and can rely on Shang Xiuxun, but he absolutely does not trust Li Xiuning and Bai Qing'er. Thinking of this, Bai Lang has almost fully unblocked his meridians, and the pain makes him sweat profusely.

When that plague‑stricken thief‑matched military master arrived, the divine‑demonic force he wielded seemed to have another subtlety; at least he has been lying on the ground untouched—normally he would have already been discovered by a daring attendant like Bai Qing'er. Now that his meridians are unblocked, Bai Lang continues to grit his teeth, circulate Internal Force, forcibly realign his broken bones, and contract his muscles to lock them firmly in place.

During this process the fellow can't help but hum, and this fixation makes many of his movements clumsy, but at least it restores a good amount of combat ability. Whether it's Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist or Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield, it's merely a reforging—indeed, in his current state even Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist is likely to fail.

That black wind that could strike him a thousand times in an instant also brings a benefit—while Bai Lang circulates true Qi he discovers a domineering, roaring, arrogant, unruly 'Qi' constantly flowing inside, stimulating his body and making the pain far exceed what such injuries should cause. "No wonder I'm in such agony, my vision goes black! The sweat pouring from my body is turning into a mud pit, damn it! If this keeps up I'll dehydrate and die sooner or later! Bastard!"

Isn't that just a bastard? Taking someone as a disciple is one thing, and Bai Lang feels he's clinging to a big leg, but what the hell does it mean to openly claim you have enemies all over the world? Does it mean others will come seeking revenge for tricks like Bai Lang's? That's normal enough—if there's a problem, the disciple bears the burden…

Moreover, Bai Lang grits his teeth, endures the blackening vision and excruciating pain to set his broken bones straight, while circulating Internal Force to reduce swelling and bruises so he can appear more normal when he goes out. "What's this so‑called friend‑or‑enemy nonsense? Either a friend or an enemy—stop with the teenage‑drama talk about being both ally and foe, or saying the best friend is the greatest enemy!" Bai Lang sighs; if that person really shows up, he thinks he could probably recognize them—what kind of creature mixes with that baboon, being both foe and enemy? Isn't it just a good monk?

Bai Lang thinks of the so‑called good monk, finds a grim humor and chuckles to himself for a moment; looking at his reflection in the water he sees things are relatively normal, so he shouts, "Heat the water! The master wants a bath!"

He strives to act like a normal person, trying not to let the few women notice—especially not Wei Zhenzhen. Bai Qing'er rarely gets a chance to interact with him, Shang Xiuxun is more like a guest and seldom seen, and Li Xiuning stays at the relay station even less, so as long as he can hide it from Wei Zhenzhen it's fine. This woman is relatively simple, or rather has no scheming; if she spots it, it will become a public secret within three days.

Bai Lang, with great willpower, maintains his normal activity, even trying to keep his pores from exuding bean‑sized sweat droplets… "Never thought it'd be this damn painful!" Bai Lang mutters to himself, knowing that once healed the dissipating black Qi will boost his strength further, so he has a few more curses to utter.

And the trouble that will plunge Bai Lang into a dilemma is about to happen…