Chapter 33: Chapter Thirty-Four

This place also lacked windows, and I couldn't tell if it was an above‑ground house or an underground palace. Judging by the all‑stone ceiling and walls, Bai Lang leaned toward an underground palace—after all, this world's customs match ancient China's: above‑ground homes are usually wood‑brick‑tile, while all‑stone buildings are yin residences. An underground palace is exactly that; perhaps people here simply don't enjoy building underground labyrinths......

Everyone scattered in this courtyard searching for an exit; they only had twelve shichen, no time to waste—no one wanted to gamble on whether that mysterious voice could 'wipe them out'. Bai Lang felt the wall, then grabbed his double iron truncheon and swung it to smash the wall. Among those present, nobody's weapon was heavier than his—honestly, the little monk Cien appeared unarmed, while Ma Rulong and Murong Hua each held a slender scholar's sword, and Murong Jiu Xiu also had a short sword; Qin Lian'er of Medicine Valley likewise had no weapon.

Bai Lang was that special one—his iron truncheon was as thick as a wrist, probably ten centimeters in diameter and 1.2 meters long. Such a clumsy weapon in the hands of the handsome Bai Lang made the big guys think he ought to wear shining silver Ming light armor, put on a phoenix‑wing helmet, and ride a black steed—only then would the picture be complete. If Bai Lang himself had to say it, 'Mountain pattern armor would do just fine.'

The double iron truncheon smashed and stabbed, quickly breaking the stone in the wall—sure enough, behind the wall was empty. Bai Lang had just been about to laugh three times, 'I've broken the formation!' when a huge hole opened beneath his feet; he cried out and vanished. Everyone stared at each other.

One moment Bai Lang was feeling pleased with himself, the next second he fell—this wasn't a straight drop but a winding chute; he slid along it, twisting and turning until he felt quite dizzy, naturally his iron truncheon flew away, while the short sword at his waist got him tangled and rolled a few times; if it weren't for the internal force of his Golden Bell Shield activated, he'd likely have smashed into the wall and chute, bruising his face and breaking bones. 'Good thing the iron truncheon wasn't strapped to my wrist with a leather band, otherwise all that bumping might have made my fall even worse.'

Not knowing how long the slide had taken, the disheveled Bai Lang rolled out of a hole with an 'ah‑yah' and dropped ten or so meters, plunging headfirst into the water. 'Damn!' Bai Lang clambered out of the water, wiped his face, looked up and saw it was a sinkhole—this was the pool at the bottom of the sinkhole. He had just measured its depth with his own body, about five or six meters. But the sinkhole itself was probably thirty‑odd meters deep; you could say it was a hundred‑zhang deep. Narrow at the top, wide at the bottom, like a pot. Vines covered the sinkhole's mouth, yet sunlight could still filter in, so down below it wasn't dark at all.

'Just climb out this way, damn it—we only have twelve shichen, and we still have to kill whoever it is, not enough time to wipe them out......' he muttered, and Bai Lang began to climb. In the time it took to burn three incense sticks, aided by the strength and reaction speed from his Golden Bell Shield and the Tiger Form True Meaning of the San Shi Er Lu Chang Quan, he had already climbed out of the sinkhole. Standing at the rim, he gazed out at the endless mountains—who knew which direction the Shaolin Temple lay, or where the Sutra Pavilion was.

The double iron truncheon was gone too, and I had no idea where it got stuck in the chute's bend—'Damn, I hadn't even warmed it up yet and I lost it!' Bai Lang cursed again, having no sense of direction left or right, so he simply picked a direction that looked easy to walk and strode off. 'All I can do is hope those few pull their weight.' In fact, to this day Bai Lang still hasn't figured out why this place treats him like this—could smashing the wall have triggered the mechanism? And why does that mechanism happen to be right under his feet?

Can't think about it; overthinking hurts the spirit. What needs consideration now is how to reach the target—first, ask for directions.

Just as Bai Lang charged through the vines and undergrowth in the forest like he was cleaving waves, reaching the main road, he ran straight into a band of knife‑wielders and sword‑bearers, the sort of shifty‑looking types you could tell at a glance were no good. Bai Lang's appearance was dignified and handsome; though his clothes were torn by the undergrowth and his hair, tousled from all the rolling, was uncombed, he still looked like an upright gentleman. So the gang spotted him and immediately shouted, 'A spy! He's surely after the hall master!'

Before Bai Lang could even comprehend what was happening, the gang had already brandished their weapons and charged shoulder‑to‑shoulder. 'Hey! What happened to jianghu righteousness? Weren't we supposed to duel one‑on‑one?' Bai Lang thought these guys' jianghu ethics were truly poor, just like the thugs he led in his pawnshop— they'd rather gang up than fight solo; when they meet a tough opponent—of course they haven't met one yet—but if they did, they'd undoubtedly abandon their leader and flee without hesitation, even dropping to their knees to call out to grandparents if need be.

Their skill was clearly far superior to the thugs he usually brought along; Bai Lang didn't feel afraid—there was no time for fear, instead his blood boiled. Having cultivated the Golden Bell Shield, he'd never actually used it in combat like this before—attacking those soldiers counts as a lethal sneak attack, which doesn't count, 'This must be a genuine martial‑arts melee, right? Wah‑yah‑yah‑yah, here I come!' Bai Lang likewise let out a tiger's roar, raised his spirit, then drew a broad short sword about a forearm and a half long and charged forward.

This sword would ideally be paired with a shield, but it's no matter—it's quite thick, edges ground on all six sides, heavy enough—originally unnecessary, but Bai Lang specifically asked the blacksmith to make it that way; otherwise no smith would forge a blade several centimeters thick. Rather than a sword, it's more like an axe‑shaped sword...... Anyway, it's mainly for thrusting; cutting, due to the blade's angle, works better for chopping wood, but a smash can still kill a person.

The seven or eight attackers came forward, their weapons all proper tools for martial‑arts combat—long swords, single‑edged blades, and some with soft whips. Bai Lang gripped his sword in his right hand, made a tiger claw with his left, let out a fierce shout, and charged in. He didn't bother asking why they'd come to slash people; fighting was the point. Each of them possessed internal force; the force on their blades was hot or cold, and even poisonous—Bai Lang smelled a fishy, cloying stench. 'Good grief! They actually poisoned their weapons!'

Bai Lang charged like a ferocious tiger, that short sword his fang—Golden Bell Shield internal force surged everywhere with a straight thrust—his Golden Bell Shield skill probably still couldn't block the enemy's blades, so he had to use it for offense. The short sword flashed like a meteor, thrusting straight through the guy blocking with a horizontal blade. The blade was snapped, and the sword tip protruded from his back. The blacksmith could also be said to have forged this short sword using fold‑forging; though made of ordinary iron, its thickness already made it quite durable.