Chapter 378: Brazilian Guys

Granting a martial artist's likeness to appear in various games is a relatively normal thing in Ri Ben. The only problem is that there aren't many male martial artists who can be described as handsome; most have rather ordinary looks, and some have acquired a demonic mask effect from their cultivated martial arts—so they can only play villain roles. But Bai Lang, being handsome, can naturally be used as a gimmick to play a major role in mainstream games.

The licensing fee was two hundred million, and of course the license isn't for a single work but can be used for the five subsequent Three Kingdoms series of Dark Shame. However, it seems Japanese broadcasting has also gone off the rails; the taiga drama actually intends to film a historical drama of an East Asian ancient kingdom instead of their own so‑called Taiping Chronicles and the Warring States period, repeatedly searching for different characters to focus on… Speaking of which, Bai Lang watched one or two taiga dramas a long, long time ago.

"The interesting thing is that whoever is the star of the year gets blown up to the heavens…" Bai Lang recalled his old impression of watching. If a taiga drama asked him—he would definitely refuse. Appearing on interview shows or as a commentator is enough for a martial artist; becoming an actor would be a real loss of face. Bai Lang also recalled what he found: martial artists becoming actors or singers isn't rare, but they're mostly Westerners.

There are several martial artists from East Asian ancient kingdoms who are action stars, but most of them are just eating meals in government departments.

Thinking of that, Bai Lang went to check the renovation of the dojo in the bungalow. Using wooden planks on the floor isn't cost‑effective; given a martial artist's force, although they can control it, a slight release would instantly shatter the planks. So they laid stone as a base and covered it with a modern composite material that feels like wood underfoot. This way the planks don't need frequent replacement and cleaning is easy.

Sticking rigidly to tradition won't work, yet many dojos here in Ri Ben insist on the old ways—so the fees are steep. The bungalow's renovation is finished, and the floor work is almost done. Bai Lang thinks he can train his martial arts inside within at most three days—and a series of exercise equipment has already been purchased, awaiting installation by the vendor.

What era is this, still training by punching and breathing on one's own? Nowadays you use all kinds of equipment and monitoring devices; scientific martial artists are thriving in the West. The Victorian house that Bai Lang bought also needs both interior and exterior repairs; a professional company will replace any damaged or rotten parts, as well as the aging wiring and electronics, striving to make the residence more comfortable.

Of course, a professional housekeeping company will also clean regularly, and even offer services such as grocery shopping or sending a chef—such comforts are simply beyond what Ban Tian or Taozi, being modest families, could ever enjoy.

Bai Lang seriously considered what to do with the two women. Drag them into the finals? "Seems fine, it's just one versus three. Never mind, the main thing is to hone my own martial skills and find something to do so I'm not so bored." Bai Lang thought that after the world's suppression, if his White Tiger aura keeps manifesting, it would be quite beneficial for breaking through his innate limits to reach the outer realm; at least he now has a clue.

When a martial artist lifts iron in the dojo, it isn't with old‑fashioned dumbbells but with modern dampers—though they're essentially another form of dumbbell. The starting weight is two hundred kilograms, with an upper limit of about a ton—the martial artist is a creature that transcends the mundane. After grasping Qi, pure muscle can ignore self‑protection and unleash maximum force—Qi takes care of repairing the burst.

However, the damping trainer truly can't cultivate Qi, but you can train by striking a solid sandbag; besides, a strong body also makes Qi stronger.

The finals don't require a draw; behind‑the‑scenes manipulation assigns everyone, and the invitation‑team also joins. Bai Lang received his schedule—delivered by a luxury sedan and a person who seemed like an English butler. "Ah, the first match is in distant Brazil… hope I can adjust the jet lag in time." No wonder the organizing committee is flush with cash; they provide each team in the finals with a free business jet, whether you use it or not is another matter.

Bai Lang of course used it; the crew was parked at a private airfield, with two pilots and three flight attendants on standby. "For Brazil, we'll probably have to land in the United States to refuel, so let's depart now." Bai Lang boarded the business jet with Taozi and Ban Tian, the two useless sidekicks. The jet's manufacturer didn't seem to be the Baystream or Bombardier from Bai Lang's memory, but another American company.

The business jet's shape is short and stout, but the cabin height is quite tall; Bai Lang estimated it at over three meters. "This is much taller than the business jets I'm used to. Looks like it's custom‑made for martial artists." Come to think of it, that makes sense—martial artists are a high‑income class in this world, so building a jet for them is a viable market. Martial artists from East Asian ancient kingdoms and Dong Nan Ya's ancient nations believe in traveling thousands of miles to train, but Western martial artists will just use a plane if they can.

The spacious cabin even includes a bedroom, enough for Bai Lang to rest and adjust his jet lag, though unfortunately there's no training area. The plane took a full day to fly from Ri Ben to Brazil—and the competition venue is the Beach Avenue, which also happens to be the opening day of Carnival. "Japan is still in winter, but here it's midsummer." Bai Lang stepped off the plane in shorts and a short‑sleeve shirt, instantly hit by the scorching air.

The two women still looked sleepy; although Bai Lang did nothing on the plane, they both failed to adjust their jet lag. "The tragedy of the poor," was Bai Lang's view of them. Bai Shaobao can act as if nothing's wrong, even though he's never lived such wealth, but these two cannot; "admiring vanity is normal for ordinary people," he thought. So being dazzled by such luxury is understandable.

Bai Lang didn't mock them; he just thought that being poor is truly hard.

"Opponent, opponent." Bai Lang also studied his opponents on the plane, but he's not a mastermind who can pre‑plan tactics against them. He only watched their combat videos—these are public, no issue—and then realized he still needs to fight to know. Can the little habits in those videos be exploited? That can only be confirmed in actual combat.

The opponents are three martial artists—indeed, at the finals stage, a one‑against‑two is rare, only a single‑digit number. The three fully reflect Brazil's traits—one Capoeira practitioner, one Brazilian Jiu‑Jitsu practitioner, and the last a wrestler. Their ethnicities are the typical Brazilian mix: either white or white‑Indigenous, and even the whites are of Iberian Latin descent.

All of their skin tones are considerably darker than Bai Lang's, without exception…

Among them, the wrestler gives Bai Lang the strongest sense of danger—his skin is olive‑brown, he wears a tied‑up American flag headband, his upper body is bare, and he sports a pair of triangular briefs with the U. S. flag—wrestling trunks are dressed like that. The problem is he also likes to dance, a kind of butt‑lifting swing dance—whenever he sees Bai Lang, it reminds him of bananas…

"If possible, I really don't want to fight him at all," Bai Lang sighed. He suspects the man might be a connector, given the Brazilians' passionate exuberance, it's entirely possible. Though Carnival hasn't started yet, Bai Lang has already seen more than one topless dancing Latin woman, and whether by trash cans or sidewalks, rubber sleeves—used ones—are always visible.

The quantity is indeed huge; one must say this city is soaked in rhododendron flowers… The battle stage is on the beach, a massive carnival float. On the float's stage they will parade while fighting. "This… the float will get smashed!" Bai Lang, speaking from a normal person's perspective, offered his advice, but the committee's men in black suits just smiled, "No problem, the float's destruction and explosion are part of the competition."

The passionate people of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil will kick off Carnival with the King of Combat; it's unclear how many will die—but for a place like Brazil, that's probably commonplace.

Since those Brazilian guys say nothing, what else can Bai Lang say? "You two better be careful. By the way, the committee arranged an armored vehicle; I'll have them watch the fight from it." His request was granted; everyone knows Bai Lang has lost, so no one will take the field later, and the Bai Lang team ends here.

On the day of the match, first came swarms of samba dancers in bikinis, their bodies seemingly covered in feathers. Their overwhelming enthusiasm and lewdness made Bai Lang break into the smile appropriate for Carnival. He sat on one side of the float; since it's Carnival, a casual suit isn't suitable, so Bai Lang changed into simple capri pants, sneakers, and a T‑shirt, ready to fight.

The three opponents arrived singing and dancing, flamboyantly dressed, surrounded by a crowd of samba dancers. "I always feel these three came straight out of a bar or nightclub; like their football stars, they probably have to party hard before a match to get fighting spirit," Bai Lang thought; South Americans are all the same. The first to appear is Capoeira—a girl with a scorching figure and equally scorching looks, wearing only a tight little tank top and hot shorts; her long legs are fully exposed, with only strips of cloth wrapped around her calves, ankles, and soles, and she's barefoot. She has rings on her wrists and ankles, her hair is like a tangled braid, and Bai Lang's eyes seem to have a hook, easily pulling open her little tank, "Hmm… she isn't wearing anything underneath…"

Bai Lang couldn't help but say, "According to Capoeira's custom, the upper body should be naked." His tone was a bit weak, perhaps because he felt it was inappropriate. As expected, he received a contemptuous glance from the girl opposite named Maria, who then, like a jaguar, ripped the tank off cleanly, revealing a body with a very healthy complexion and shape.

A powerful, wild dance track began; after a sign‑holding lady in bikini and feathers passed by, the fight started. It was a whirlwind‑like inverted kick; the elegant, long legs generated a hurricane, the kick's force was astonishing. Bai Lang could only adopt a defensive stance, blocking the first strike. But Capoeira's leg techniques kept looping; using the force of Bai Lang's block, Maria inverted, hands on the ground, a ribbon at her waist unfurling as she spun, and her legs continuously kicked from various directions.

After Bai Lang blocked a strike, he made a small jump that turned into a wind‑like retreat of a few steps, and at that moment Maria's counterattack arrived. He stopped blocking, swung his hand upward, and a blazing wind fist slammed into the ground. The leg shadow vanished instantly; Maria flipped to a standing position, bent her waist, and swung her arms forward—a dynamic Defensive Stance. "Too bad there's no body‑throw," Bai Lang thought, watching her leap up and dodge the wind fist.

At that point the ring atop the float was already in bad shape; the bikini girls shouted and laughed as they leapt beneath the float, never forgetting to keep samba. The wrestler twisted his body to match the samba dancers and slapped his own raised buttocks at Bai Lang. "Dammit, today we have to beat him to shit!" Bai Lang already had a decision in mind. After a rapid assault, Maria also slowed her tempo—Capoeira was originally more like a dance.

The problem is when she sways her body like a dance, moving back, forth, left and right, her upper body also shakes, making Bai Lang a bit dizzy and disoriented. "No, I'll strike first," Bai Lang thought, launching a glacier‑like opening move, closing in and delivering a kick. The leg, infused with Qi, was immensely powerful, and the opponent firmly blocked and immediately countered. It seemed Maria of Capoeira lacked aerial techniques; Bai Lang still hadn't discovered her ultimate move, but her leg power was great, while her hand power was relatively weaker.

The leg techniques were varied and colorful, angles sharp, but Bai Lang could handle them. After all, Capoeira in combat is more like a dance, with the background music being Maria's metronome. Yet when Maria suddenly changed the beat, Bai Lang was thrown into a flurry. "She just threw in a completely incongruent move!" Bai Lang was angry; he decided not to keep dancing with this girl—she had already cost him almost a minute and a half, and a combat round only lasts three minutes. If the damn calculations turned out negative, where would Bai Lang go to cry?

"Hey! By the way, there's no home or away field; how can these Brazilian guys have a 'home court'? Could it be a fix!" Bai Lang erupted.