Chapter 402: Arrival

This monk who broke his vows is also a trap; the longer he stays here, the more traces he leaves, and then Bai Lang will find it increasingly hard to explain. Bai Lang almost wants to smash that bald thief's dog head, but it's not that he can't—when the monk tattooed him, the little power he showed already put Bai Lang on high alert, just like his thief‑matched military advisor, and Bai Lang can't see any height in this monk at all.

"Let me give you a green tattoo, and today I'll drink a cup of tea with you, Master. Our karma will be settled. I'll be off now." Bai Lang didn't want to ask whether the monk had been beaten by his master; it seems that after gaining his freedom the monk isn't ready to start a fight yet? After speaking, the monk vanished with a "biu!" sound. Taozi and Ban Tian, who were peeking, jumped in surprise.

"Weren't you the ones who sent him up?" Bai Lang thought the two women had no reason to be startled. In the end, the monk's food and drink were all prepared by himself—truly a versatile good monk… Taozi and Ban Tian saw Bai Lang and were delighted, even saying that Master Da Dian had prayed for them. Bai Lang's face showed that he didn't know what expression to make.

"At least this demon monk is a bodhisattva‑or even Buddha‑level heavenly demon; unless something unexpected happens, he's mostly a self‑transforming free heavenly demon. Huh? Such a heavenly demon is naturally a good person; he might be the last humanist, satisfying and indulging all human desires…" Bai Lang kept thinking, edging toward the demonic path—no wonder he's the disciple of the thief‑matched military Zhou Shubi.

When Zhou Fei Fei was still a little monster, he was already a villain, having indulged in many filthy pleasures like eating his own mother. He even once tried to use the dominant Monkey King among the monkey heads as a monkey‑type threat to the five directions to escape. Of course, clashing with the heavenly soldiers and generals of the Heavenly Court, as well as the fighting Victory Buddha and Vajra Bodhisattva of the Western Heaven, was not a one‑off; he was suppressed many times by Avalokiteśvara and the Tathāgata Buddha in the bitter kiln of oppression.

Yet this demon never repented… absolutely refuses to convert.

Of course Bai Lang doesn't know any of this; he only knows that his master has been imprisoned for years, and is both ferocious and unruly. The heavenly demon monk who has a mysterious connection with his master is certainly no easy target.

Since the monk left, Bai Lang is helpless; he can only eat when he should eat and sleep when he should sleep. As for any future merit—when the cart reaches the mountain there will be a road; at worst he could switch to being a tainted witness. In fact Bai Lang knows his own nature; being a tainted witness is just talk, and when the moment comes—"What the hell! Damn it!"—that's what he'll actually do.

After signing up for Street Fighter, someone will naturally send a match address—who the opponent is remains a secret. According to Street Fighter tradition, after eight rounds you're already in the finals—the Street Fighter finals have always been an eight‑person tournament, with an extremely high level. The first venue Bai Lang received is a deep mountain in Japan—"Kai? How do I get to this damned place?"

Of course he goes himself; Street Fighter provides no transport or guides, and their judges only wait at the venue for both sides to arrive. This rule is extremely unfriendly to direction‑lost martial artists, and who knows how many have been eliminated for failing to find the venue. Bai Lang has money, so he took the Shinkansen and then hired a car to the mountain foot, and then used GPS to walk the rest.

For martial artists, jungle terrain is never an issue; the venue is obvious—it's a relatively flat area with a small tent beside it for the judges and record‑keepers to rest, and there's no medical team—Street Fighter doesn't need that. This venue is a clearing in a mountain forest, with a shallow riverbed strewn with pebbles.

"A flat streambed in the mountains," Bai Lang muttered, not caring that his shoes got wet, and stepped onto the pebble shore that was deep enough to reach his calves. "Hmm, the current isn't fast, probably because the wide area makes it gentle." While his opponent hadn't arrived, Bai Lang stood there, arms crossed, calmly watching sunlight filter through the canopy and cast shafts of light onto the riverbank.

The scene was clear and tranquil, and the judge, also a martial‑arts master, seemed to blend his aura with the nature, showing no unsightly effect. The match was scheduled for around three p. m.; Bai Lang's opponent arrived only ten minutes before the start. The guy came by helicopter, and the downwash was quite unsightly, making Bai Lang frown slightly—rarely he indulged in a bit of pretentious elegance…

Leaping down was a shirtless Black man with dreadlocks, wearing loose trousers and barefoot. He moved with rhythm everywhere; even a few steps looked like dancing and singing, his flowing sense of rhythm highly infectious. The black dude even brought his own BGM, a small speaker at his waist blasting what sounded like reggae. He hopped around, and even his hand‑wraps made it impossible for Bai Lang to tell his style.

"Probably my style," Bai Lang thought. The black guy stood about the same height as him and looked like a capable striker. Black people's innate sense of rhythm has always made them good at striking techniques. Indeed, amid the wild reggae music, the black man hopped forward and back, freely punching and kicking, but unfortunately he had no 'waves'…

His striking rhythm was superb, but lacking 'waves' meant no long‑range control, so Bai Lang unabashedly bullied the black guy with Hurricane and Fierce Wind Fist. If he tried to flash or jump, Bai Lang would have him eat an annihilation slash, even a Rising Dragon Fist imitation wouldn't be out of the question. After a minute of combat, the black man took a dozen 'waves' and was finally sent away by a White Tiger Caesar Wave.

The real bruised and battered loser fell to the ground, and after the judge signaled Bai Lang's victory, the judge walked over, lifted him onto a simple stretcher and carried him away. As for treatment? That depends on what the guy does himself; the judge only has to get him to the street to finish. Thus Bai Lang completed his first‑match victory.

When he returned to his house, a surprise awaited… Two men in black suits with sunglasses appeared before him. One was skinny and small, seemingly hyperactive and never still, while the other was handsome, tall, and exuded a magnificent aura. "Have you ever seen this?" the tall man said, pulling out a paper, and Bai Lang wasn't at all surprised to see that it was a master's dead head…