Chapter 419: – Ah, a Lucky Escape

Bai Lang naturally knew what this Happy King intended: nothing more than, with his life force already exhausted, dragging his enemy down with him—self-destruction. An Innate Expert's self-destruction, with essence, energy, and spirit united, is no small matter. Bai Lang was so close that he couldn't possibly run away; even if his Golden Bell Shield were intact, he probably couldn't withstand such a self-destruct.

Fortunately, there was Yu Yu, and Bai Lang also had confidence in himself—after all, he did have a master, though perhaps a thief‑turned‑soldier, but it's very likely that he left something for Bai Lang to save his life. It's better to think positively; at least then, when the time comes to die, his mood will be a bit better.

Bai Lang pinned all his hopes on the big boss; anyway, in the blink of an eye, when the Happy King explodes later, if the big boss shows his spirit, then Bai Lang has a chance; otherwise, at least he should die swiftly and cleanly.

As expected, Yu Yu suddenly flicked its tail, and Bai Lang felt a great force push him; the arm that the Happy King had locked around his body also detached at once. While Bai Lang's blood gushed, he saw the Happy King reveal a look of despair—then, in the next instant, light burst from within him, but though it was close yet far, when that light fell on Bai Lang he felt nothing, and the next moment Bai Lang vanished.

As long as he was free of harm, Bai Lang's Golden Bell Shield internal force immediately spun rapidly, sealing the wound tightly; hardly any blood flowed from his belly. Bai Lang flipped up in a tumble, not bothering to look where he was, and at once he began to stuff his intestines back in—'Wait, why is this fatty intestine a bit small and short?'

But now was not the time to think about that. Bai Lang stuffed his intestines back in and set them right; as his true qi circulated, the intestines went slap‑slap‑slap back into place, the bleeding stopped and vitality appeared. After Bai Lang shifted through space, that sack naturally unfastened. He found more external wound ointment inside and quickly smeared a thick layer over his belly inside and out, making him look like a mummy—just with bandages wrapped haphazardly.

After finishing, Bai Lang finally had a moment to check his condition: 'Shrunk again? Sooner or later this constant size‑changing will throw my hormones into chaos, and I might end up insane.' He complained as well, but the big boss should have some means; Bai Lang could only be played with by others for now.

He looked around at where he was—an empty room, the furnishings were complete, though the household appliances seemed a bit old. Bai Lang realized he had gone to the modern world again, which is certainly more convenient than living in ancient times. 'It's surprising that this world can maintain the existence of such storage bags; apparently there are special rules as well.'

As his true qi flowed through the meridians, Bai Lang's true qi strength had dropped considerably—'There are still conflicts between the rules; basically only the strength of the flesh remains.' Bai Lang's true qi could only be used to heal wounds; combat and defense were fundamentally impossible. He also knew this was the case before projecting his inner vision outward—being suppressed by different worlds' rules is absolute.

Bai Lang started rummaging through boxes and cabinets for food; in the fridge he found cheese and milk, plus bacon, eggs and such. He glanced at them and said, 'Britain? This era is a bit odd, isn't it? 1990?' Then he simply grabbed a frying pan, intending to cook and eat them.

After eating and drinking his fill, Bai Lang continued to look into the identity arranged for him, and it turned out that he, Bai so-and-so, was once again 'parentless' and now depended on the so‑called 'uncle' who had just kicked the bucket, holding long‑term residency and living in London, England. It seemed to involve some complicated inheritance and property matters, which is why he still couldn't return to the mainland.

But according to Yu Yu's nature, the place where he appeared is surely this world's 'center point,' where most so‑called evolution should take place. Therefore this world's center point should be in Britain. Bai Lang muttered the alphabet a few times, feeling his foreign language skills were utterly hopeless. Going on like this he might not survive; perhaps moving to Chinatown would help?

But for now he shouldn't move; wait until his injuries heal. Unfortunately, Bai Lang discovered that the true qi in his body is a non‑renewable resource—in this world it is a non‑renewable resource that keeps being consumed as his injuries heal, the stores dwindling until nothing is left. No matter how he punches, he ultimately cannot regenerate a strand of true qi from his dantian.

'Is this world unfriendly toward true qi and internal force?' Bai Lang felt the heavenly and earthly qi was very rigid, yet another strange feeling permeated heaven and earth, which he could sense but could not budge; this thing seemed to be seeping through his body all the time, but it had no effect.

The terrible wound on Bai Lang's belly had completely healed after seven days; he tore off the bandages and found the skin and flesh fine, tender, and white, without a single scar. 'Eh? This is really good wound medicine. Looks like I'll have to find someone to identify it later and stock up.'

During those seven days he also finished off everything in the fridge. Over the week someone called, but Bai Lang couldn't understand the foreign speech and just answered with vague grunts. As soon as his injuries were fully healed, someone rang the doorbell. Bai Lang looked through the peephole and saw a man in a suit and leather shoes, holding a briefcase; he didn't look like a bad person.

Whether he was a bad person or not didn't matter; Bai Lang's physical strength had hardly diminished, and even without true qi he was still an extremely fearsome killing machine. Bai Lang opened the door, and the man instantly broke into a smile, spouting a string of foreign words.

Bai Lang could only blink his eyes stupidly; the man, seeing Bai Lang like that, also lowered his head and gave a wry smile, then began speaking in very stiff Chinese: 'I am your uncle's lawyer, Anderson.'

'Oh, Attorney Anderson. Please come in, may I ask what the matter is?' Bai Lang invited the lawyer in. 'Your uncle's will. Execute...... trust fund.' The lawyer's Chinese was just about that, but among lawyers in London he should be in the minority—being a non‑Chinese lawyer, his Chinese is already quite good.

Bai Lang was actually quite curious: why didn't his dead uncle hire a practicing Chinese lawyer in London? There aren't that few Chinese in London, and of course there are Chinese lawyers serving the Chinese community; why did his uncle instead pick a British lawyer who could speak a few words of Chinese? Could it be that he distrusted the professional ethics of Chinese lawyers?

In short, Attorney Anderson, while gesturing, explained the will in a stiff manner. Bai Lang's dead uncle, White Yuzhu—of course that name almost made Bai Lang's eyebrows wander all over his face—had left a trust fund for this nephew of his, which could cover his living expenses at over ten thousand pounds a year—definitely a very comfortable income in 1990.

Of course there is also this apartment, which doesn't require mortgage payments; all taxes and fees will be handled by the lawyer entrusting an accountant, and Anderson is the fund manager, who will regularly pay Bai Lang's living expenses.