Chapter 581: Malice

The strange lands of North America show a clear division: near the eastern coastline are the "urban ghost stories" that occur in ancient cities, while the vast central and western regions are haunted by wandering fierce ghosts. However, all the fierce ghosts use the same method to harm people—terrorizing them into death; among the ten who can actually inflict physical damage, perhaps none can.

The overwhelming majority of physical injuries are self‑inflicted or caused by victims to each other; the number of cases the fierce ghosts can cause across all of North America could be counted on one hand. Bai Lang stared at the bizarre figures in the wilderness jungle and said, "At this rate it will take at least three years to become tangible, and if people in this world want to cultivate… even to enter the basics, it will still require five to six years to reach sufficient concentration."

Bai Lang didn't mind speeding things up; a small light sphere appeared on his palm, then Transform into Mad Wind centered on the vehicle, sweeping outward. The endless wind spread to a diameter of dozens of kilometres, reaching the heavens. Yet the wind lasted only a moment and caused virtually no damage—merely bending grass as it passed.

Within the area, previously illusory beings such as wendigos and men in black suddenly caused the grass and shrubs to fall as they moved… A hoarse, eerie roar echoed through the jungle for a moment, accompanied by Bai Lang's distant maniacal laughter.

He has never held malice toward the American people, but is full of malice toward the American government. Even if he didn't manage to kill the crowd on Capitol Hill in Washington or the president at the White House, that would already be quite something, and no one could expect him to relieve America's woes. Now he is simply spicing things up for the Americans; he thinks the Canadian who has stuffed himself on the aunt won't mind…

Although these monsters have taken physical form, their rather thin vital energy means they may not be able to exert their full power, and after materializing they might even be harmed by something—this is Bai Lang's hidden goodwill toward the American people, after all you all carry guns, right? Trust the sprayer in your hand.

Bai Lang can't buy a sprayer, but he can steal one; after stealing, he can just leave some gold. For that reason, Bai Lang has stocked his trailer with plenty of weapons—these days the world isn't great, and many highway patrols no longer patrol. Patrols come and go, and a misstep could make you disappear.

Patrolling during the day is fine, but at night it's best not to drive recklessly; even if you're driving, you must never stop, and you must not pick up those guys who stick out a thumb hoping for a ride—who knows what they are. These have become the tacit small rules, but none of them apply to Bai Lang at all. He roars past on the highway, and indeed there are people who stick out thumbs or even flash a thigh asking for a lift.

Whenever this happens, Bai Lang slows down or even stops, his tiger‑like eyes scanning these semi‑transparent figures up and down; usually at that moment the beings flicker away like a power‑cut projection. Bai Lang dares not exhale, fearing he would sweep these fragile specters away.

When he reaches a city he stays at a motor inn—these places never say much, but they are indeed hideouts for filth. Many motor inns are haunted or simply strange locales… Bai Lang watches the news on a battered TV and finds that the Americans now only report good news, not grievances; they have also censored information about those bizarre fierce ghosts harming people, so the news shows nothing. At least the major TV stations have none of it.

Discrimination against Chinese people is already public, but no one has yet dared to discriminate against Bai Lang; generally when he checks into a motor inn, the owner is usually already unconscious, remaining so until he leaves.

A single strike of the Cloud‑Water Spear eradicated the sea's oddities, directly turning them into a capital vista; this time the power of the long spear must have exceeded a limit, allowing it to recreate its master's appearance. Indeed, a thousand years later people can still see the visage of the Han‑end first great general, making everyone who witnesses it feel as if in a dream.

It can now be confirmed that this great general stands about two metres tall; the conversion from the historical records is accurate. Unfortunately his face cannot be seen, but his massive beard already proves the records weren't wrong; the past's pretty‑face must be revised, heavily revised. The sea‑splitting, sky‑cracking force he displays is extraordinary; if anyone in the Three Kingdoms era could still face him, they would be close to this level.

Now the problem is solved; perhaps the rampant fierce ghosts were even worse during the late Han and Three Kingdoms, making people of that era super strong—this can be indirectly proven by the so‑called breathing method obtained from coffins. So why didn't they achieve any results? The clever ones also considered the concentration of heavenly‑earth Qi—there are many who write brain‑twisting web novels in this world, one category being "Spiritual Qi Revival."

The second night he went to a small town near Dong Jing; this place periodically loses people, and there are bizarre phenomena like humans turning into giant snails, as well as self‑growing spiral long houses—things that cannot be explained. The result was merely a strike of the long spear, not even Bai Lang's phantom appeared; the spear struck the ground, causing the earth to collapse and completely fill the cavity below, and the spiral clouds above were swept clean.

Only when facing the city shrouded in mist, with balloon‑like human heads flying in the sky and humanoid caves on the cliffs, does the long spear once again manifest the Han‑end first great general. The sound of hooves in the fog is like a sudden rain. The spear shoots straight up, ripping the mist. The inverted spear is instantly grasped by a hand, and from the fog a senior general charges out, a prized horse with a carved saddle, bow and arrows at his side, an iron mace slanted on the saddle, and his face beneath the helmet still concealed in shadow…

Faintly one can glimpse the lips on that massive beard and the two hanging eyebrows beneath the helmet's white tiger, accompanied by a ferocious roar; the peerless general urges his horse forward, thrusting the spear as if the heavens were splitting, the cliff before him collapses, a hundred‑plus‑metre wall turning to rubble, and the spear simultaneously shreds the mist, causing the ghostly balloon‑like human heads to vanish…

All of this is an unsolvable strangeness; the guy who drew it all has already been dragged to the strategy headquarters for repeated questioning… The entire Ri Ben strange lands are countless; thanks to years of economic stagnation, most small and medium cities are shrinking, with the majority of the population concentrated in a few urban clusters. Thus the terrifying fierce ghosts in those small towns haven't killed many people—the few strange sites that were cleared were all in similar small towns.