Chapter 585: Stirring Up Trouble

Bai Lang himself does remember where Lu Bu's tomb is—after all, back then he was one of the people who buried Lu Bu, so of course he knows its location. He recalls that at the time they also prepared a coffin and casket for Lu Bu, and the burial chamber was fairly large, though it was just a simple layout of passage–chamber–left and right side rooms. Besides Lu Bu's armor and battle robe, the items buried with him included his Fangtian Halberd, as well as some pottery figurines and Gold Beads and the like.

Of course the tombstone, epitaph, and some inscriptions inside the chamber were later commissioned to Zhong Yao to write; the most important thing is that Bai Lang's White Tiger Battle Intent occupies the tomb, acting as its guardian. But with the passage of time, Lu Bu's tomb has long been flooded… Rivers have repeatedly changed course, bringing massive alluvial silt, so the tomb is now buried under thick earth and has become part of a lake's bottom.

If they could locate and excavate this tomb, that Fangtian Halberd might become a nation‑protecting divine weapon comparable to the Yunshui Spear. Unfortunately, GuanYu's Cold‑Elegant Saw and ZhangFei's Snake Spear are truly missing—perhaps their respective graves could yield them? The state has turned its attention to the place most likely to house a divine weapon—the Mausoleum of the First Emperor. Though Xi'an is an ancient capital, not a single strange site appears within a hundred li around it.

That may be why something here is suppressing the region…

In short, as long as the state holds something, it feels untroubled. It can also cherry‑pick benefits—events around the state cannot be ignored, but they cannot be ignored for free. Those small nations have lost social order because of the strange places, so the great powers must assume responsibility, not only eradicating those strange sites but also effectively governing the regions. After all, the Han standard bronze pillars have existed since antiquity, so reclaiming the Baiyue lands is a perfectly normal action.

Going west would likely lead straight to the Western Sea (the Inland Sea), while to the north there is no room for expansion—any Far East that can flee has already escaped into China's territory, or managed to catch a plane to parts of Europe; none remain locally, a hundred to one, and the snowfield specters here are truly unsolvable. To the east, the four Han commanderies may be unrecoverable, but now there seems a chance to intervene; to the south, the entire South China Sea may become an inland sea. Yet directly ruling those countries is unnecessary…

The Long Spear this time heads south, wiping out the southern little demons and head‑hunting killings; the local sorcerers have long been exterminated—these strange places clearly arise in or near where those sorcerers lived, devouring them instantly—even if they possessed no skill at all. The strange sites here are fiercely brutal, harvesting lives at a terrifying speed, resembling a deadly contagion.

"Meme infection...." the expert concluded after learning this—once heard, seen, or known, one gets infected; yet for experts near the coffin or the Long Spear, this strange phenomenon is a doorstep delivery. After a tiger's roar, the little ghosts thousands of li away scatter and never reincarnate, and the strange site collapses in an instant… You rage through memes, and you are undone by memes.

At this moment Bai Lang is at Prince's Point in Wales; he has casually abandoned his car, and within a hundred‑plus kilometers he is probably alone, the original residents of Welsh City having fled completely—there weren't many to begin with. The sky is gloomy, the sea before him roils, and something vague flickers beneath the waves. All this brings only a desolate dread, yet Bai Lang feels not a hint of fear.

Joke—he is the sole master of interior scenes, and in today's world he could annihilate the world alone; creating massive destruction is not hard at all. With his Internal Force and his martial arts, he could raise a raging storm sweeping a thousand li without issue, winds exceeding 250 km/h that would tear everything apart. But is it necessary? Bai Lang has no interest in such meaningless devastation.

"The lethality is completely excessive, yet it lacks any intuitive deterrent," Bai Lang mutters to the sea before him. He then takes a step, standing steadily on the water's surface. Wherever his gaze falls, the once‑roaring waves are smoothed by a force, the sea becoming as flat as a mirror. Bai Lang walks leisurely across the sea; though his pace seems slow, in half an hour he has already crossed the Bering Strait and set foot on the Chukchi Peninsula.

"Whoa, back to Asia," Bai Lang pauses on the frozen ground, turns to face the distant North American continent, and with one hand makes a slight twist, invisible wind spiraling around his palm and arm. "Go." His Internal Force draws the qi between heaven and earth, then surges from his body like an endless torrent, yet it does not spawn a raging hurricane; instead a cylindrical vortex shoots horizontally across the sea surface.

The vortex crosses the ocean in just a few minutes; once it reaches the skies over North America, it shatters into threads of light wind that mingle with the northern cold wind, drifting southward… wherever the light wind passes, ghosts wail. "Add some seasoning, hahahaha." Bai Lang laughs uproariously; all he's done is tweak the North American death rate a bit, moving the percentage of those who die in strange places leftward by a single decimal point.

No problem; North America's population is close to 400 million, so a few hundred thousand deaths are nothing, not even reaching the Soviet death rate of World II.

Bai Lang's movement across the northern no‑man's land is unbelievably swift, as if he merges with the wind, the Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist stirring a cold breeze southward. Upon entering the nation's borders, Bai Lang finally returns to civilized society; he is now eating and drinking in a Northeastern tavern, glancing at the large LCD TV on the wall. "Boss, what program is this?" As a hulking man, Bai Lang stands out even in the Northeast, but the boss isn't afraid of him robbing the place.

"Eh? Seeing you like this, big brother, joining this program sounds great," the boss's daughter says, eyes brightening. "What program?" Bai Lang asks. "A casting call. It's for the co‑produced drama 'White Tiger'—we're selecting roles. There aren't many actors who can play the late‑Han Three Kingdoms' top warrior Bai Lang, so we're holding a casting." The girl chatters on. Bai Lang replies, "A casting call, huh. Yeah, portraying the top warrior of the late Han isn't easy."

"Yeah, yeah, and there's also an image restriction. That nation‑protecting divine weapon has shown us what the real Bai Lang looks like several times!"

"There really is such a thing…." Bai Lang pretends to be just learning, teasing the girl; the boss also catches himself smiling secretly. The girl, probably a high‑schooler at most, eagerly plays a video on the smart TV. "Here." Bai Lang looks at the shadow of Bai Lang projected by the Yunshui Spear, "Can't see the face, huh." He laughs, "But that big beard and hanging eyebrows—there aren't many actors who can pull that off, just like an instant‑noodle head."