Chapter 735: Yo

These two martial arts, the largest user group is the military police and other strong departments; practicing martial arts is not something everyone can get into, even if nutrition is sufficient now and even electric stimulation can assist training, it's still the same. Most people in their lifetime can only achieve forming the small heavenly circuit, which makes daily life light and healthy, sharp hearing and clear Ming, basically not getting sick is already good.

Reaching this level, living to eighty-something years old without illness or disaster is quite probable; there's no problem if one's personal strength doesn't improve—after all, most people, when they realize they're not special and have limits, may feel disappointed but eventually accept it. Martial arts fanatics are few.

Actually, everyone can achieve the great heavenly circuit and possess extraordinary strength, but most people cannot endure the day‑after‑day, year‑after‑year painstaking practice with single‑minded devotion—even if they have superb talent, such rigorous training is unavoidable. In the past such harshness wasn't needed, but now vital energy is thin, so to reach the level of former entry‑level disciples one must train diligently and suffer.

Fortunately, the medicinal decoction needed to practice the first three levels of Golden Bell Shield and Iron Cloth Shirt is easy to obtain nowadays, and single‑minded painstaking practice has never been an issue among the military and police. Therefore, the success rate here is much higher than outside, and those who succeed are divided into several grades, with the best certainly selected for special units.

On the special‑operations battlefield these people are extremely useful—their greater strength lets them carry more weapons, ammunition and other gear, not to mention their superior defense and endurance, especially defense: a bare body can withstand ordinary 9mm pistol bullets and shrapnel. It's not that the bullets can't penetrate; rather, the wounds that would pierce an ordinary person only lodge the bullet in their muscle.

Against ordinary people wielding sharp weapons, to them it's merely a nick in the skin; wearing a high‑strength fiber undershirt makes cold weapons almost ineffective. Combined with their superior athleticism and endurance, they are absolute anti‑terror weapons. These people can train to unite Golden Bell Shield and Iron Cloth Shirt, re‑creating the Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield, but the highest they can reach is only the fourth level.

Achieving the fourth level makes conventional weapons ineffective; even small‑caliber firearms can be blocked by a bulletproof vest without plates, making movement more flexible. Moreover, mastering the fourth level of Thirteen Tai Bao surely grants strength beyond ordinary; according to physical‑exam data and projected calculations, those who reach this stage can healthily live to about 150 years old and maintain a prime condition for at least eighty years.

That is, one can keep the physical state of a 35‑ to 40‑year‑old until past 120, after which aging proceeds like a normal person's decline from around 40, but even at 150 the condition is likely still far better than that of a 100‑year‑old.

What is this? This is the foundation of longevity—practice can grant long life, and is there anything better? The only issue is that not everyone can endure the boredom and pain of training, and not everyone possesses enough martial wisdom to combine the two arts; even if the steps are laid out, sufficient insight is still needed to fully grasp them.

Bai Lang was sitting cross‑legged in the void at this moment, the starlight around him twisted; his martial arts cultivation had reached this point—he had achieved the Unique, around him was a huge golden bell with a white tiger coiled, protecting him as he drifted in the endless void. At this moment, mentioning the Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield and the Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist was Bai Lang, and no one else.

This guy is also beginning to substantiate the title of White Tiger Star Lord, apparently intending to rely on White Tiger Star Lord to become an Other Shore Big Shot. "I say this is taking off your pants to fart—we've been the Unique from the start, why bother with this extra road?" Bai Lang was in a tavern at this moment; the one spouting this view was a man wearing special armor, a special robe, and a lifted visor with a special light‑blocker.

This man also looks ordinary, with a long spear beside him—not really a projectile weapon, more like a space weapon. "I am Yisitewude, and I was once emperor of the Galactic Empire, huh, that's exactly the dingdingdingdingdingding, dingdingdingding Galactic Empire." He hummed a little tune, and Bai Lang immediately knew which Galactic Empire he meant.

Only these two are in the tavern now; Bai Lang put his feet on the table, "Yo, Your Majesty." Watching Yisitewude fiddle with a palm‑sized model, he asked, "Force?" The emperor shook his head: "Ruling the galaxy only needs an iron fist; Force is useless. I don't have that."

Afterwards he casually tossed aside a thing: "Blast Energy Gun, usable in most worlds. Basically it's a plasma emitter; its flight speed isn't all that fast." Bai Lang also picked up the gun, examined it, then returned it to the emperor, and on the side brought him a cup of wine. Speaking purely of strength, ten Yisitewude emperors combined couldn't beat one Bai Lang, yet this emperor naturally possesses a deep, terrifying ability in his body, which Bai Lang also noticed.

Both sides had no grudge, so the chat went on quite happily—mainly Bai Lang inquired about the Walk Heaven Clan's situation, while Yisitewude also asked about martial arts. During this, another person joined, namely Bai Lang's acquaintance: a stern‑faced man in a linen short‑sleeve shirt, whose strength surpassed Bai Lang's, as if he possessed an entire universe—Siwu. qqxδnew

After a while, Siwu said, "Time to go, you won't stay long here." "Still a bit short." He gestured with his hand, saying, "Go on, especially you, Bai Shaobao." Bai Lang sighed, then vanished from the tavern the next moment. "Karmic entanglement, he still has plenty of troubles." Siwu said, "Is there really karma? I thought it was just nonsense from those frauds." Yisitewude said.

"Making too many promises will of course bring karma? Fortunately, if it's just idle talk, it's not a big deal—handle it a little and it's fine. It's up to him to decide." Siwu sighed.

Bai Lang now lay in a posture utterly unbecoming of a martial‑arts master—imitating the act of lying flat like a dog eating feces—yet this person rose as if nothing had happened, brushed off the dust, and naturally there were people around dressed in modern urban attire; Bai Lang had sensed the aura early on. Others wouldn't know he'd appeared out of thin air; they'd think someone walked over and then tripped face‑first into the ground.

Bai Lang's skin is thick as a wall; he just acted as if nothing happened—he was no longer wearing official robes, but had switched to a very sharp outfit: a Breaking Army greatcoat, camouflage pants and camouflage shoes, his hair a mess and his face a little dirty; at a glance he looked like a migrant worker.