Chapter 736: A Flashy Guy

Bai Lang planted his feet, brushed off the dust, and carefully examined his sharp outfit. "Good! Wearing a military coat, camouflage pants, camouflage shoes — either a drifter or a laborer!" He touched his hair, long and messy, his face could still rub off dirt, his beard was also disheveled, showing no heroic look at all, just the get‑up of a sharp‑dressed guy.

"Luckily the clothes are still intact, not torn — this is best." He rummaged in his pocket and actually pulled out a wallet. "Damn, dressed like this and he still has a genuine leather wallet? What's up with this guy?" Bai Lang squeezed the wallet; it was a bit bulging, indicating there was something inside — Bai Lang really didn't want to rely on robbery in this modern society.

Just like the man in the video, Bai Lang hopefully flipped open his wallet, but fortunately he didn't grimace in pain like that man; inside were still a few red bills. "Wow, that's not bad — let me count, there's twelve hundred!" He also pulled out his ID; there was no bank card.

The ID showed indeed a rural address, age about twenty. He knew exactly where he was — this place is the Capital, he's been here many times; just look at the door number, it's obvious, and the road likewise reveals this idiotic design of a stretch of several hundred meters with no crosswalk — where else but the Capital could you find that?

So the question arose — Bai Lang surely didn't own nothing but this bit of cash; he must have a place to live. Otherwise, what's the wallet for? Indeed he did: he pulled out a little notebook from his pocket, with several names and phone numbers, and of course an address. Following the address, he found it was a half‑basement.

The place was divided into a dozen or so cubicles, and Bai Lang seemed to occupy one of them. He pushed the door open to find just a bed, a table, and a chair — total area about seven or eight square meters; under the bed was a washbasin, and beside it a small rack holding towels and clothes. "What the hell? A shared‑rental unit."

Bai Lang grabbed his messy hair and sighed a few times, never expecting to have fallen to this level; on the table lay a charging phone with a cracked screen. He took off his clothes and, from the simple wardrobe, pulled out a clean set of underwear — at least his habit of washing clothes was still okay.

There was a place to bathe here, but it was far away and sometimes you had to queue. Bai Lang finally got his turn, paid, and went in — the landlord even charged for a shower. After washing up, he naturally also inhaled and exhaled the world's qi: "You can't cultivate martial arts in this world; the ambient qi is lively, but only those above the innate level can mobilize it, so beginner arts can't be practiced."

Bai Lang sighed, then used his palm to trim his long hair and shave his beard. After cleaning up and lying on the bed, he began to ponder how to make a living — really couldn't rely on robbery; judging by the little booklet in his hand, it seemed he previously survived by doing extra work.

"No way? To be this miserable? I'd rather be Wang Mouqiang? Wait, this is the 2010s." Bai Lang flipped through the magazine under the table; the actors looked somewhat off, the familiar names from his memory were wrong. So this world had no Wang Mouqiang, but there were others who rose from grass‑roots extra work to stardom.

Bai Lang had previously made a living as an extra; after failing to get into college after high school, he'd drifted to the Capital. "What a waste! Can't even get into college?" He cursed, flipping through the numbers in his notebook, when his phone rang: "Hey hey! Tomorrow at five a. m., don't forget the usual spot." Before he could answer, the phone blurted out the line and hung up.

"What's the old spot? These days do you still have to queue at the Beijing Film Academy gate to be a Beijing drifter? Shouldn't you be going to Hengdian?" Bai Lang was curious, but whatever. Anyway, the next morning he got up at four, washed up, put on an ordinary jacket and jeans, and could only wear his camouflage shoes — the other clothes he'd washed and left to dry.

"Such an expert still has to hand‑wash his clothes! Am I the only one sunk this low?" Bai Lang muttered, yet he put his superb lightness skill to use — to avoid drawing attention, he disguised it as jogging, running just a bit faster than usual with abundant energy. At a steady pace — which for ordinary folks would be a sprint — he ran from his lodging straight to the Beijing Film Academy gate, relying entirely on phone navigation.

Bai Lang arrived and saw quite a crowd, but not many were as tall and bulky as he — actually, his build wasn't suited for extra work; being too tall and heavy, extras ideally stand around 1.7 m and weigh about 120 lb, otherwise they'd steal the "presence" of the leads and supporting roles.

Bai Lang knew his presence was too strong — as soon as he arrived, everyone's eyes were on him. Now he had sword‑like brows, starry eyes, a nose like a hanging gallbladder; he could be called a fine martial man, especially fitting ancient male aesthetics. Such a bold fellow would likely not land an extra role… but he had another idea: "If you don't cast me as the lead, I'll bankrupt you."

Confidence is good, but reality isn't like that — right in front of Bai Lang was the extra‑crew chief, thumping his shoulders with a "bang bang bang," saying, "Shorter, shorter, too tall and they don't want you." This greasy‑looking uncle seemed okay enough? Anyway, they all lived off the extras' blood, and Bai Lang didn't care whether he was good or not.

All that thumping really embarrassed an expert like Bai Lang, yet he was also a peculiar sort — he really shrank his stature, adopting the pose of an old ruffian from the imperial city's alleys, hands tucked in, head bowed, neck shrunk, waiting to be picked. "Want to learn from the King of Comedy?" he wondered, but then the thought "Shit! You're a pile of shit!" popped into his mind.

Remembering that embarrassing forced smile, Bai Lang was speechless for a moment, let out a long sigh — fortunately he'd never sunk to that point, where one had to grin while being insulted and hold back tears; that's not something a tough guy like him could do. Thinking about this and that, suddenly the crew chief hauled him onto the bread van: "Is there work to go?" Bai Lang was quite surprised.