Chapter 738: Just Keep Going Like That

For the so‑called divine weapons, Bai Lang actually has no special thoughts; to him it's always that the present surpasses the past—"A weapon for cutting people, those forged of spring steel in this era are far stronger than the ancient so‑called hundred‑tempered treasure swords. Is metallography and heat treatment something only the White‑Haired Zhan knows? Even modern glass‑fiber recurve bows with nylon strings and aluminum‑alloy arrows are no less accurate or powerful than the finely crafted strong bows of antiquity."

At Panjiayuan counterfeit goods run rampant, even weapons are basically fakes, so Bai Lang tried a few arrowheads. "The rust looks pretty solid, like an old item that's been soaking in water for a long time. But this thing was probably soaked in some chemical solution, right?" Bai Lang pinched it and set the arrowhead down—he doesn't want the genuine article anyway, and it's most likely a fake.

The most common weapons here are swords and knives, with bows only in rare cases; Bai Lang could tell at a glance that these bows are merely decorative, made to look old and useless in combat. Most of the swords are bronze, 100 % counterfeit yet their appearance can still deceive, "The verdigris and the ingrained marks, the edge feels okay when you run a finger over it. These knives are all iron—there's a wide variety, from Han‑period ring‑head swords to Tang swords, even Song hand swords and Ming waist knives, but the fittings have a few flaws."

The overall impression is that these items are all rust‑spotted; the newer they appear, the higher the proportion of genuine pieces, yet the quality is mediocre—back then they weren't treasure swords, just substandard gear from the Ministry of Works. Whether real or fake, Bai Lang can't afford even one. As he walks and looks, he surprisingly spots a Great Guan Dao.

This one is actually genuine, because forging a fake would be too foolish—the guandao is identical to the one in the Guan Di Temple, except it's forged entirely of iron, meant for strength training rather than combat. Bai Lang clicks his tongue in amazement, not expecting it to have survived to the present, and the stall owner, being sincere, says it's a Late Qing relic.

He didn't claim it was GuanYu's weapon from the late Han/Three Kingdoms era, assuming the shoppers at Panjiayuan aren't that gullible. Bai Lang, of course, isn't either; he just chuckles, picks up the weapon, and feels its weight. "Hey, buddy, this isn't a toy. If you twist your waist or something, you'll have to foot the medical bill yourself."

Bai Lang goes with the flow; he lifts the Great Guan Dao with one hand, tests its balance, then sets it down. "This weight is heavier than a genuine 'Cold‑Elegant' saw, truly a good tool for strength training." The stall owner and the onlookers give a thumbs‑up. "Sir, impressive strength." Panjiayuan can indeed eat up time; as Bai Lang watches, he nearly spends half the day there. "Do you have this one too?"

"Yes, we really do." The idle onlooker finished his sentence. The stall displayed a full set of Ultraman figurines, even Dinosaur Express Kexi figurines, of course a range of "ancient" toys, the most abundant being the boxed G1 Transformers. Bai Lang felt like a child again, crouching to look, too afraid to touch them because he couldn't afford to replace them…

After a pleasant day, Bai Lang also treated himself to a good meal—of course the American‑style fried chicken only found in the Capital—he bought five drumsticks and a few cans of beer, enjoying a decidedly unhealthy feast.

At dawn, he was selected again as an extra and boarded a minibus for the second time. It was the same film studio, only this time set on a seemingly authentic ancient street, presumably for a costume drama. As usual, Bai Lang was assigned the role of a butcher among the extras, standing on one side of the street selling meat—of course the meat was fake, made entirely of silicone or resin props, and even the cleaver was rubber.

Bai Lang learned from other extras that real props had caused accidents before, so now any sword‑type prop is made of rubber. "Well, safety first," he thought. This time the setup was even cruder: they gave him a shirt, an apron, and a head‑covering that looked like a cloth wrap; the makeup artist never does makeup for extras, and the costumes just need to be thrown on.

Even though the extras' own clothes and shoes were obviously mismatched, the crew didn't care. Not only Bai Lang, who stood in a fixed spot with a meat‑stall set blocking half his body, but also the roaming extras, merely slipped into costume; their shoes remained unchanged—regardless of gender, everyone wore headpieces, and a few prop handlers adjusted things so the look wasn't too awkward.

This time was even more outrageous: the male and female leads didn't arrive until 1 p. m., truly star‑studded to the extreme. Over the past few days Bai Lang had crammed up on some knowledge, learning that these leads are the currently popular internet‑famous stars—some from talent shows, some from formal training, but all sharing the typical celebrity style.

The leads each have a dedicated makeup van—one per person—plus a nanny van, a rest van, staff vehicles, and so on; by the time filming could start it was already 3 p. m. Bai Lang peeked and saw the director looking on the verge of exploding, but there's nothing he can do: the producer, the celebrity stars, and their agencies hold all the power; the director is merely a tool.

The cast that emerged were also effeminate types—slender, delicate‑faced men and genuinely beautiful artificial beauties—of course they were already good‑looking, just tweaked a bit. Bai Lang stared at the costumes before him; though he's lost hope for his own garb, he sighs at the leads' outfits, "The prop art is absurd, but we can't blame them; blame the producer and the director instead."

The leads here, the effeminate men, are all rude fellows, all hair‑uncovered, essentially disheveled; the female leads are all mixed‑kiln types, their makeup and attire wholly fox‑charming, unlike the courtesans Bai Lang remembers. Whatever, it's none of his business—just a fellow extra earning sixty bucks a day.

Bai Lang chatted with two extras—a man in his thirties and a woman in her twenties—who were pretending to buy meat at his stall. They gossiped about the leads. In any case, a few gestures with their hands wouldn't draw the camera's focus.

This time it looks like more role‑playing is coming—apparently the director persuaded the producer and the studio to shoot extra night scenes to catch up, and the producer, displeased with today's situation, had a few "discussions" with the companies. The leads even performed their lines properly; surprisingly, one of the effeminate actors actually bowed half‑heartedly to the extras, showing a bit of courtesy.

Before everyone took their places, the assistant director and the script supervisor ran around, jotting down notes; the assistant director, in particular, kept glancing at Bai Lang several times…