Chapter 740: The Source of Bai Lang's Wealth

There is a way to earn cash by performing in the underground passage—only problem is you need at least a guitar, even if you can't afford an amp you still need a guitar, and Bai Lang has none and doesn't want to buy one… "A tone‑deaf crooner is a real waste of water," Bai Lang recalled his own memory, "My damn dad was a pop singer; I only remember those short tunes—something like the Qin King's battle‑breaking music, that massive piece I can never fully recall."

He's only heard it a few times, and recalling it is possible, but that would waste too much time and effort—let him bring it out when he someday becomes a venerable old artist… As for the comic sketches in his memory, he'd need to be an actor or a troupe member; at his present performance level he can only smash a pot. The only acting suited to Bai Lang is striking a cool pose, or low‑acting martial‑arts films.

"Alas, the world has no talent‑spotters…" Bai Lang sighed, nearly resolved to go south, but first he'd check the neighborhood for any shady characters and ask them for a loan.

Nowadays electronic payments are ubiquitous; anyone still carrying large cash sums is either an old‑school figure or a few who aren't doing legitimate work—cash is harder to trace, so many side‑hustlers still deal in cash. Bai Lang sighed; in the Half Basement of this 1960s‑70s residential block, no matter how he wanders outside he won't meet those criminal types—the Chaoyang Crowd's influence is massive. 【untranslatable gibberish】

There is a plan: after thinking of the Chaoyang Crowd, Bai Lang naturally thought of the Chaoyang District Rinpoche, and then reasonably turned to scamming Rinpoches for money and guns—Capital (Jingcheng) indeed has many mixed‑Lama operations, so wild Rinpoches are abundant, and the area also has plenty of rich people, so many believe in such things. Robbing these fake Rinpoches is a merit, Bai Lang felt as if enlightenment flooded him. "I'm not even afraid of the real Dharma King appearing; whether I can return alive to the Buddha Realm depends on whether I agree. Now I'm making a fortune off a few fake Rinpoches, and the Old Buddha will thank me for clearing his heretical filth."

With the plan set, Bai Lang felt instantly at ease; even a cash‑poor man would find this hard. "Play for three days first, and meanwhile scope out which fake Rinpoches in Chaoyang District have profitable paths." Capital (Jingcheng) indeed has many entertaining spots; when Bai Lang attended a 211 university he majored in science, but scientific training proved useless for martial arts, so over the years he simply returned all his post‑middle‑school science knowledge to the teachers.

A person's most abundant knowledge comes from his senior‑year high school; keeping it through university is good enough, and after entering society knowledge slowly wanes—a typical trajectory, and Bai Lang before any transmigration was no different. Bai Lang attended a 211 in the Capital (Jingcheng), though his work sent him back to his hometown. He knows the Capital (Jingcheng)'s hangouts well, and during those three days he idled everywhere, mainly lingering in Panjiayuan.

Listening to the stall owners ramble and watching suckers fall for it is quite entertaining; Bai Lang strictly follows the rules to enjoy the spectacle, which makes his mood even brighter.

By listening to the stall owners' talk and his own banter with them, Bai Lang also got a feel for several Rinpoches in Chaoyang District—scammers always know other scammers…

On the third night, Bai Lang hummed a tune as he arrived in Chaoyang District, a Notebook in hand listing a few names and addresses. "I have to act quickly; tonight I'll probably have to hit three places—these three Rinpoches' temples likely won't yield much, I should go into their caves instead. Do those foolish followers even know whether their master has a secret room?"

Bai Lang arrived at the first temple, a duplex on the top floor set up as a Tibetan esoteric altar. He has little study of the esoteric tradition and can't say whether it's authentic, but many believers there truly follow a Rinpoche and his "disciple." Bai Lang casually donned a Mask, flipped up his Hood, and wore Labor Gloves—though his martial skill leaves him spotless, just in case.

Bai Lang entered and let out a Lion's Roar; the roar wasn't loud but profoundly resonant—outside the room it was unheard, inside it reverberated like rolling thunder, and in the blink of an eye everyone present collapsed. Bai Lang walked among the sprawled bodies, noticing many carried red offering bags filled with money, so he bluntly took them all. All the Gold Beads offered on the altar and the cash in the Merit Box were likewise swept clean.

In the end he hoisted the Rinpoche and his "disciple," one in each hand, out the door, while the duped fools behind would stay unconscious for at least two or three hours—ample time for him to finish his work. Bai Lang stood by the window, taking in the locations of all Camera Heads, then abandoned the ordinary path—leaping across eaves and using Lightness Skill to lift the two to a spot out of sight. "Bang—bang" two slaps, primarily a strand of Internal Force that jolted the two awake and sealed their pressure points.

"I ask, you answer; if you don't cooperate I'll kill you right inside the mountain." Bai Lang crouched, looking at the Rinpoche through the mask's eye holes. The Rinpoche's Internal Force is under Bai Lang's remote control; for a master of his caliber, an out‑of‑body Internal Force still obeys Divine Sense—a trivial matter, otherwise how could one's body traverse millions of moments across thousands of miles? That's precisely Divine Travel Eight Extremes in action.

The guy managed to speak, "Where's your money? I mean the cash not in the bank." Bai Lang asked, his mind set on snatching a few million he could carry. One million is about twenty‑something jin, over a meter tall; if Bai Lang didn't mind the bulk, he could easily haul tens of millions. The Rinpoche, however, remained defiant, silent, even tried to shout.

Bai Lang didn't hesitate, casually snapping a "disciple's" arm off—poor guy couldn't even scream; after a cack a bean‑sized bead of sweat rolled down. The Rinpoche's own arm was now held by Bai Lang's fingers; he could see the smile in the masked man's eyes, clearly showing he didn't mind hurting, perhaps even killing.

Con artists, especially those who exploit religion, need slick tongues and sharp eyes; the Rinpoche instantly spilled everything like beans from a bamboo tube. "Yo, you really can bring money. There's over three million at home." Bai Lang had only received a few ten‑thousands before, never expecting this Rinpoche had already hoarded hundreds of millions, with three million cash hidden at his residence.