Chapter 741: Chapter Five: Bai Lang

One way to earn money is to sing in the underground passage—problem is it at least needs 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… "If you're tone‑deaf and go sing, that's a real waste of water," Bai Lang recalled his own memory, "My damn father was a pop singer; I only remember those short tunes—something like the Qin King's Battle‑Breaking Music, that huge piece I can never fully recall."

He hasn't heard it many times, but recalling memories is possible, though that would waste too much time and energy—let him pull it out when he someday becomes a respected old artist… As for the xiangsheng sketches in his memory, he'd have to be an actor or someone in that trade; at his current performance level he can only smash a pot. The performances suitable for Bai Lang are just showing off coolness, or action movies that don't require much acting.

"Alas, the world has no patron of talent…," Bai Lang sighed, having almost decided to head south; before that he'd first see if there were any shady characters nearby to borrow some money from.

These days electronic payments dominate; those who still carry large sums of cash are either old‑school types or a few who operate outside the law—cash is harder to trace, so many who make a side hustle still use cash transactions. Bai Lang let out a sigh; in the Half Basement of this 1960s‑70s era residential complex, no matter how he loiters outside, he won't encounter those criminal types—the Chaoyang masses are very powerful.

One plan came to mind: after thinking of the Chaoyang masses, Bai Lang naturally thought of the Chaoyang District Rinpoche, and then reasonably shifted to scamming the Rinpoche for money and weapons—Capital (Jingcheng) indeed has many mixed‑Lama operations, so wild Rinpoche are plentiful, and this place also has many rich people, so many believe in such stuff. Robbing these fake Rinpoche is a merit, Bai Lang felt as if a revelation struck 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 get my answer. Now I'll make a few fake Rinpoche earn money, and the old Buddha will thank me for clearing out the heretical sects."

With the idea settled, Bai Lang felt instantly at ease; even a penniless man would find this hard. "Let's play for three days first, and also test the waters to see which fake Rinpoche in Chaoyang District have profitable routes." Capital (Jingcheng) indeed has many fun spots; when Bai Lang was in university (a 211 school) he studied the sciences, but scientific training didn't help his martial practice, so over the years he simply returned all his post‑middle‑school scientific knowledge to his teachers.

A person's richest knowledge comes from his senior‑year of high school; maintaining that level through university is fine, and after entering society knowledge gradually declines—a common fate, and Bai Lang before his transmigration was no different. Bai Lang studied at a 211 university in Capital (Jingcheng), but his job sent him back to his hometown. He knows well which places in Capital (Jingcheng) are worth visiting, so during those three days he roamed everywhere, mainly hanging out in Panjiayuan.

Listening to the stall owners babble and watching gullible customers fall for it is quite entertaining; Bai Lang strictly followed the rules to enjoy the fun, which lifted his spirits.

By listening to the stall owners' chatter and his own banter with them, Bai Lang got a sense of the situation of several Rinpoche in Chaoyang District—scammers always understand other scammers…

On the night of the third day, Bai Lang hummed a tune as he arrived in Chaoyang District, holding a Notebook that listed several names and addresses. "I have to move faster; tonight I'll probably hit more than three places—these three Rinpoche temples likely won't yield much, I need to go into their caves. By the way, do those foolish followers know whether their master has a secret room?"

Bai Lang arrived at the first temple, a duplex apartment on the top floor, arranged as a Tibetan esoteric sect altar. Bai Lang knows little about the esoteric sect and can't tell if it's authentic, but many followers there truly follow a Rinpoche and his "disciple." He casually put on a Mask, flipped up his Hood, and wore Labor Gloves—though his martial skill leaves no skin flakes behind, just in case.

Bai Lang entered and let out a Lion's Roar; the roar was not loud but deeply resonant—outside the room it was inaudible, yet inside it reverberated like rolling thunder, and in an instant everyone present collapsed. Bai Lang walked among the fallen, noticing many people wore red offering pouches containing cash, which he bluntly seized. All the Gold Beads offered on the altar and the money in the Merit Box were also swept clean.

Finally he carried the Rinpoche and his "disciple" out, one in each hand; the duped fools behind would remain unconscious for at least two or three hours, enough time for him to finish. Bai Lang stood by the window, taking in the positions of all Camera Heads, then took an unconventional route—using Lightness Skill to leap across eaves and walls, he lifted the two to a spot out of sight. "Slap! Slap!" he delivered two ear‑slaps, mainly a thin thread of Internal Force that woke the two and sealed their acupoints.

"I ask, you answer; if you don't cooperate I'll kill you right here in the mountain," Bai Lang crouched, looking at the Rinpoche through the Mask's eye holes. The Rinpoche's Internal Force was being remotely controlled by Bai Lang; for a master of his caliber, detached Internal Force still obeys Divine Sense—a trivial matter, otherwise how could one's body traverse millions of miles in an instant? It is precisely Divine Travel Eight Extremes, and the intention follows.

The guy's mouth could speak, "Where is your money? I mean the cash not in the bank." Bai Lang asked. He only needed a few million he could carry away. One million weighs about twenty‑odd jin; at over a meter tall, if Bai Lang didn't mind the bulk, he could easily haul tens of millions. The Rinpoche remained defiant, staying silent and even trying to shout.

Without hesitation, Bai Lang snapped one of the "disciple's" arms—poor guy couldn't even scream; after a harsh sound a bean‑sized sweat droplet rolled down. The Rinpoche's own arm was now pinched by Bai Lang's fingers; he could see the smile in the eyes behind the Mask, indicating he truly didn't mind hurting people, and likely didn't mind killing either.

A con‑artist, especially one who exploits religion, must be slick‑tongued and perceptive; the Rinpoche immediately spilled everything like beans from a bamboo tube. "Yo, you really can bring in money. I have over three million at home." Bai Lang had only received a few ten‑thousands before, never expecting this Rinpoche to have already amassed hundreds of millions, with three million cash hidden at his residence…