Chapter 752: The Shit‑Stirring Stick

Anyway, Bai Lang is always spouting nonsense; he claims his own outer‑door kungfu has reached its pinnacle and he cultivates both inner and outer, but he simply can't stand the term "national martial arts", which, like the so‑called "national studies", has been turned into a stinky label by some people. Moreover, Bai Lang has always thought that combat formations and fighting techniques don't need to be called "national martial arts"—just saying "martial arts" is enough; why insist on a "national" character? It's just like the Four Books and Five Classics are the Four Books and Five Classics, except that trash like the Standards for Being a Good Student also got lumped in, sullying the term "national studies".

Crushing a brick obviously won't draw special police attention; the guy has solid alibi—on the day in question he was sixty kilometers away from the crime scene, and Bai Lang didn't even know the victim, so there was no connection whatsoever, making it impossible to suspect Bai Lang, not even a question needed. There must be others who can crush bricks; didn't anyone hear Bai Lang say that years of hard training are enough?

Of course, this happened after the first episode aired.

The first episode caused quite a stir—everyone was playing games and performing, but nobody expected someone with Bai Lang's off‑beat style; not only did he openly threaten to hit someone on the show, he also literally crushed a brick in front of everyone, flaunting a powerful technique. Most people assumed it was just a production effect, like street performance tricks; that brick was surely a soft one.

Nowadays variety shows mainly sell personas, and any viewer with a brain knows that. They think the program is positioning Bai Lang's image as a tough, rough, strong‑type character, even though his real personality could be completely different. But aren't we just watching for fun?

After the first episode ended, he returned to his rented place; for now no paparazzi were on his trail. Wei Yang called to say a wuxia TV drama wanted him for a main supporting role, and mentioned that the drama he'd been in was about to go live. "Now you'll get to see my majestic bearing," Bai Lang said, settling onto the sofa and casually turning on his rarely‑used TV. Then, as if perfectly normal, a person appeared at one end of his three‑seat sofa, holding a bag of chips as if at home.

Bai Lang turned his head and saw a familiar face; his gathered true qi instantly dispersed. "To slip into this room without any trace of fireworks and sit here so casually—only you could do that." It was the laid‑back, dashing middle‑aged Zhou Xianda, also known as the immortal Qianshan Zhenren. "Nothing much going on, so I came over to lay low. Your rogue master strategist really set a trap; he's not a proper disciple and even crossed the old Buddha. I, Dao master, don't want to share a cell with him, so I just ran off."

"He's going to prison again? Do you think that baboon has a special fondness for jail? Can the Tathagata still trap him now? I'd say at most thirty‑or‑fifty years before he breaks out. My master still can't swallow that." Bai Lang sighed, gossiped, and even let out a slight snicker—his master's ferocity was unmatched, constantly at odds with the rogue, winning some and losing more, but mostly losing; eventually the true form of the Tathagata of the Hongjun Realm in the Endless World stepped in and forced him back.

Bai Lang has roamed countless worlds and never, unlike his master, been locked up; he never wanted that experience. Now Zhou Xianda, the immortal, shows up, and Bai Lang doesn't know whether to be happy or sad—this immortal is equally unreliable; could he bring the captors along? Whether it's the Heavenly Court or the Buddhist Sect, traditionally they're bureaucratically entangled, so his direct disciple going to prison together is practically a matter of heavenly principle.

"Don't worry, they can't get here!" Zhou Xianda said with a grin, giving Bai Lang a reassurance. "Cultivating deeply toward the Dao is fine, but breaking out of the cage isn't that easy." The big shot stretched lazily, munching a handful of chips. "This world isn't bad; it has a bit of heavenly qi, but ordinary people can't pry it up. Huh? By the way, your power is becoming more rounded and wish‑fulfilling, showing progress—probably stronger than those two, like that skeletal ghost."

Bai Lang gave a wry smile, knowing he still couldn't match the guy in front of him—this one was a certified Golden Immortal. "Yo, it's starting. You've become an entertainer now? Hahaha." Zhou Xianda roared with laughter as Bai Lang's image appeared on the TV—he was an early‑stage antagonist, introduced early. Watching himself on screen, Bai Lang felt embarrassed, while Zhou Xianda chuckled, "Not bad; your acting might be the second best here—good thing you don't have a crooked mouth."

Bai Lang steadied himself, and seeing the drama he also smiled, "Wow, didn't expect my acting to be this good—truly a genius actor." Zhou Xianda gave him a sideways look, "I only admire that thick skin of yours."

Zhou Xianda glanced at the burlap sack beside him. "You've brought in a lot of cash; looks illegal, probably robbed." Bai Lang replied offhand, "Of course it's a withdrawal from the Rinpoché Bank."

Zhou Xianda chuckled, "Sure enough, it's the Chaoyang District three‑hundred‑thousand Rinpoché, you can casually turn that into a few million." He muttered lazily, "It's just a ritual to make money." Sitting up straight with a half‑smile he said, "You're fine; martial ways can pry up heavenly qi, I am the heavens. Since I arrived I inevitably infused the qi with spiritual energy; when I leave, things will return to normal."

"It's like a stone dropped into a pond," Zhou Xianda added, "a few odd things will gradually surface."

"This is the moment you bring in money. Truly a villain of the jianghu," Bai Lang said without fear. "Fine, fine, the real appearance will take at least thirty‑to‑fifty years; by then I'll probably be gone and you won't stay. This world will only see a few little devils, then they'll vanish within months." Zhou Xianda grabbed, and a stack of cash instantly materialized in his hand from the sack. "I'm not just taking your money; here's some Gold Beads. By the way, you want to forge a weapon? Give me a million and I'll sort it— a portable iron‑clad soldier, a treasure like the Ruyi Golden Cudgel."

"Ha, I have no fate with that kind of thing. Old master can only use ordinary iron weapons; losing them doesn't sting at all!" Bai Lang thought of his past attempts at forging divine weapons, shook his head, "Besides, my cultivation can gather qi into weapons; the Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist is far from inconvenient!"