Chapter 762: Chapter One: Such Little Thieves

After Bai Lang, no one stepped onto the continent again; instead, he jokingly struck a few "ground mice" on the sea—those big black fish that swim around in the ocean. A single palm strike could not compress the water, so the force was transmitted directly to the hollow black fish, and thus, amid the twisting and breaking sounds of steel or titanium plates and the crew's screams, they turned into wreckage on the seabed. As for whether there would be a nuclear leak? It's just a little firecracker of humanity, nothing at all to the Earth.

Penglai Island vanished without a trace one morning, taking the Immortal and the Martial Saint with it, never to appear again. Yet the world's situation had already inevitably shifted: the Western Ang Sa's Mandate had ended, and history returned to its original inertia.

"Then I'll be off. Let's cooperate again if the chance comes." Zhou Xianda and Bai Lang also said their farewells, each heading to their own destination. A pair of old dogs together isn't much fun, is it? Bai Lang sat cross‑legged in the void, stabilizing his form with a breath of true Qi. He gazed at the countless stars before him; each speck of starlight was an entire world. Bai Lang exhaled a long breath, his joints cracking with a clatter.

In the next instant, a star in front of him suddenly enlarged and slammed into Bai Lang, blackening his vision… Bai Lang still cannot move freely in taverns, so he won't linger long in the void.

"Now he's a youth again." Bai Lang's beard and hair were all swept away upon entry, his body compressed once more, looking exactly like a teenager. Having cultivated to this level, reversing age is not hard; it just requires a helping hand from the new world. "These tattered rags—didn't expect the clothes to survive the crossing." No need to check the water; Bai Lang already knows he looks like a beggar now.

"The first crossing made me a beggar, and now I'm a beggar again—truly the Way's good cycle." Bai Lang was unfazed. He looked around and realized he was by a magistrate road; the hard‑packed rammed earth could not be modern society. The ancient world felt quite comfortable, and the world's qi was lively; although the ceiling is limited, perhaps Daoist arts and immortal techniques could still manifest.

The beggar Bai Lang strode along the road, and soon spotted a stall by a forest edge bearing a flag with the character "Tea". The place was a thatched shed of wood and straw, with a few long benches and two tables; deeper inside, an old man boiled water for tea, while an old woman guarded a basket of pastries waiting for customers. Inside the tea stall were already two patrons, both middle‑aged paupers, dressed a little better than this beggar.

Although Bai Lang now looked thirteen or fourteen, his height was not short—about five chi—and his bearing was like a dragon and tiger stride, yet onlookers could only say this beggar was truly tough. A glance of his eyes told him they were likely from the Tang era—just look at the headdresses on their heads. Bai Lang's own head was now bright, prickly to the touch, his eyebrows a short strip, no beard at all, which only made his appearance more handsome and upright.

Seeing his own clothes in tatters, Bai Lang simply didn't bother entering, feeling uncomfortable. He fumbled in his pocket for a while and only found the modern replica Chongning Tongbao he had slipped in when he left—this thing is made of modern brass, essentially a brass disc machined by a CNC, far better in quality than cast copper coins. "I'm a bit reluctant; this thing could be worth a hundred coins now. By the way, can this money be used?"

Bai Lang was still squatting outside, pondering, when the old man inside handed him a bowl of water, "Little official, have a bowl of water." Bai Lang took it, "Thank you, sir." He drank it down in a few gulps, "May I ask, sir, what year is it now? And where is this place?" The elder sized him up; although Bai Lang's clothes were ragged, the material was actually fine—high‑quality cotton, which is hard to find these days.

"It's currently the year of Zhao's governance," the old man said, "and eighty li ahead lies Kaifeng Prefecture." Hearing this, Bai Lang realized this was the Zhao‑Song dynasty; which emperor ruled didn't matter—any Northern Song emperor wasn't worth his life. All Zhao‑Song emperors were known for being weak and incompetent, perhaps Emperor Shenzong was a bit better; Emperor Taizu was another story, not counted among them.

From the Gaoliang River God Emperor Taizong onward, a "but incompetent" trait clung tightly to every Zhao official's character. Moreover, the Zhao‑Song attitude toward martial men meant no one would want to serve them—only Emperor Gaozong of Song could possibly muster such nonsense. How could a good man like Bai Lang be used by such people? He thanked the elder, produced a copper coin, and handed it to the old sir, "Can this money buy a pancake?"

"Enough, enough." The old sir looked at the golden‑yellow coin in his hand; the iron‑etched silver‑hook characters were clear, a coin he'd never seen before. He reached into the old woman's basket and pulled out five large pancakes, handing them to Bai Lang. Bai Lang bowed, took the pancakes, and walked along the main road. At a bend he used Lightness Skill to cover twenty‑plus li, then could no longer rush—because the road was crowded with carts, horses, and pedestrians, all heading into the city.

At this time Bianjing City was probably the world's largest city, with a population near 1.5 million; such a populace meant a huge daily flow of people. A beggar's garb was nothing unusual here; Bai Lang walked alone when he saw dozens of men, women, and children turn off the road into a nearby grove. "Jianghu friends? Not my concern." Bai Lang instantly recognized they all possessed martial skills; a gathering of martial people could only be a "friend‑splitting" meeting or something similar.

Sure enough, not far away, faint metallic clangs and cries echoed from the grove—a large‑scale melee had begun. Entering the city, Bai Lang looked around this so‑called "first‑level" city, "a true Qingming Scroll…" From the city gate stretched ten‑plus li of bustling streets, waterways, shops of every kind, and crowds. Bai Lang inhaled deeply, feeling the bustling mortal world's heat—truly a fine place.

This fine place was later pillaged by the Jin, a human tragedy, all blamed on the spineless Zhao officials and equally spineless nobles; Zhao‑Song raised soldiers who turned out to be a gang of shameless cowards. Bai Lang thought of this and decided first to find a livelihood—his plan was to eat the rich's meat. Within Bianjing City lay an underground tunnel network fostering a crime web, with many great thieves prowling; Bai Lang thought he could join a few jobs.