Chapter 765: Chapter Four: Peaceful Affairs

After beating up that group of canal workers, Bai Lang also scolded Shi Yi, "You practice your Qi and martial arts daily, yet on the battlefield you can't use any skill; you haven't trained enough!" So he directly increased Shi Yi's daily training by fifty percent, "As long as you don't die while training, train to the death! The Shi family has plenty of wine and meat to replenish Qi, and even medicinal herbs to brew broth that restores blood‑Qi." Bai Lang also knows that in the ordinary world, the foundation for achieving strong martial skills is having enough meat intake.

In this world, elite soldiers cannot train without eating meat; if someone like Shi Dalang practiced this way coming from a poor family, unless a demonic star entered his fate and matched the heavens' steel and earth's demons, he would have already trained himself to death. At this moment Shi Dalang's stature had grown a bit, his frame had become much sturdier, and his body bore tattoos of a soaring dragon and a roaring black tiger—this is exactly why Bai Lang would call the tattoo master a national champion; originally such tattoos on a youth would deform as his body grew—turning from a pig's bristles into a little Peppa Pig is also possible.

But now, within a short time Shi Dalang's height shot up and his physique expanded, yet the dragon‑tiger tattoo showed no deformation at all; instead it seemed to have opened up, looking more vivid and lifelike. That tattoo technique is truly remarkable, and Bai Lang has to admire the master's precision. As for Bai Lang himself, in the past half‑year he has grown tall and robust like a steamed cake, even his hair and eyebrows have become quite long.

On this day, trouble broke out at Shi Family Village— the chieftain of a stronghold on nearby White Head Mountain, the Black‑haired Tiger Liu Sanlang and Liu Ji, robbed more than a hundred shi of beans and wheat that were being transported along the road to Shi Family Village. The money wasn't worth much, but the deed was bad. This Black‑haired Tiger had once received a tribute from Shi Family Village, and normally he wouldn't intercept the caravans traveling to Shi Family Village; if he asked for that hundred‑plus shi of grain, it would be no problem to just give it to him.

But now they actually robbed the road, and this omen is wrong. Shi Yi and Shi Dalang shouted, "Why not rally the village militia to take down the Black‑haired Tiger of White Head Mountain! The thief dares to rob your grandfather's belongings!" Shi Taigong tried to calm them, while also showing some fear, "This Black‑haired Tiger is skilled with a great sword, reputed as the finest hero of the southern Lu…" Before he could finish, Bai Lang laughed, "Taigong, do not worry; I see that Liu Ji is merely a flag‑planting peddler of Seoul."

At this moment Bai Lang's horse lance was finished, its iron core and bamboo shaft lacquered, light yet sturdy, with little flexibility—battle weapons need no elasticity. Shi Dalang's bright silver spear was also completed, likewise a hard‑shafted great spear—soft shafts can produce a spray of spear‑flowers, but that's just a trick and useless; only a hard‑shafted great spear can generate multiple spear‑flowers, which is true close‑combat skill.

Shi Family Village is a good household; they have only about twenty bows, and over a hundred Pu Dao spears, but no armor, no golden drums or flags—if they truly possessed those, they'd be rebels. Bai Lang does not intend to deploy the village militia; he simply took a large Pu Dao and rode out on his horse. Shi Dalang shouted for someone to escort him, but Shi Taigong grabbed Shi Yi and wouldn't let him go.

"Dalang, don't be impatient; I'll be back soon." Bai Lang rode off directly. White Head Mountain is not very high, but its terrain is rather steep; Bai Lang stopped his horse at the foot and went straight up the mountain path of the robbery road. There are three passes on this road, each guarded by soldiers, but the stronghold lacks military discipline, so these petty thieves merely huddle in wooden huts on the side, drinking and sleeping. Bai Lang did not disturb these bandits and simply passed the three passes upward.

The stronghold is not on the summit but in a mountain hollow, with a pond that can prevent water from being cut off or fire from spreading. When Bai Lang arrived, he found that the gate of the stronghold was unattended. He chuckled, "These bandits can only guard a ruined fort until they die; even the imperial decree wouldn't seek them out."

Bai Lang entered the stronghold and discovered a person tied beneath a flagpole; the man was already dead, his chest cavity opened, and his heart and lungs seemed to have been taken. Bai Lang recalled the Water Margin description, "Madman, using a person's heart and lungs to make a sobering broth? Unthinkable." He kicked open the so‑called Hall of Unity, startling the bandits; these men spent the day feasting, and in the middle sat a man with a black‑charcoal head.

"Ugly!" Bai Lang said, "You, Zhang Ji! Your deeds are exposed! Come with me to the county office!" The grotesque man on the seat, looking like a wild boar spirit, roared, "What a death‑seeking beast!" He snatched up the great sword beside him and stood. "Hey, you're not small," Bai Lang remarked, noting the man's height over 1.9 meters, a rare sight these days. Before that, the second and third lieutenants had already brandished knives and spears and charged.

Bai Lang didn't intend to shock the world for now, so he raised his Pu Dao; a flash of blade instantly sacrificed the first charging foe, cleaving both the man and his weapon in two. Bai Lang's strength was so great that it sliced like cutting tofu. His technique is the dual‑handed sword method from the Five Tiger Gate‑Breaking Blade, a style specialized for this kind of Pu Dao, its forward and backward swings ferocious—much more powerful than a single‑handed sword.

Bai Lang left no one alive under his blade; each slash claimed at least one victim. Bai Lang's martial level was truly a massacre of the quiet ones… no longer a kindergarten. Within a few breaths, the heads of the hall were wiped out, all collapsed on the ground, shrunk a few inches as if by magic; a small stream of blood flowed from the doorway outward, the place poorly ventilated and reeking of blood. Now only Liu Ji remained to face Bai Lang.

If he was once a Black‑haired Tiger, now he might as well be called a White‑haired Tiger— the wine he drank turned into cold sweat streaming out, and the charcoal‑head fellow's complexion turned ghastly pale. When Bai Lang had slain a third of the enemies, this man's drunkenness cleared; after half were killed, the fellow began to flee—what a joke, such a fierce melee left his clothes unscathed; could Liu Ji truly provoke such a master?

Has Shi Family Village ever produced such a strong man? Regretting his past, Liu Ji tried to run, but didn't he already fail to escape? He just struck a pose, and when everyone else died he was the only one left. So he considered himself pragmatic and begged for mercy; Bai Lang cut off his words, "Lord Liu, the only thing valuable about you is that head, so don't blame me."

The angry, open‑mouth expression froze on his face; Bai Lang had already grabbed his hair and tied his skull to the back of the saddle. Not a drop of blood stained Bai Lang's body, only the sole of his shoe bore blood marks—he could have omitted it, but he left a little.

In the county office, Liu Ji's head was still worth a few coins; Bai Lang handed the severed head to Shi Taigong, instructing him to process it under Shi Dalang's name, "Dalang, it's time for you to make a name for yourself."