Chapter 771: Great Song Black Shop

The fight lasted only a few exchanges; Wu Erlang, who had learned the supreme art Jade Ring Step Mandarin Duck Legs from Zhou Tong, first exposed a flaw, and Bai Lang, with his skill, naturally seized the opportunity and exploited that flaw, the Mandarin Duck Legs coming in a flurry from left and right. "Not bad, similar to a left‑right spinning kick, the footwork is good," Bai Lang remarked, then caught the whole set with his arm. The contest ended there, and Wu Erlang sincerely admitted defeat—Bai Lang's martial skill was indeed formidable.

Chai Jin, the high official, also cheered, praising Xu Zhi as unrivaled in fists and feet throughout the world, but Bai Lang just smiled and brushed it off, while also pointing out a few flaws in Wu Song's techniques. Though Chai Jin repeatedly tried to retain him, Bai Lang did not stay; he rode away after taking the large sum of travel expenses Chai Jin had given him. "Every corner of Great Song is riddled with thieves," Bai Lang sighed, noting that along the official roads, almost every decent hill was occupied by bandits who exclusively robbed travelers and merchants.

And this Great Song still dares to claim it is flourishing and abundant?

Bai Lang, alone on horseback, should have been an obvious plump lamb to the naked eye on the road, especially since the silver pouch on his saddle clearly overflowed with coins; by right he ought to be the favorite customer of bandits and black shops. Yet Bai Lang's handsome looks—curly beard and hanging eyebrows—marked him as a fierce general's face. That day he entered a roadside shop, and a quick glance told him the place was unusual—the waiter was short and skinny with eyes darting, while the proprietor was a bare‑chested woman whose makeup was indiscernible.

The doughy crust was yellowed and hard, powdery, and two dabs of rouge could not cover it; Bai Lang glanced around the shop, finding it rather deserted, with only himself as a patron. "I do not drink; bring me a few bowls of clear water and some rice and meat," he said, then produced a string of copper coins and placed them on the table. The waiter brought several bowls of clear water and a basin of meat; the proprietor tossed a few coquettish glances that almost made Bai Lang retch. Bai Lang's nostrils twitched slightly, "Beef? Did that cow fall into a ditch and die?"

But it wasn't just beef; another odor drifted from the back kitchen, and the "clear" water actually tasted of something and was far from clear. "Sweat‑inducing medicine, huh? Your back kitchen must have sliced a leg as well? This black shop of Great Song is the first I've seen." Bai Lang set the water bowl down, spoke, and the more‑than‑eight‑foot frame rose to his feet, casually smashing the child who had drawn a knife, then seized the proprietor with a grab, turning her into a meat patty on the ground.

Bai Lang stormed into the back kitchen and saw a stout man look up at him; on the cutting board lay a piece of meat, its pale yellow fat revealing what creature it came from. He sneered; the man, together with his knife, was instantly sliced into countless tiny pieces that scattered across the floor. Bai Lang's gaze swept the area, the floor pulverized into dust, revealing a huge pit beneath, stocked with all kinds of blades and several freshly cleaned, severed corpses hanging around.

Just as Bai Lang had suspected, this was a black shop that lured passersby, robbed them, and even sold human‑meat buns; the sight reminded him of Sun Erniang—"If I ever meet her, I'd kill her on the spot." Bai Lang gathered the gold and silver from the shop into a bundle and left, then set the black shop ablaze.

Arriving at Qingzhou Prefecture, he saw several merchants pulling mule carts surrounded by bandits who had rushed down from the mountain, shouting chaotically, "Take them up, carve out their hearts for the stronghold chief's sobering soup!" Bai Lang urged his horse forward, "Another plump lamb!" the bandits yelled. Bai Lang drew his knife on horseback—these men had already robbed the imperial treasury with Shi Yi, and cared nothing for Great Song's laws; any weapon prohibited by the Song code was already in their hands.

In Bai Lang's hand was a narrow, long blade—the standard military sword, capable of both thrusting and chopping. His sword was even larger and heavier; the mountain stronghold had a few blacksmiths who took his instruction to forge weapons. Bai Lang swung the knife forward; the tip immediately pierced a bandit, and with a flick of his wrist the back edge sliced open, tearing a huge wound from front to back, the blood gushing out in a torrent.

The horse's speed did not wane; Bai Lang's horizontal slash sent another head flying, and a vertical downward cut split a bandit's body in two, leaving a gruesome corpse on the ground. Riding forward to the merchants, he had already slain three men effortlessly, none of whom could even scratch his horse. The remaining bandits, hearing Bai Lang charge, shouted and fled up the mountain. The merchants knelt in the dust, repeatedly bowing in gratitude.

Bai Lang was unperturbed, "You may go on your way." One of the merchants approached and asked the benefactor's name; "I am Bai Lang," he replied casually before urging his horse toward the mountain. He followed the fleeing soldiers and soon reached a mountain stronghold. "Huh? Recognize the characters? It even says 'Qingfeng Stronghold'," Bai Lang laughed. At that moment a loud shout rang out in the stronghold as dozens of soldiers formed a line and charged out, while three men of differing appearance stood in the center.

Among them, the one standing at the leftmost was especially notable—ugly, short, with pig‑like eyes that rolled, clearly a lecherous fellow. Bai Lang perched high on his horse, looking down at them, "You scoundrels plan to rob merchants and eat their sobering soup? You've got some nerve, ha ha ha." Bai Lang's demeanor was arrogant and overbearing, yet a trace of righteous spirit accompanied him.

"You little thief! State your name!" the leader in the middle shouted, though his voice sounded fiery, he was already subdued—Bai Lang's heroic bearing and imposing looks had already crushed their fighting spirit. How could a petty Demon Star contend with the White Tiger Star Lord? "I am Bai Lang," he said without difficulty, but the three men's eyes darted wildly, clearly not recognizing who Bai Lang was.

It was normal; he was no rain‑calling protector like He Yi or Black Third Brother—he'd been straddling the black and white worlds for over a decade, so his reputation was well‑known. When Song Jiang arrived, these three immediately bowed, "Qingfeng Stronghold… Qingfeng Stronghold, I've heard Shi Yi speak of it, seems three people hold it?" Bai Lang replied, and upon hearing the name Shi Yi, the red‑haired, yellow‑bearded leader, apparently of Hu ancestry, shouted, "Is it Xiao Ming Wang Shi Yi Shi Dalang in person?"

Bai Lang nodded, "Exactly, he's the trainer. So you are Jin Mao Hu Yan Shun? And this three‑inch fellow is the short‑legged tiger Wang Ying? With that pig‑like face, you're truly a filthy sort." Bai Lang's words were blunt; angered, he drew his knife and aimed at Wang Ying's horse leg. "You were only hauling a big cart, yet you plotted to rob the guests; even this single act makes you a low‑level scum of the jianghu." With one slash Bai Lang cut off Wang Ying's arm that held the knife, blood gushing forth.

"A hundred and eighty‑eight Demon Stars gathering—none of my business!" Bai Lang snorted, the tip of his blade already pressed to Wang Ying's throat, the back edge drawing a blood‑streak across his chin… "Should I kill you or spare you?"