Chapter 8: Chapter Eight

The truck was speeding, it shot straight into the opposite lane, first hitting a small car before sliding toward pedestrians on the curb. Bai Lang exhaled sharply, planted a foot, and unleashed Grass Flying Light Skill to its fullest—like a bird skimming the ground, he darted at high speed past the small lot in front of the convenience store, tapped his toe, and scooped up the three terrified girls who looked like high schoolers, then slammed straight into the gate of a house beside the road.

This is a typical Japanese-style detached house; the gate was smashed directly by Bai Lang—since rescuing means rescuing well, Bai Lang, while grabbing the three girls, twisted his body, using momentum to pull them and smash the gate open with his back. The truck's tires screeched as it swept past from one side, smashing the house's wall to pieces, then came to a stop.

The front of the truck was a wreck, and the driver, his head covered in blood, lay motionless in the cab, though some sounds came from inside. Bai Lang, tangled with the three high‑school girls, got to his feet, walked to the smashed front of the truck, grabbed the rear‑view mirror, climbed up a bit to peer inside, and thought, 'If we don't get him out quickly, he might get crushed to death.'

Basically Bai Lang could be considered a good person; this sort of rescue instinctively moved him before he even had time to think. Seeing the driver's state, even if he wanted to drag the man out just to give him a beating, Bai Lang would still save him first. Bai Lang braced his hands against the deformed front, exhaled sharply, "Ha!" Under his divine strength, the buckled front emitted a grating crack and was forced open—just like a hydraulic jack.

Next, Bai Lang dragged the blood‑covered driver out, felt him over and found no broken bones, though whether his internal organs were ruptured was uncertain. He laid the man flat on the ground, thought a bit, and decided not to kick him—while dragging him he had smelled no alcohol, so maybe the vehicle had malfunctioned.

In short, the three girls and the surrounding onlookers—mainly the convenience store's customers and staff—were gathered, someone clapped, and after the girls recovered from their shock they came over, bowed deeply at the waist to thank him for saving their lives. But they couldn't understand each other, so Bai Lang just waved his hand—who let him forget even how to say "no problem" in English?

Police and ambulance arrived without delay, and the Japanese weren't totally cold‑hearted—at least when the police questioned them, witnesses were willing to testify—the convenience store entrance had a camera that could also capture part of the scene. Bai Lang certainly received praise from the team leader, who wasn't sure if it was sincere: "Well done, but if you get into trouble next time I'll be the one inconvenienced." That's true enough, but Bai Lang had no interest in chatting with that guy; he was just reflecting on his own move just now. "This too counts as part of martial arts training—if that truck were a person, with that momentum and force, was my response timely?"

His response just now, upon reflection, seemed without mistake, and the Grass Flying supreme technique had been executed normally—yet Bai Lang glanced at the convenience store's surveillance and wondered, 'What if this thing recorded my entire Grass Flying maneuver?' He checked the camera's orientation; it was very likely to have captured it, except for the moment he first kicked off.

Thinking it over carefully, there really isn't anything he can do—wipe the surveillance? Bai Lang as he is now lacks that ability, and he feels he only rescued people; even exposing his martial arts probably wouldn't cause trouble—right now his kung fu likely can't stop bullets, and even if he were fast enough that ordinary people couldn't aim in time, dodging bullets? Sorry, truly impossible, and his flesh can't block them either.

"I just don't know how far a bullet's power goes; it's a shame we can't easily test it, otherwise we'd find out what level of cultivation is needed to withstand it." Bai Lang's mind wandered as well. The police had come over and saluted him, thanking him for the timely rescue of the high‑school girls and the driver—for if anyone had died they'd be in trouble too. But the surveillance couldn't be viewed on the spot; it had to be taken back to the station for logging, and Bai Lang and the three girls merely gave the police a brief statement on scene—because the situation is now obvious, this accident has nothing to do with them.

After Bai Lang left his passport number, the three high‑school girls kept asking for his contact info—poor Bai Lang only had a phone number, and the girls didn't have WeChat or QQ used domestically; they used LINE, which couldn't be downloaded or logged into on his phone—who let him have only international roaming instead of a Japanese SIM?

So Bai Lang could only leave his e‑mail address—this was something he kept recalling, but after crossing over three years ago he'd hardly used it and was about to forget, luckily his phone had a record. The girls' words to him were only understandable thanks to a phone translation app; although the team leader wanted to come over and translate, after sizing things up he wisely decided not to bother. "Those little girls are just flirting, I'm not going to help."

Having just come back from the brink of death, it seems this can indeed effectively stir women's psychology—the broken‑bridge effect is quite effective and scientific—but Bai Lang truly hadn't considered that angle; he only assumed their enthusiasm was gratitude for his life‑saving aid, and Bai Lang himself felt rather embarrassed—he'd been taught since childhood that this is what one ought to do, and not expect repayment. "Besides, how can a life‑saving debt be repaid? Too much or too little is actually no good; better to be lofty and principled, and say that if you ever encounter something similar, you should also strive to help others."

They crowded around him, chattering away, asking whether that rescue move of his just now was "Chinese martial arts"; nowadays Chinese wuxia novels aren't unheard of in Japan either. In the few seconds it took Bai Lang to cross that distance, the only explanation he could give was "martial arts"—sprinting alone wouldn't cut it. Surrounded by three pairs of admiring gazes, even Bai Lang felt a bit light‑headed—normally when he trains martial arts he never gets such female attention. Still, he said nothing, just went through the motions.

Finally, the three girls also left—after all, Bai Lang had firmly refused their request to go to his hotel room and keep chatting—never mind the details, this tour group rooms two per person, and there's another teammate besides... Bai Lang, meanwhile, was escorted back to the hotel by the rest of the tour group, and these people asked him simple questions like, "You know martial arts, right? That move just now was lightness skill, no doubt!"