Chapter 814: Chapter Eight

The truck was moving fast, charging straight into the opposite lane, first smashing a small car and then sliding toward pedestrians on the sidewalk. Bai Lang exhaled and shouted, planted a foot on the ground, fully unleashed the Lightness Skill of Grass Flying, soaring like a bird skimming the ground at high speed over the small parking lot in front of the convenience store; after a toe‑tap, he snatched up the three stunned girls—likely high‑school students—and slammed them into a nearby house's front gate.

It was a typical Japanese‑style detached house; the front gate was smashed outright by Bai Lang—rescuing must be done properly, so while seizing the three girls he twisted his body, using their momentum to thrust them as his back slammed the gate open. The truck's tires screamed, barreling through from one side, shattering the house's wall into fragments before coming to a halt.

The front of the truck was a wreck, and the driver, head covered in blood, lay motionless in the cabin, though some sounds came from him. Bai Lang, who had been tangled with the three female high‑schoolers, got to his feet, approached the mangled front, grabbed the rear‑view mirror and pulled himself up a bit to peer inside, thinking, "If we don't get the person out quickly, they might be crushed."

Basically, Bai Lang can be considered a good person; he didn't even have time to think about the rescue before his body reacted. Seeing the driver's condition now, even if he only wanted to drag the man out for a beating, Bai Lang would still save him first. He braced the deformed truck front with both hands, exhaled and shouted, "Ha!" Under his divine strength, the crumpled front emitted a sharp, teeth‑aching cracking sound as it was forced open—like a hydraulic expander.

Next, Bai Lang dragged the blood‑splattered driver out, felt him a few times and found no broken bones, though he couldn't tell if the organs were ruptured. He laid the man flat on the ground, thought for a moment and didn't kick him—while dragging him he didn't smell any alcohol, so perhaps the cause was a vehicle malfunction?

In short, the three girls and the surrounding people—mainly customers and staff inside the convenience store—watched, some clapped, and after the girls recovered from shock they bowed deeply to thank him for saving their lives. But the language barrier left Bai Lang only waving his hands—after all, he'd already forgotten even how to say "it's okay" in English.

The police and ambulance arrived promptly, and the Japanese weren't entirely indifferent; at least the officers found witnesses willing to testify—there was surveillance at the convenience‑store entrance that captured part of the scene. Bai Lang, of course, received a leader's ambiguous praise, "Well done, but if you get into trouble next time, I'll be in trouble too." That was fair, yet Bai Lang had no interest in chatting with that sort of person; he was just replaying his actions. "This counts as a part of martial‑cultivation practice. If the vehicle were a person, with that momentum and force, was my response timely?"

His response now seemed flawless on reflection, the Grass Flying technique executed perfectly—as expected. Yet Bai Lang glanced at the convenience‑store's surveillance and thought, "What if this thing recorded my entire Grass Flying execution?" Judging by the camera's angle, it likely captured everything except the moment of his first kick.

Thinking it over, there was really nothing he could do—erase the footage? Bai Lang didn't have that ability, and he figured that merely rescuing people, even if his martial skills were exposed, wouldn't cause trouble. At present his cultivation couldn't stop bullets; even if his movements were swift enough to deny a normal person a chance to aim, dodging a bullet? Sorry, that's impossible, and his flesh can't block it either.

"I just don't know how powerful that bullet is; unfortunately we can't test it lightly, otherwise we'd know what level of cultivation is needed to resist it." Bai Lang's mind wandered. The police had already come over, saluted him, and thanked him for the timely rescue of the high‑school girls and the driver—had there been a death, it would have been a big hassle for them. The footage couldn't be reviewed on the spot; it would have to be taken back to the police station for logging, and Bai Lang and the three girls simply gave the officers a brief statement on the scene—since the situation was clear, the accident had nothing to do with them.

After Bai Lang left his passport number, the three high‑school girls kept asking for his contact information—poor Bai Lang only had a phone number, and they didn't have WeChat or QQ, while the LINE app they used couldn't be downloaded or logged into on his phone—after all, he was on international roaming, not a Japanese SIM.

So Bai Lang could only leave his email address—something he kept recalling, since after more than three years of transmigration he couldn't use it, almost forgetting it, but luckily his phone had a record. The girls' words to him were understood solely via a translation app; although the leader offered to translate, after gauging the atmosphere he wisely gave up. "Those girls are flirting with a man; I won't get involved."

Having just returned from the brink of death, it seemed to indeed trigger the women's psychological response; the "broken‑bridge effect" is effective and scientific—but Bai Lang hadn't anticipated this. He only thought their enthusiasm was gratitude for his rescue, yet he felt embarrassed—he'd been taught since childhood that it's simply the right thing to do, regardless of how others repay. "How should one repay a life‑saving favor? Too much or too little is both wrong; let's just be noble and say that if you encounter similar situations, I hope you'll also strive to help others."

They swarmed him, chattering, asking whether his rescue move was "Chinese martial arts," since Chinese wuxia novels are not unknown in Japan. Within a few seconds, Bai Lang's only explanation for the distance covered was "martial arts"; sprinting alone wouldn't suffice. Surrounded by three admiring gazes, even Bai Lang felt a bit light‑hearted—he'd never experienced being encircled by women while practicing martial arts. He said nothing, merely went through the motions.

Finally, the three girls left—Bai Lang had firmly refused their request to go to his hotel room for further conversation. Aside from that, the tour group assigned two people per room, and there was another companion… Bai Lang, surrounded by the rest of the tour group, returned to the hotel, where they asked him a much simpler question: "You know martial arts, right? Was that just Lightness Skill? Of course it was!"