Chapter 13

Bai Lang had no interest in learning the names of the people studying martial arts with him. It was enough to know their nicknames—Little Zhang, Old Li, Barhead, and the like. As for himself, he went by the same name wherever he sat or stood: Bai Lang. They called him Teacher Bai because he did not accept them as disciples; he merely offered guidance.

Was there any benefit in guiding these people? Actually, no. There was no such thing as using the process of instructing others to revisit his own training and discover his shortcomings—though these people loved martial arts, they were all low-level fighters, low-level among the low-level. Teaching them was nothing more than beginner-level verbal instruction, of no use whatsoever for Bai Lang's own review and consolidation.

Besides, Bai Lang was in no position to review and organize his path of cultivation. He had not reached that level yet. Right now, he was cultivating in order to convert all of his entry-level inner force into the inner force of the Golden Bell Shield. If he had the chance in the future, he might go on to cultivate deeper internal arts. By then, the Golden Bell Shield's circulation route might become a combat method rather than merely a training method. But for now, the Thirteen Great Protectors' Adamantine Bell Shield, which cultivated from the outside inward, was clearly a more profound method than his introductory internal art.

Before all his inner force had been converted, there was no point speaking of the second stage. After breaking through the first stage, Bai Lang felt considerably stronger. His hearing and vision had sharpened, and his skin gave off the resilient feel of old cowhide when touched. Yet it had not become rough; instead, it had grown even smoother and finer. Even the hair on his arms had become softer and thinner.

Bai Lang had tried stabbing his arm with an awl. Unless he used great force, it would only leave a red mark, just at the point where blood might seep out but had not yet. If he circulated his Qi beforehand, it would not even leave a red mark. An ordinary person using all their strength to stab him with a triangular blade would probably do no more than break the skin. Penetrating three-tenths of an inch into the flesh would already be impressive.

If he exerted his own strength, he could pierce his flesh with the awl, but that was only his feeling. He had never actually tried it—because it would hurt.

By Bai Lang's own estimate, he would need at most another month to convert all his inner force into Golden Bell Shield inner force. Still, he had to keep absorbing that wisp of great sun purple Qi every day. It could be considered a wisp of Innate True Qi, and absorbing it daily would help him cultivate his own Innate True Qi. Perhaps after opening the Great Circulation, he could use those accumulations to open the Baihui atop his head and the Yongquan beneath his feet, connect the Heaven-Earth Mysterious Pass, and become a Xiantian Master.

Those few people were brimming with enthusiasm, because they believed Bai Lang truly had the goods, just like the masters they had worshipped in the past. Modern traditional martial arts mostly relied on boasting. Whenever they went out, they would talk about how formidable their master, senior brother, or grandmaster was. But these few genuinely wanted to learn how to fight, and in that regard, Bai Lang could teach them quite a lot—perhaps even more than their masters could.

Still, Bai Lang never told them much, so if they wanted to go out and brag, it would be hard for them to use Bai Lang as material. Then again, perhaps not. Whenever Bai Lang practiced on his own, they could feel the ground shake with a stomp of his foot, and sense the force of his Fist Wind and the might behind his punches—provided they stood close enough.

Bai Lang did not spar with them. In fact, they rarely sparred with one another either. Instead, they specialized in things like "touching hands" and "listening to force." Was listening to force useful? Yes. At the very least, Bai Lang could "hear" their force and techniques through sensations in his skin, even through intuition—and from quite a distance away. But hearing force did not mean one could resist it. Dodging was possible, but if the opponent was strong and fast, what good was hearing it? If you could neither block nor run, you were still finished.

Bai Lang would not correct them either. At their level, listening to force was far more useful than it would be against the situations Bai Lang might face. As for touching hands, Bai Lang felt a real fight with no holds barred would be far more useful. But he could hardly tell them, "You need to fight for real and get used to exchanging blows." People practicing martial arts here were probably not planning to make combat their profession.

Bai Lang himself was another matter. He worried that if he grew accustomed to peace over these ten years, would he still be able to recover his fighting spirit after crossing back? When he had worked as a thug at the real estate agency, he had fought with real knives and real weapons several times. Though that was putting a shine on it, he had still beaten down quite a few hooligans with his fists and feet, earning some reputation in the agency. He had no nickname, but the name Bai Lang of Changle Real Estate Agency carried a little weight.

Good thing I firmly refused when they wanted to call me Brother Lang. What kind of uncultured idiots were they? My name is Bai Lang, so they think they can call me Brother Lang? They could at least call me Brother Bai Lang, or even Cool Guy. In the end, of course, those people called him Brother Bai Lang.

Bai Lang was also looking for opportunities for real combat. There were opportunities, in truth. This world had never been peaceful, and even in countries surrounding China, there were places consumed by war. But there was a problem: experience in fighting with modern weapons was entirely different from experience in martial arts. Other than fighting spirit and combat awareness, which were shared, experience with firearms would be meaningless after he crossed over—unless it could perhaps substitute for experience with concealed weapons.

If he had to rely on fists and feet, those places did not seem quite suitable. But if there was truly no other way, then he could only do that. Professional fighting was another option, and it would not be entirely useless. Ring fights were different from unrestricted, terrainless combat, while battles between martial artists were even more dangerous than fights in the ring. Still, such combat would at least be more suitable than the battlefield for gaining experience and honing combat instincts.

Come to think of it, even when I was Brother Bai Lang, it was not like I faced life-or-death situations. What life-or-death situations could a real estate agency thug possibly have? I was not even considered a bottom-rung jianghu man, only a little better than street thugs and hooligans. Bai Lang quietly made up his mind. If possible, he should find a way to enter the professional fighting circuit.

Once the conversion of his inner force was complete, he could basically put that plan into action. Generally speaking, Southeast Asia would probably be the best place to go. Joining professional fighting in mainland China seemed somewhat difficult, and Bai Lang had no connections. Of course, Southeast Asia was not exactly known for good public security. Even if he could not join professional competitions immediately, there were underground fighting matches and even gang battles. For Bai Lang, that was actually more suitable than staying in China.

What Bai Lang had not expected was that after he finally finished converting all his inner force, he would be forced to flee. Evading pursuit all the way, he would cross half of China from the northwest and secretly leave the country. What exactly happened? Find out in the next chapter.