The Mekong River

This was troublesome. The house had few entrances and exits, and the interior space was not small. The size of the ventilation windows was definitely too small for a person to enter – Bai Lang didn't know any bone-shrinking techniques. The house had no real windows, just ventilation windows and exhaust fans, and of course, air conditioning. "This is difficult." For a moment, Bai Lang couldn't figure out what to do. He wasn't Ethan Hunt or Jason Bourne; he had no idea how to pinpoint the two targets he needed in this situation.

Charging in and killing everyone was probably the stupidest course of action. Bai Lang knew it was unlikely he could even impersonate a spectator now. As a former boxer, he knew these guests all entered with invitations. It was also clear the event was closed off now – meaning no more guests would be admitted. Therefore, impersonation was impossible. He could only try to lie in wait outside and see if he could catch those two people when they appeared.

From the leader of the drug-dealing operation, Bai Lang had confirmed that these two would definitely show up. However, he also knew that as time passed, they could leave at any moment. Bai Lang couldn't guarantee whether there were secret passages in this place. He was just a martial artist who had mastered the first level of the Golden Bell Shield, not some super expert who could ascend to the heavens and become an immortal. If these two left, Bai Lang would have no way to find them. They would undoubtedly cut off any possible contact with Bai Lang immediately, the simplest way being to isolate anyone Bai Lang might know, send them away, or simply kill them.

Bai Lang sat cross-legged under a tree outside the house. The situation seemed to be developing as he expected; no one was entering or leaving. Yet, Bai Lang felt his plan was likely to fail – he had a premonition. After sitting for a few more minutes and hearing the muffled sounds of the boxing match from inside – the door was tightly shut, and the sound was actually quite low – Bai Lang stood up decisively. He decided to leave. Thailand was no longer a place to stay. Bai Lang planned to head elsewhere along the Mekong River.

There were many Chinese cargo ships on the Mekong River. They often transported fruits or rice from Southeast Asia to China. Since Bai Lang still had his Chinese ID to prove his identity and had money, a cargo ship named Yuhua 3 was willing to take him to Myanmar. Thus, Bai Lang, with a small amount of luggage, moved onto the ship. This ship was transporting mangoes and bananas, ordered by domestic merchants who then contracted them for transport.

As a guest, Bai Lang watched the crew working on the lower deck from the upper deck, using a crane to load boxes of fruit into the cargo hold. At this moment, some armed personnel in Thai military uniforms arrived. They spoke to the captain, who was overseeing the work. Bai Lang couldn't hear what they said, but he could see the captain shaking his head repeatedly. These uniformed personnel soon left. Bai Lang didn't want to ask what happened – he would disembark somewhere in Myanmar anyway, and deal with any issues then.

He had heard that armed drug trafficking groups in Thailand and Myanmar often used cargo ships on the Mekong River for smuggling. Such activities were probably quite common. Myanmar had the Golden Triangle, which had always been a heavily affected area. As for inferior countries like those in Southeast Asia, what was the big deal about collusion between officials and bandits to traffic addictive drugs? Especially since both Thailand and Myanmar were essentially military governments, ruled by various military leaders.

The ship set sail, heading upstream along the Mekong River. This mother river of Southeast Asia had a large flow, with continuous fields on both banks; it was quite beautiful. Bai Lang couldn't practice his martial arts much on the ship, so he focused on meditative practice to cultivate himself. Of course, he did some light exercises. This time, he practiced a style of boxing that required minimal space, with small movements, a close-quarters fighting style that could be practiced in his cabin.

Around the border of Thailand and Myanmar, Bai Lang heard the sound of a speedboat approaching one day. Looking out from his porthole, it seemed to be a Thai military speedboat, or perhaps not; it was some armed personnel in military uniforms. These people were loudly demanding to board the ship. Perhaps it was an inspection? Bai Lang pushed open his cabin door and walked out. He immediately saw the captain in the bridge and the first mate negotiating with those individuals. The situation looked grim, as the first mate's face was ashen.

Bai Lang understood quite a bit, and he certainly understood the first mate's stern refusal of their demands: "They are demanding to transport certain items." Looking at the armed personnel, Bai Lang already sensed a murderous aura. So, he made the first move.

It was better to be safe than sorry. Although these people looked like Thai soldiers, it was entirely possible they were colluding with criminal groups to smuggle drugs. If they were going to make a move, Bai Lang didn't dare gamble on them letting him go, especially since he had always detested such activities. With a loud "thump," everyone was startled. Those soldiers almost fired their weapons. Everyone looked in the direction of the sound – all of this happened in less than a second.

This was Bai Lang stomping his foot on the deck and channeling his Flight Over Grass technique. This lightness skill had already integrated with his Golden Bell Shield and the true intent of his Tiger Form. The current situation could no longer be called Flight Over Grass, as the feeling of light, ethereal drifting with the wind had given way to the sensation of a fierce tiger riding the wind. Clouds follow dragons, and wind follows tigers. Accompanied by a sudden gust of strong wind, Bai Lang covered more than ten meters of deck in that fraction of a second, unleashing a claw strike directly.

The claw strike was full of power, landing squarely on the chest and abdomen of the armed personnel in front of him. At the same time, Bai Lang struck out with his other hand, tearing the man apart. He then retracted his hand and ripped the assault rifle from the man's grasp – the strap had already been torn. Bai Lang had never used this weapon before. He pulled the trigger, but it wouldn't fire. "Damn safety! What kind of crap gun is this? A Type 95?" It was actually an Israeli TAR-21 rifle, which did bear some resemblance to the Type 95.

He couldn't waste time fiddling with the safety, or he'd be turned into a sieve. Bai Lang suddenly let out a roar, channeling his internal energy to his throat to emit a tiger's roar. He immediately felt a burning, metallic taste and pain in his throat, but this roar did indeed shock everyone present – even flocks of birds took flight from both riverbanks. Bai Lang ignored the pain in his throat and, using this momentum, lunged forward, unleashing a kick in mid-air that directly shattered the soldier's head.