Sky-cracking Rider

In the endlessly undulating vastness of the Xingdu Kush Mountain Range, the whirring of strange noises suddenly pierced through the chaotic mountain wind.

The air, violently agitated, quickly turned into a roar echoing between the mountains.

A crudely shaped gyroplane, without even a shell, skimmed over the wild grass near the ridge at high speed, gradually dropping altitude and diving toward a relatively flat mountainside.

The tricycle's landing gear soon pressed down on the gravel ground, and the gyroplane, colloquially called a "Tricycle," bounced clumsily once, then twice, thrice, before the terrain absorbed its forward momentum, allowing it to taxi a distance and come to a stop.

"Warning, warning, identification number 4489, you have entered the airspace of Aircrew Base 911, please leave immediately, Warning! Warning! No.4489,..."

The public radio channel of the "Tricycle" gyroplane suddenly blared warnings in multiple languages.

The pilot, with high, arching brows, a prominent nose, and a face full of weather-beaten beard, picked up the radio microphone on the gyroplane and grumpily replied, "What's all the fuss about, huh? Bloody hell, squawking all day long, make it quick, I'm leaving."

After cursing and puffing, he hung up the mic, unfastened his seatbelt, and jumped out of his seat, still muttering under his breath, "These melon-rind private contractors think they're the boss of this Aircrew Base, waving their feathers like Mandate Arrows, bloody dragons... "

The graveyard of the empire, the land of a hundred battles, the wily folk from these poor, rugged mountains sure have some nerve!

The gyroplane pilot voluntarily helped unload the passenger's luggage from the rear shelf and extended his hand, expertly pinching together his thumb, index, and middle finger.

No other meaning, time to pay up!

"I can only take you this far, one thousand Star Yuan, as we agreed, no receipt."

Who needs a receipt when flying over the Xingdu Kush Mountain Range? The "Tricycle" doesn't pay taxes. It's just a side hustle, like buying groceries and taking passengers along for the ride, not even a proper business, at most it's like running a street stall.

"Uncle, I'll pay with Alipay."

The young passenger was about to pull out his cellphone.

The bearded gyroplane pilot shook the AK automatic rifle slung awkwardly behind him and nudged his mouth towards the surroundings, saying, "Uncle my foot, I'm only nineteen this year. Electronic payments? You think there's a civilian mobile communication base station nearby?"

Opening his mouth, it's apparent he's a solid level eight in spoken language, with a rare touch of regional dialect to boot.

Nowadays, with an education rate reaching eighty percent of the global population, starting from kindergarten, everyone learns to read and speak, and there's even a formal oral language grading system. The greatest benefit is that their history books are once again accessible without barriers.

In the Xingdu Kush Mountain Area, it's not at all surprising to hear fluent dialect from economically developed regions.

If your accent isn't up to par, your handwriting isn't neat, you'd likely have a hard time finding a job.

Three hundred years east of the river, three hundred years west, fortunes change with time; the Hu are gone, the Han thrive.

"Uh..."

The young passenger finally noticed that there was no electronic payment logo on this "Tricycle." It seemed it was not an oversight.

Looking around, the view was exceptionally clear, devoid of urban clamor; indeed, within ten kilometers, there wasn't a single familiar signal pole in sight.

After all, the Xingdu Kush Mountain Range is too vast, sparsely populated, and not an economic zone; no one would randomly install anything after a full meal.

The hand that went to dig out the smartphone switched to pulling out a wallet, counting out ten golden bills and handing them over.

Crystal energy, which had replaced oil in the new energy system, supported the joint currency of the Blue Star Realm and Cangqiong Realm, "Star Yuan," and was accepted in every corner of both realms. The old currency system had been declared completely transitioned over ten years ago, which included Cangqiong Realm's physical currency.

The balance of Star Yuan cash left in his wallet was only five dollars and eighty cents, and he wasn't sure if that would be enough to buy a steamed bun.

The most commonly seen and most convenient mode of transport in the Xingdu Kush Mountain Area was this kind of flying "Tricycle." These cheap dual-seat gyroplanes didn't hold much technological substance; as long as there was a piece of flat land, one could hail them for takeoff and landing. They were economical and often carried not just passengers but could take off with a donkey on board. Although they weren't fast, that was an advantage when flying in mountainous areas. There's good in being fast, and there's stability in being slow—at least you wouldn't miss your destination.

These seemingly unreliable small flight vehicles actually had a guaranteed safety factor. Even if the engine malfunctioned, there was no fear of stalling. Relying on the rotor to glide and make an emergency landing would at least save your life without a hitch.

Unlike those more advanced flying vehicles, in case of an emergency, there wouldn't even be enough time to eject with a parachute. Freefalling along with the craft, nobody had a body of steel, and naturally, that would spell complete disaster. It was better to rely on these Tricycles that were no different from taxis, wildly scampering across the mountain area.

After pocketing the cash, the nineteen-year-old gyroplane pilot with a big beard tossed a stiff card.

"This is my business card. It has a QR code on it. If you want to go out for fun, call me, and I'll be there. I'll take you to eat at a pot restaurant—authentic Patan goat meat hot pot. The taste is absolutely top-notch." Using the Flyers app would mean a cut of the income. Direct customers were cheaper for both sides.

While saying this, he even gave a thumbs up. Hooking customers and promoting goat meat hot pot, this business model had potential.

However, the handwritten name on the business card was Karzai, while the pilot's name on the Flyers app was Muhammad—a mismatch.

Had he just taken a black flight?

"Mm-hmm! See you later!"

Afraid of accidentally saying the wrong thing and getting peppered with bullets from an AK, the young passenger mumbled back and waved at the gyroplane as it started up again.

"See you next time, I'm off!"

The big-bearded gyroplane pilot released the handbrake, and the dual-seat craft sped down the slope, picking up speed.

The Tricycle started hopping eagerly, once, twice, thrice, suddenly dipping and vanishing below the slope.

There was an end to the slope, a sheer drop of several hundred meters below—deadly!

"Li—"

The young passenger's heart leapt as he witnessed this scene. Before he could shout out "Little...," he saw the disappeared gyroplane reappear, taking advantage of an updraft to climb rapidly, and he could even hear the pilot's strained singing voice carrying from afar.

"I send you away, a thousand miles distant..."

What old song was that? He couldn't remember!

As the buzz of the gyroplane blades stirring the air faded into the horizon, the young passenger looked down at the electronic map and satellite positioning on the smartphone screen. Indeed, there was no mobile communication signal, only satellite positioning. Looking around the desolate mountains without a soul in sight, he let out a long breath.

I, Chen Fei!

Damn it, I've been duped!