Chapter Two: The Red-Haired Girl
Chapter Two: The Red-Haired Girl
While Yunyang was busy indoctrinating Xiaoyi with the notion that she was an artificial intelligence and ought to devise a way to descend from the eight-meter-high gas station, three kilometers away on the highway, a spirited girl was speeding along on her motorcycle.
Her wine-red hair fluttered in the wind, and a hint of sorrow lingered on her delicate face. The conviction to defend her homeland as a soldier surged within her, and her light brown eyes were filled with an indescribable resolve. In this era ravaged by war, every soldier determined to protect their country possessed such determination. On this troubled planet, first came the invasion of alien civilizations, then the most evil race in the known universe—the "Demons"—began spreading their sinister ideology.
The native species surviving on this planet—humanity—had seen their homeland devastated by ceaseless conflict. As a soldier, one must face every trial. To fight for the earth that nurtured them, for their nation and its people, to strive, to battle, to seek a place for their kind to survive, so that humanity might have a voice in the cold expanse of the universe!
But let us return to Yunyang. At Xiaoyi’s suggestion, Yunyang had already tied his clothes together, anchoring one end to the sign of a certain gas station, and gripping the other end tightly. Though his hands held fast, his mouth did not stop, complaining with growing frustration.
“Xiaoyi, you artificial idiot, I must have been crazy to listen to your idea. Now I can’t go down, and I can’t climb up either. What am I supposed to do? Think of something quickly! That’s five meters—I don’t dare jump!”
A voice came lazily from his pocket: “Master, don’t be afraid. According to my calculations, if you roll forward the instant you hit the ground, you won’t break your legs. Trust me. Trust the judgment of an artificial intelligence.”
Yunyang’s expression was on the verge of collapse. “Do you misunderstand my abilities? I am an ordinary person who barely exercises. I doubt even a special forces soldier could do what you’re suggesting.”
“Ah! I can’t hold on much longer!”
After some logical discussion, Yunyang had been swindled by the so-called “intelligent” Xiaoyi into taking the risk of lowering himself with his clothes. The theory was simple: Yunyang’s height was about one point eight meters (supposedly), his sportswear was elastic and could stretch to about one point five meters, and combined with his height and arm length, he’d have roughly two meters. Two plus one point five equals three point five meters. The gas station was eight meters high, so the remaining four and a half meters shouldn’t break his legs.
But Yunyang forgot that theory is one thing, reality another. Hanging there, he looked down and felt his stomach drop. Good heavens, it was so high—and the ground was cement. If he jumped, his legs were as good as lost, and he became perfectly cowardly.
Moreover, due to his lack of exercise, Yunyang discovered a horrifying truth: he couldn’t climb back up either. Thus, a vicious cycle began: afraid to jump, he had to keep hanging.
Unable to climb, his strength was rapidly draining. He was close to losing his grip; maybe a direct jump could allow for the tactical moves discussed in theory. Now, with most of his strength gone, he could forget about it. As the old saying goes: in silence, one either dies or erupts. As his hands were about to slip and he was resigned to his fate, he heard the rumble of a motorcycle approaching from afar, and hope surged in his heart. A fresh burst of strength came to his hands—after all, no one wants broken legs.
He grumbled inwardly: others who traverse worlds get cars, houses, girls, money, and treasures, rising to the peak of life. But he was stuck atop a gas station, fighting to preserve his legs. Xiaoyi, that unreliable artificial idiot, kept coming up with useless ideas. Well, he’d already forgotten who agreed to this plan in the first place.
He dared not relax his grip, holding fast to the edge of his clothes, quietly awaiting the arrival of the motorcycle.
On the road, the rider was almost at Yunyang’s location. She rode in silence, watching the fuel gauge. She thought: Luckily there’s a gas station ahead; I’ve been here before, not far now. There should be enough gas to make it, though I carry a bit extra just in case. Better not use it unless I have to—resources are scarce in wartime.
As she pondered, she sensed something amiss. Looking up, she saw the familiar gas station approaching, but there seemed to be something hanging from it. The distance was too great to see clearly, so she pressed on, hearing faint cries for help—someone was about to lose their grip.
Yes, it was Yunyang’s voice. His hands were numb from hanging so long, and anyone would have been exhausted. Only his determination not to break his legs kept him going; he had bitten down on his clothes, though most strength was in his hands. The earlier cry for help had come before he bit down, as the motorcycle noise grew louder.
He hoped the rider would hurry, save him quickly. As a civilian with nothing to his name, he wasn’t worried about being robbed, though he couldn’t be sure.
The fuel was nearly gone, but the destination was reached. She could finally see what was hanging from the gas station. No, it wasn’t a thing; though it felt odd to say so, it was not a thing, but a person—a flushed, red-faced man.
She twisted the throttle, accelerating; she judged the man wouldn’t last much longer. In a flash, she stopped the motorcycle beside him. Just as she was about to ask what was going on, the man cried out, “Help me! Ah!” His hand slipped, and he fell straight down. Without hesitation, she ran to the landing spot and caught him in her arms, in a princess-carry.
Yunyang nearly burst into tears. Xiaoyi, the artificial idiot, not only failed to comfort him but mocked: “Master, had you followed my advice from the start, you might not have broken your legs. Now you’ve exhausted your strength, and I guarantee you’ll break them. Besides, the rescuer’s a woman—she won’t be able to catch you.”
Indeed, when Yunyang saw the rider was a woman, he had been utterly hopeless; his legs were doomed. He didn’t believe a woman could catch him—men would struggle, but at least they’d stand a better chance. Yet, to his astonishment, the woman caught him steadily, her arms like forged steel, barely sinking under his weight. Was she some Iron Man in human skin? Gravity made his back ache.
She caught the man dangling above, paid no mind to his crossed arms and tightly shut eyes, as if bracing himself for impact, and after setting him down, casually asked, “What happened to you?” Then she strode into the gas station’s small convenience store to scavenge supplies—mineral water, instant noodles, bread, and so on.
Yunyang, now on the ground, was in awe. She’d caught someone weighing nearly one hundred fifty pounds without a scratch. Watching her back, Yunyang felt a strange sense of familiarity—could he have landed in a high-martial world? With those giant ships, perhaps a world where technology and cultivation went hand in hand. Maybe he should cling to her and beg for protection, given his ordinary status, though he possessed a system. He needed time to grow, and shelter from the storm. Once he developed, he could repay his savior.
While his thoughts raced, he heard the woman repeat, “What happened to you?”
Yunyang silently rehearsed the explanation he’d concocted while suspended, then asked, “Those ships in the sky—are they alien?”
The figure paused, replying, “What else? We don’t have that technology.”
Suddenly, Yunyang sensed a touch of desolation in her bearing. He hurriedly got up and carefully followed, replying, “Would you believe me if I said an alien threw me up there?”
The figure ahead answered, “You’re really lucky! Encountering an alien and surviving. But you probably weren’t caught by the aliens on the ship—they don’t capture people, only kill them.”
Yunyang’s heart skipped a beat—had he slipped up? He listened as she continued, “Did the alien that grabbed you have bat wings? That’s not an alien, but an Earth-born demon.”
Now Yunyang’s mind was nearly exploding—demons, too? This really was a high-martial world. If there were demons, perhaps there were angels as well—something to look forward to. Still, he needed to get past this identity check. He forcibly suppressed his swirling thoughts and answered with sincerity.
“I was so scared in the air, I didn’t see clearly. I think there were two large wings. It grabbed me and threw me onto the gas station roof, then flew off after hearing some order. Really, thank you so much—I was hanging there for ages. If not for you, my legs would be broken.”
He added, “You seem to be looking for something—let me help you.”
He couldn’t afford to mention bat wings; what if she was testing him? He had to leave himself some room, just in case he couldn’t explain his way out. He silently gave himself a thumbs-up for his cleverness.