Volume 1: The Dragon in the Abyss
Chapter 4: Capturing the Wind
IV. Digital and Flesh
[Part 1: Experimental Preparation - Technology's Precision Network]
Early the next morning, the base's conference room transformed into a temporary laboratory.
Lin Xiao's team had worked through the night transporting a complete biomechanics monitoring system from the provincial capital. Three large shock-proof cases sat on the table. Opened, they revealed neatly arranged precision instruments—motion capture sensors, EMG electrodes, heart rate monitors, respiratory frequency recorders, inertial measurement units...
"Twenty-four motion capture nodes distributed across major joints and muscle groups." Lin Xiao explained while pulling up a skeletal model on her tablet. "Each node collects 120 frames per second with sub-millimeter precision. We'll record every movement, every exertion, every balance adjustment."
Chen Yang stood watching those LED-flickering boxes, expression complex.
Each device barely matchbox-sized, but their combined value probably exceeded his decade of salary. Lin Xiao wanted to transform him into a string of numbers—coordinates, angles, velocities, accelerations, torques...
He didn't know whether this was respect for craftsmanship or deconstruction of the craftsman.
"Will this affect my movements?" Chen Yang asked.
"No." Lin Xiao approached, attaching a sensor to his wrist. "Each node weighs under 15 grams, secured with elastic fabric, producing no binding sensation. And..."
She paused, meeting Chen Yang's eyes seriously: "I promise—this data is for research only. No leaks, no commercialization. Your skill belongs to you. I just want to understand, to learn."
Chen Yang fell silent several seconds, then nodded. "Let's begin."
Sensor installation took a full forty minutes.
Xiao Li and Xiao Wang worked like precision instrument engineers, using tape measures to verify each sensor's position within 5-millimeter tolerances. Neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, spine, hips, knees, ankles... 24 nodes transformed Chen Yang into a walking data collection station.
Finally, Lin Xiao personally fitted him with a specialized chest strap—heart rate and respiratory monitors capable of recording physiological indicators across different states.
"This thing won't start beeping alarms halfway through my climb, will it?" Chen Yang half-joked.
"No." Lin Xiao smiled. "Silent recording mode—you won't feel it. But if your heart rate exceeds 180 BPM, I'll receive an alert."
"You might get many alerts then."
"Why?"
Chen Yang didn't answer, merely walked to the window, gazing toward distant towers where morning light spread across mountains like golden rivers flowing slowly.
[Part 2: Data Collection - Quantified Artistry]
9 a.m., Tower #18.
This tower perched at canyon's edge with relatively gentle terrain, suitable for monitoring experiments. Lin Xiao's team positioned three high-speed cameras at tower base, recording Chen Yang's every movement from different angles. Simultaneously, Xiao Li controlled a drone providing aerial perspective.
"Ready?" Lin Xiao asked via radio.
"Anytime." Chen Yang stood at tower base, flexing wrists and ankles. Sensors flickered faintly with his movements, like wearing armor woven from light points.
"Chen Yang, work your usual way—don't deliberately change anything. We're just observing, not interfering."
"Understood."
Chen Yang inhaled deeply, beginning his climb.
At the command station, Lin Xiao's eyes locked on three screens, unblinking.
Left screen: real-time 3D skeletal model.
Twenty-four light points moved through virtual space, precisely recreating Chen Yang's every action. When he gripped tower steel pulling upward, shoulder joint angle, elbow bend, wrist rotation—all captured in real-time. AI system annotated with numbers: shoulder abduction 127°, elbow flexion 92°, wrist extension 15°.
Center screen: biomechanical analysis.
Different colored lines represented different muscle groups' exertion levels. As Chen Yang climbed upward, his latissimus dorsi, biceps, forearm flexors engaged simultaneously—three curves rising together. But intriguingly, each muscle group didn't peak simultaneously—a subtle 0.15-second time difference existed.
Lin Xiao's pupils contracted slightly.
This time difference wasn't in textbooks. Standard climbing instruction demanded "simultaneous force," but Chen Yang's method differed—sequential force, wave-like, transmitting power from core muscles to extremities. Benefits: reducing localized muscle fatigue, extending work duration.
Right screen: heart rate and respiratory curves.
Chen Yang's heart rate rose from resting 68 BPM to 105 upon starting his climb, then... stabilized. Regardless of movement complexity, heart rate maintained steady 105-110 BPM range, like precisely controlled machinery.
More astonishing: respiratory frequency.
Normal people's breathing during intense exercise becomes rapid, chaotic. But Chen Yang's respiratory curve maintained steady rhythm—3-second inhale, 3-second exhale, perfectly symmetrical, like meditation.
"This is impossible..." Xiao Wang murmured. "At this exercise intensity, how can heart rate and breathing stay this stable?"
"Turtle Breath Technique." Lin Xiao said softly. "Ancient wellness breathing control. Reduces metabolic rate, minimizing oxygen consumption. I'd only seen it in literature—never imagined someone could actually apply it in practice."
Her fingers rapidly recorded on the tablet: "Hypothesis 1: Subject achieves 'economical mode' cardiopulmonary operation through breathing control. Requires more samples for verification."
[Part 3: Dance in Wind - The Unquantifiable Moment]
Chen Yang reached tower top platform, beginning conductor inspection.
Suddenly, wind speed intensified. Canyon winds surged like beasts, tower trembling slightly, emitting low "hums." Conductors began oscillating violently, amplitude rapidly increasing from ±10cm to ±30cm.
Ordinary linemen would immediately retreat to tower body platform, waiting for winds to subside.
But Chen Yang didn't.
He stood on the tower's crossarm, eyes closed, sensing wind's rhythm. Three seconds later, his eyes snapped open—he leaped—
Onto that wildly swaying conductor.
At the command station, Lin Xiao's heart nearly stopped.
"He's insane..." Xiao Li gasped.
But on-screen data spoke more convincingly than words.
The instant Chen Yang landed on the conductor, skeletal model showed his center of gravity completing three micro-adjustments in 0.08 seconds—first tilting slightly forward to counter impact force; then shifting left 5cm, following conductor oscillation; finally returning to center, achieving perfect synchronization with the wire.
These three adjustments, each under 10cm amplitude, but precisely these tiny corrections enabled him to stabilize on the swaying conductor.
Muscle force mapping became chaotic yet beautiful.
Dozens of muscle groups simultaneously participated in regulation—some contracting, some relaxing, some maintaining tension, like a complex symphony. No single muscle was the "protagonist"—every one served overall balance.
Lin Xiao attempted mentally simulating this process—to algorithmically replicate, how many sensors would be required? What computational power? What reaction speed?
She reached a despairing conclusion: with current technology, impossible.
The human cerebellum processes information far exceeding any supercomputer per second. That information isn't simple numbers, but tactile sensation, vestibular sense, proprioception, vision, hearing... synthesized sensory data beyond counting.
More terrifying: Chen Yang's reactions weren't "calculated," but intuitive.
Just as Lin Xiao stood shocked speechless by data, an even stranger phenomenon appeared on screen—
Chen Yang's heart rate decreased.
From 110 BPM down to 95.
During such a dangerous maneuver, his heart rate dropped instead of rising?
"Must be sensor malfunction." Xiao Wang immediately checked equipment.
"No malfunction." Lin Xiao stared at the curve, murmuring. "He's entered some state... a flow state. When people completely focus on something, the brain secretes endorphins, heart rate drops, time perception slows... But achieving flow during high-altitude work requires what psychological fortitude?"
She recalled Chen Yang's words yesterday: "You must climb up yourself to understand."
Perhaps some things truly couldn't be sensor-captured.
[Part 4: Lin Xiao's Climb - Truth of the Body]
2 p.m., same Tower #18.
Chen Yang stood at tower base, facing Lin Xiao. She'd changed into professional climbing gear—harness, helmet, gloves, kneepads, all top brands. Her backpack contained portable oxygen and first-aid kit.
Equipment-wise, she appeared far more professional than Chen Yang.
But Chen Yang knew—equipment provided safety assurance, not courage.
"Nervous?" Chen Yang asked.
"Okay." Lin Xiao's voice slightly tense. "I've climbed gym walls before, personal record 15 meters. This tower's only 35 meters, should be... manageable."
Chen Yang didn't burst her bubble. Gym walls had fixed holds, artificially designed, crash pad-protected. Towers weren't. Every tower beam was cold, sharp, zero error margin.
"Dual safety hooks—always keep at least one clipped to anchor points. Before each move, observe next foothold. Center of gravity always within support base. Remember?"
"Remembered."
"Then begin."
Lin Xiao inhaled deeply, grasping the first tower beam.
First five meters went smoothly.
Tower base structure relatively simple, beams thick, footholds obvious. Lin Xiao's movements slightly stiff but strictly following safety protocols. She mentally recited kinetics formulas learned in labs—center of gravity projection must fall within support base, three points fixed moving one, upper body upright...
But reaching 10-meter height, everything changed.
First, wind.
She never imagined wind could be so strong, so cold, so savage. Not gym air conditioning's gentle breeze, but brutal force roaring from canyon depths. Wind shook her body involuntarily, helmet chin strap cutting skin, eyes unable to open against the gale.
Then, height.
She glanced down—instant vertigo. Not 15-meter wall beneath soft crash pads, but hard rocky ground. If she fell... she dared not continue the thought.
"Don't look down." Chen Yang's voice came through radio. "Watch your hands, watch the next hold. Focus on one thing at a time."
Lin Xiao forced her gaze back to tower steel. Her palms were sweating now—even through gloves, she felt that slick unease.
Continue upward.
15 meters, 20 meters, 25 meters...
Each meter climbed, fear multiplied. Her breathing grew rapid, heart rate spiking to 155 BPM. Thighs trembling—muscle over-tension symptom. She recalled morning data—Chen Yang at same height, heart rate only 105 BPM, and still dropping.
The gap lay here.
Not strength gap, not technique gap, but psychological gap.
When Lin Xiao finally reached the 30-meter crossarm platform, her legs barely supported her. She clutched the railing desperately, gasping heavily, forehead drenched in cold sweat.
"Rest." Chen Yang had climbed alongside via another route. "How do you feel?"
Lin Xiao wanted to say "fine," but couldn't. She could only shake her head honestly: "I... I thought I was prepared. I studied kinetics, watched a hundred hours of climbing videos, memorized all safety protocols. But..."
She looked up at Chen Yang: "But I didn't expect it would be this terrifying."
Chen Yang sat on the crossarm, offering his water bottle: "Normal. First-time climbers always fear. Acrophobia isn't a flaw—it's human survival instinct."
Lin Xiao drank deeply, throat burn slightly easing. Looking at Chen Yang, she suddenly asked: "Are you still afraid of heights?"
"Yes." Chen Yang's answer surprised her. "Every tower climb, I know the danger. But I've learned to coexist with fear—not eliminate it, but accept it, then continue forward."
He pointed distant: "Look."
Lin Xiao followed his gesture.
Sunset descending, golden light flooding the entire canyon. Nujiang River wound through canyon base like a silver ribbon. Distant snow-capped mountains glowed rose-tinted, clouds flowing slowly between peaks. Below them, that silver transmission line extended toward the horizon, like a bridge connecting heaven and earth.
"From ground level, you can never see the world from this angle." Chen Yang said softly. "This is why I'm willing to climb again and again. Not to conquer height, but to..."
He paused: "To see."
Lin Xiao fell silent.
This moment, she understood that 10%.
That 10% unpredictable by algorithms wasn't a technical defect, but technology's boundary.
[Part 5: Data's Revelation - Possibility of Fusion]
10 p.m., base conference room.
Lin Xiao sat analyzing all data collected today. Twenty-four sensors, six hours of work, generating over 2TB raw data. She'd written a Python script to auto-extract keyframes, calculate motion trajectories, rebuild 3D models.
On screen, Chen Yang's skeletal model endlessly repeated today's actions—climbing, leaping, balancing, inspecting... every movement decomposed into hundreds of time slices, each corresponding to precise coordinates and mechanical parameters.
But the more Lin Xiao watched, the more confused she grew.
Data was complete, yet she sensed something missing. Like having a painting's complete pigment composition analysis, but unable to understand why the painting was beautiful.
"Still working?" The door opened—Chen Yang entered carrying two cups of hot tea.
"Yeah." Lin Xiao rubbed her temples. "I'm thinking—if I want AI to learn your movements, which features should I extract?"
Chen Yang approached, viewing the screen's virtual figure made of lines and light points: "It can learn my movements, but not why I move that way."
"What do you mean?"
"Look here." Chen Yang pointed at a screen moment. "I suddenly moved left 8 centimeters, right? Your sensors recorded all parameters of that action—angle, velocity, acceleration. But they don't know why I moved."
Lin Xiao pulled up that moment's other data—wind speed records, conductor oscillation, drone footage.
"Because wind direction changed?"
"Not entirely." Chen Yang said. "Because I heard conductor vibration frequency change. That frequency told me a stronger gust would arrive in three seconds. So I preemptively adjusted center of gravity."
He paused: "Your sensors can record my actions, but not my auditory input, experiential judgment, predictive logic. These things... perhaps shouldn't be quantified at all."
Lin Xiao fell silent for a long time.
Finally, she turned, looking seriously at Chen Yang: "What if I don't have AI fully imitate you, but make AI your assistant? Like—you still use your experience and intuition for judgment, but AI helps calculate optimal paths, monitor physiological status in real-time, warn of potential dangers?"
Chen Yang's eyes widened slightly.
This was a direction he'd never considered.
"You mean... human-machine collaboration?"
"Right." Lin Xiao's eyes reignited with light. "Not replacement, but enhancement. Like today—I wore sensors climbing. If AI analyzed my heart rate and muscle fatigue in real-time, warning me before reaching limits, I might not have struggled so much."
She opened another file, a project proposal she'd just drafted: "I'm calling it 'Guardian System'—humans provide experience and decisions, AI provides data support and safety warnings. Combined, they're strongest."
Chen Yang viewed the screen, thoughtful.
"We can try."
[Part 6: Midnight Dialogue - Seeds Planted]
11 p.m., they still discussed.
Tea refilled three times, notebook densely packed with ideas. Old Zhang peeked in, smiling satisfied—these two young people finally spoke the same language.
"Chen Yang, may I ask something personal?" Lin Xiao suddenly spoke.
"Go ahead."
"Why did you leave extreme sports?"
Chen Yang's hand froze. A topic he rarely discussed.
After several seconds' silence, he slowly spoke: "Five years ago, I led a team challenging an undeveloped Alps route. I was captain, responsible for pathfinding. One particularly dangerous section—I had others wait while I scouted alone."
His voice deepened: "I succeeded. But when I turned back, I saw a teammate got bored waiting, trying another route himself. Then... he fell."
Lin Xiao held her breath.
"He survived, but spinal injury—could never do extreme sports again. That moment I realized—everything I'd been doing was just satisfying my own conquest desire. Those following me did so for my fame, not because they were truly ready."
Chen Yang looked out the window: "So I left. Came here, became an ordinary lineman. Still in high altitudes, still challenging limits, but this time, not for my adrenaline rush, but to bring light to others' homes. That feeling... is different."
Lin Xiao nodded understanding. She suddenly grasped why Chen Yang so opposed "showboating," why he refused internet fame.
"What about you?" Chen Yang countered. "MIT graduate, Siemens position, promising future. Why return to China, to these remote mountains?"
Lin Xiao smiled: "Because I also grew tired. Abroad, all my research ultimately served capital. They only cared whether technology increased profit margins, reduced labor costs. I wanted to do something... more meaningful."
She gazed out the window where valley lights flickered: "Bringing stable electricity to remote regions. Ensuring linemen don't gamble their lives. Making technology truly serve people. This is what engineers should do."
Their eyes met, each seeing resonance in the other.
"So, we collaborate?" Lin Xiao extended her hand.
"Collaborate." Chen Yang shook it.
Outside, a meteor streaked across the sky.
In this remote valley, two languages, two worlds, two souls began true fusion.
What they didn't know was what storm this decision would trigger in the future.
Next Chapter Preview:
Chapter 5: "Night Watchman of Cloud Temple" - They receive a side mission: Cloud Temple base station communication failure at 4,500 meters elevation. Blizzard strikes, all drones lost, Chen Yang and Lin Xiao trapped in an abandoned temple. During the long cold night, they share their pasts, and the storm will test their newly forged trust...