In the vast, undulating Hindu Kush Mountains, a strange buzzing sound suddenly arose amidst the swirling mountain winds. The
Violently churning air quickly transformed into a roar echoing through the mountains.
A crudely designed two-seat gyroplane, lacking even a proper outer shell, skimmed across the mountainside, almost crushing the wild grass, gradually decreasing its altitude before swooping down onto a relatively flat slope.
Its three fixed wheels quickly hit the gravelly ground, and the gyroplane,
colloquially known as a
"three-wheeled vehicle,"
It wobbled and bounced once, twice, and three times, finally its forward momentum neutralized by the terrain, gliding a short distance before coming to a stop.
"Warning, warning, number 4489, you have entered the 911 Aircrew Base air traffic control area. Please leave immediately! Warning! Warning!
No. 4489..."
The public address system of the "three-wheeled vehicle"
suddenly crackled with warnings in multiple languages.
With high eyebrows, deep-set eyes, a prominent nose, and a weathered beard, the gyrocopter pilot picked up the radio microphone and snapped,
"What are you yelling for? What are you yelling for?
All you do is yell and scream all day long. What the hell are you yelling about? I'm leaving right now!
"He grumbled and cursed, then angrily slammed the microphone down,
unbuckled his seatbelt, jumped out of his seat, and muttered under his breath,
"A bunch of idiots at a private contractor's aircrew base, acting like they own the place, acting like
They're something special...
"The graveyard of empires, a battlefield—these are the arrogant, unruly people of this impoverished place!
The gyrocopter pilot then helped the passenger in the back unload their luggage from the overhead bins.
expertly rubbing his thumb, index, and middle fingers together.
Nothing special, just asking for the bill!
"I can only take you this far.
It'll cost you a thousand. Remember, no invoice."
What need is there for an invoice when you're flying in the Hindu Kush Mountains? These "three-wheeled vehicles" aren't taxed. They're just small businesses, like giving someone a ride on the way to buy groceries—not even considered independent businesses, more like street vendors.
"Uncle, can I pay with Alipay?"
The young passenger was about to pull out his phone.
The bearded gyroplane pilot shook the AK-47 slung awkwardly behind his back, gestured around, and said,
"Uncle my foot! I'm only nineteen. Electronic payment? Do you think there's a civilian mobile communication base station nearby?"
His spoken English was definitely at an advanced level, and the addition of a dialect made it even more remarkable.
With education now reaching 80% of the global population, starting literacy and oral language education from kindergarten, along with formal oral language proficiency exams, the biggest benefit is that their history books can be read without difficulty.
In the Hindu Kush Mountains, it's not surprising to hear fluent dialects from economically developed areas.
With an accent that's not up to par and poor handwriting, even finding a job might be difficult. Fortune changes
every three hundred years; now, the wheel of fortune turns, and the barbarians are gone while the Han dynasty prospers.
"Uh..."
The young passenger then noticed that the three-wheeled vehicle didn't have an electronic payment icon, which seemed to be no accident.
Looking around, the view was excellent due to its distance from the city's hustle and bustle;
There wasn't a single familiar signal pole within a ten-kilometer radius.
After all, the Xingdu Kushi Mountains were vast and sparsely populated.
and not an economic zone; no one would be so idle as to randomly place signals.
His hand, which had been reaching for his phone, turned to his wallet, pulled out ten large gold bills, and handed them over.
Crystal energy, replacing oil as the new energy system, supported the joint currency of the Blue Star Realm and the Azure Sky Realm.
"Star Yuan,"
which circulated in every corner of both realms. The original old currency system had been completely transitioned ten years ago, including the Azure Sky Realm's physical currency.
He only had five yuan and eight mao left in his wallet; he didn't know if that was enough to buy a steamed bun.
In the Hindu Kush Mountains, the most common and convenient mode of transportation is this flying "three-wheeled vehicle." These inexpensive two-seat gyroplanes are not technologically advanced; they can take off and land anywhere with just a flat surface. Economical and practical, they can sometimes carry not only passengers but also a donkey. While not fast, this is an advantage in mountainous terrain—fast has its advantages, and slow has its stability, ensuring you won't miss your destination.
Despite their seemingly unreliable appearance, these small flying vehicles are surprisingly safe. Even if the engine malfunctions, there's no fear of stalling; they can glide and make an emergency landing, at least surviving.
Unlike more advanced aircraft, in an emergency, there's no time to parachute; you'll fall to your death. Nobody's made of steel, so these "three-wheeled vehicles," which are practically taxis roaming the mountains, are far more reliable.
After accepting the cash, the 19-year-old bearded gyroplane pilot tossed him a piece of cardboard.
"This is my business card with a QR code. Call me if you're ever out and about; I'm always here. I'll take you to eat hot pot, authentic Patan lamb hot pot; the taste is absolutely amazing." The ride-hailing app would take a cut, so regular customers
could just call directly, a win-win situation. He even gave a thumbs up, a great tactic for attracting customers and selling lamb hot pot.
However, the handwritten name on the business card was Karzai, while the pilot's name on the ride-hailing app was Muhammad—different names.
Had he taken a black market flight?
"Okay! See you later!"
Afraid of accidentally saying the wrong thing and getting shot with an AK, the young passenger mumbled a reply while waving at the restarting two-seater gyrocopter.
"See you next time; off I go!"
The bearded gyrocopter pilot released the handbrake, and the two-seater gyrocopter, turning around, hurtled down the slope, its speed increasing rapidly.
The three-wheeled vehicle started bouncing around again, once, twice, three times, then suddenly plunged and disappeared below the slope.
This slope had an end; below was a steep drop of hundreds of meters—dangerous!
"Little…"
The young passenger who witnessed this scene was in his throat. Before he could even utter the word "heart," the two-seater gyrocopter reappeared, rapidly climbing on an updraft. He could even hear the bearded gyrocopter pilot's hoarse singing from afar.
"I'll send you away, a thousand miles away …"
What year was that song from? He couldn't remember!
When the buzzing of the gyrocopter's blades churning the air faded into the sky, the young passenger looked down at the electronic map and satellite positioning on his phone screen. Sure enough, there was no mobile phone signal, only satellite positioning. Looking around at the desolate mountains and wilderness, devoid of any human habitation, he let out a long sigh.
I, Chen Fei!
I've been fucked!