In the undulating expanse of the vast Xingdu Kush Mountain Range, a peculiar buzzing noise suddenly pierced through the chaotic mountain wind.
The air vibrated violently and the sound quickly turned into a rumble echoing between the mountains.
A crude-looking gyroplane lacking even an outer shell skimmed the ridge's wild grass at high speed, gradually descending and diving toward a relatively flat hillside.
The tricycle's three fixed wheels soon pressed down onto the gravelly ground; the rough landing causing the gyroplane, colloquially known as a "tricycle," to lurch once, twice, three times before the slope neutralized its forward momentum, sliding to a stop after a short distance.
"Warning, warning, number 4489, you have entered Aircrew Base 911's airspace control zone, please leave immediately, Warning! Warning! No.4489, ... "
The public frequency radio on the two-seater gyroplane suddenly blared warnings in multiple languages.
The gyroplane's pilot with high brows, a prominent nose, and a face full of weathered beard picked up the radio's handset and responded irritably, "What's with all the yelling? Bloody hell, it's constant nagging. I'm leaving right now."
After a string of curses and with visible annoyance, he hung up the microphone, unbuckled his safety belt, and climbed out of his seat, still grumbling under his breath about the "melon-headed private contractors at Aircrew Base, using feathers as Mandate Arrows, precious like a dragon's... "
The Empire's graveyard, a land of a hundred battles, with harsh mountains and waters—the tough people of this cursed land are just so bold!
The gyroplane pilot proactively helped the passenger in the back seat unload the luggage from the rack, then skillfully gestured with his thumb, index, and middle finger extended.
No offense meant, time to pay up!
"I can only take you this far, a thousand Star Yuan as agreed, no receipt."
In the Xingdu Kush Mountain Range, who needed a receipt for flying unregistered? "Tricycles" didn't pay taxes, and picking up passengers was just a side hustle while going out for groceries; it wasn't even considered a proper self-employed business, just akin to setting up a market stall.
"Uncle, how about we use Alipay?"
The young passenger was about to pull out his phone.
The bearded gyroplane pilot shook his AK automatic rifle that was slung haphazardly behind him, nodded towards the surroundings nonverbally, and said, "Uncle, my ass, I'm only nineteen this year. Electronic payment? Do you think there's a civilian mobile communication base station nearby?"
His colloquial speech was definitely of Level 8 proficiency, even rarer with the regional dialect.
As he spoke, he even gave a thumbs-up. Drumming up business and selling mutton pots, this strategy could work.
However, the handwritten name on the business card was Karzai, while the name of the pilot on the flight app was Muhammad, surprisingly not the same.
Had he just flown with an unregistered flyer?
"Mmm-hmm! See you!"
Fearing to speak amiss and be greeted with a burst from an AK, the young passenger mumbled his farewell and waved to the double-seated gyroplane as it fired up its engine.
"See you next time, off I go!"
The bearded gyroplane pilot released the handbrake and the double-seated gyroplane turned its head and rushed down the slope, picking up speed.
The "Tricycle" began to eagerly bounce again; once, twice, thrice, the vehicle suddenly sank and then vanished below the slope.
This slope did have an end, and below was a steep drop of hundreds of meters—deadly!
"Littl..."
The young passenger's heart lifted as he witnessed this scene. Before he could shout out the word "little," he saw the double-seated gyroplane reappear, quickly climbing with the help of an updraft, and could even hear the distant, strained singing of the bearded pilot.
"I'm sending you away, thousands of miles apart..."
What year was this old song from? He couldn't remember!
When the humming of the gyroplane's blades stirring the air disappeared into the sky, the young passenger looked down at the electronic map and satellite positioning on his phone screen. Indeed, there was no signal from the mobile communication base station, only the satellite position signal remained. Looking around at the desolate, uninhabited mountains, he let out a long breath.
I, Chen Fei!
Damn, I've been had!
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