"I, I... I'll do it!"
Chen Fei, with a mournful expression, had no choice but to brace himself and agree.
If he dared to utter half a 'no,' he feared he would end up lying here tonight.
In the end, he couldn't escape the fate of settling debts with his body.
"Hahahahaha, there you go, good brother, from now on I, Chekhov, have got your back."
The fierce expression that had almost been murderous abruptly changed, and Chekhov burst out laughing heartily, slapping Chen Fei's shoulder as if he had never intended to press the issue in the first place.
The crowd, whose hearts had been in their throats, collectively breathed a sigh of relief, their smiles returning, and the atmosphere at the scene became light-hearted and jovial once more.
"Chekhov, if, if it's alright, I'll be going now."
Chen Fei wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, preparing to take his leave.
"Not going to have a drink? Come on, come on, as Wu Song crossed Jingyang Ridge, without three bowls don't think about leaving!"
Big Bear held Chen Fei down in his seat with one hand, calling for the bartender to whip up a dozen freshly mixed "Nuclear Sunsets."
With a single glass of alcohol, your stick takes flight, and after just two ounces in your belly, you're tumbling seven-hundred and twenty degrees. If you can't drink, what kind of airman are you? What if the Air Force needs your drinking capacity and, damn it, half a beer puts you down—what kind of nonsense is that?!
Remember how the "Airborne Surgeon" reputation was earned; it's tradition, no issues there!
Greeting drinks are followed by enrollment drinks, then comes the warm-up drink, and after, the review drink, followed by the interview drink... Thud, thud, thud.
These booze hounds always come up with all sorts of clever excuses to pour one more. One, two, three, four, round they go again.
Wu Song must have been so enraged by the coerced booze-slinging at the shady tavern at the foot of Jingyang Ridge that he ended up killing a man, turning the unfortunate tiger into a scapegoat. Now that was true entrapment, as the big boss Commander Wu beat the man to death with his fists, earning both fame and profit, a display of both high IQ and EQ.
Chen Fei had no idea how he left the "Medusa's Beautiful Eyes" bar. When he fully regained consciousness and opened his eyes, he found himself lying in his dormitory bed with the endless beeping of the alarm clock ringing in his ears.
The cocktail "Nuclear Sunset" had a potent aftereffect, causing a splitting headache upon waking up. Memories of the previous night began flooding back like the tide returning to shore.
The commander of the "Genuine Fragrance" Combat Flight Squadron, Chekhov, had lent Chen Fei an AK-47 for self-defense. It had mysteriously become battered beyond repair. For Chen Fei, a man with millions in debt, this antique rifle worth a million Star Yuan was surely unaffordable. No money to give, but he had a life to offer.
What followed was, it seemed, no beatings. They talked it over, and, err, in the end, he was still tricked by that Big Bear into becoming a damned pilot. Did they really think the fearsome Dragon of Slaughter was a mere cat or dog?
Fucking hell!
Forcibly downing a few cocktails left him utterly confused, and against his will, he joined a wild dance with the crowd. Then, carrying the broken AK, he stumbled to the neighboring cafeteria, not knowing what he said to Chef Abel, who seemed to shed tears, looking reluctant to part... Sheesh! Damn it, I'm straight, not gay. Absolutely not messing with Abel.
Yeah! It was for the bird, my bird, spit, this bird is getting hairy, spit spit spit, is there a bird that doesn't grow feathers?
And it can fly now, right, it can fly!
But where did it fly to?
His memory returned to this point, and Chen Fei's brain sank into a void. He had been blackout drunk in the end.
"Tweet!~"
A crisp, childish chirp sounded in his ear.
Something seemed to move above his head, and looking up, he saw a small pointed beak.
Thinking of the chief mechanic's fists, which were not at all inferior to those of a big bear, he couldn't help feeling guilty and panicked.
The young bird standing on his shoulder, however, chirped a few times.
Hearing the clear chirping, Xiao Ming turned his head and saw Chen Fei.
"Little Chen, come here for a second."
"Oh, I'll be right there!"
Chen Fei glared at the tiny bird squatting on his shoulder without any good feelings.
"Chirp chirp!"
Xiao Jiu looked completely innocent.
"Are you going to Chekhov's pilot interview tonight? Want sugar?"
Xiao Ming poured a steaming cup of coffee for Chen Fei in the container office of the mechanic team and then pressed the coffee machine again, which began to whir and clank into action.
After a heavy night of drinking, a morning cup of coffee was essential to wake up.
"No sugar, thanks, uh, yes... tonight."
Chen Fei was somewhat at a loss for words; he didn't actually know the time for the "Genuine Fragrance" Combat Flight Squadron's pilot interview, but he got a hint from the chief mechanic of the mechanics team.
The young bird on his shoulder was hopping excitedly, traveling down his arm and onto his hand, curiously peeking into the coffee cup.
Even though it was able to spread its wings and fly, it still preferred to hop around as its physical energy was not yet enough to support prolonged flight.
"I mean, if you don't want to, I'll speak to that Chekhov guy for you."
The coffee machine was finally ready, and Xiao Ming also poured a cup of coffee for himself, added a sugar cube, and slowly stirred it with a spoon.
"I... I'm willing!"
Chen Fei initially wanted to say he was unwilling, but when the words were about to escape his lips, he changed his mind at the last moment.
The seven cardinal sins of life: Poor! Poor! Poor! Poor! Poor! Poor!
Poor!
Being broke is a cardinal sin, and being in debt is downright unforgivable.
After all, being a pilot is a high-income job; he had to bow to reality.
Emmmm... Genuine Fragrance!
"Is it because of the debt?"
Despite Chief Mechanic Xiao's towering stature and broad shoulders, his mind was incredibly sharp, and he had accurately pinpointed the crux of the matter.
Chen Fei honestly replied, "Yes!"
He didn't like to spend beyond his means or be in debt. He loved to hoard, save, and accumulate—these traits were passed down from his ancestors and etched into his genes.
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