Holy shit.
F**k f**k f**k f**k f**k f**k f**k f**k!
Bai Yang sprang up from his chair, raising both hands, not knowing what to do. The news was too shocking, stunning his brain into paralysis. After a few seconds, he pressed his hand to his forehead to calm himself down, taking deep breaths while telling himself not to get too excited too soon.
Bai Yang immediately searched online for exact pictures of the new crewed spacecraft’s return module to show her, double-checking twice, then asked her to switch the call mode to audio.
“BG, I’ve seen this thing, this return module, a round-headed thing, tall and big, half-buried in mud, very similar to the picture you showed me. If I’m not mistaken… it’s in that big crater at People’s Life Plaza,” the girl said over the channel. “I thought it was some unexploded bomb.”
“When… when did it arrive?” Bai Yang’s voice was trembling.
“You mean the return module? I don’t know when it arrived, it’s been there for many, many years. When I first passed by the south library, that big crater was already there.”
My God.
Bai Yang whispered.
Time was such a marvelous thing. When you thought it would fail to keep its appointment, it had been waiting for you for many years.
The girl had passed by People’s Life Plaza opposite the south library countless times, always ignoring that big crater. If the spacecraft had thoughts, it must have been depressed wondering why Ban Xia never paid attention to it. But it couldn’t speak, couldn’t call out, just squatting there in the crater, weathering wind and rain for many years, until grass grew on its head and birds nested there, snails slowly crawling up.
The unfortunate spacecraft surely didn’t know it had arrived too early. When it arrived, the girl didn’t yet recognize it.
Bai Yang wasn’t sure what had happened to the spacecraft, but something must have gone wrong at some point. The spacecraft had returned early and crashed at People’s Life Plaza. Six tons of metal hurtling down at extreme speed had not only collapsed the building it hit but also created a huge crater in the ground, demolishing surrounding structures.
The silver lining was that the navigation hadn’t failed—it had found its location, landing near Meihua Villa.
Heaven hadn’t abandoned us after all.
Bai Yang fumbled to pull out his phone, immediately calling his dad.
At this moment, Bai Zhen was squatting in the hallway outside the conference room eating a late-night snack. Bai Zhen, Wang Ning, and Zhao Bowen were squatting in a row against the wall, one hand holding disposable paper cups of plain water, the other clutching a cold, hard cake. The evening meetings had gone through three sessions, running from 8:30 PM until 2 AM, with ten-minute breaks between each session, each attended by different people. The refreshments on the table outside were almost gone, with no one bringing new ones.
The conference room’s heating was on full blast, with people arguing behind closed doors, the CO2 levels high enough to make heads spin. Only during meeting breaks could they come out for air, though the hallway’s air quality wasn’t much better than inside. Everyone was starving, and the refreshments outside had been snatched up immediately. Bai Zhen had managed to grab two cakes, eating them one bite at a time.
“In my view, arguing won’t produce results,” Wang Ning squatted to the side, cheeks bulging. “Their first concern is shirking responsibility. Listen to what these people are saying—on the surface, they’re discussing why the mission failed, but the real focus is that their group didn’t have any problems, the problems were in other project groups.”
“Everyone can pass the buck, who should we pass it to?” Bai Zhen pursed his lips, looking around at the other attendees standing in small groups in the hallway, talking among themselves.
“Pass it to Buddha,” Zhao Bowen said. “The Buddha and Bodhisattvas at Qixia Temple are the primary responsible parties, that’s what we’ll say.”
“You want to write that in the report? The higher-ups will remove you from your position,” Wang Ning said.
“Remove remove remove, the sooner they f**king remove me the better,” Zhao Bowen cursed. “If they don’t remove me, I’m their grandson.”
“You have the guts to say that to the leaders’ faces?” Bai Zhen rolled his eyes. “If you don’t, you’re their grandson.”
“F**k you,” Old Zhao said.
“No need to be so pessimistic. As they say, heaven always leaves a way out. Maybe the spacecraft will arrive tonight, it’s possible, right?” Bai Zhen looked up at the ceiling, stuffing the last half piece of cake in his mouth. Strange, why hadn’t he noticed how good this cake was before?
After finishing, he looked around again, finding the table had been cleared empty.
“There’s that possibility, but we can’t count on it anymore. We need to abandon false hopes and prepare for battle,” Zhao Bowen patted his behind and stood up. “Let’s go, let’s go, the second half is about to start.”
Next came a lengthy meeting where project team leaders heatedly discussed how to launch a second operation and ensure its success.
Wang Ning sat below frowning, silent. He knew what these people would say before they opened their mouths. His ears were developing calluses. Although everyone seemed to be earnestly discussing mission details, Wang Ning knew it was futile. No matter how much they argued tonight, they wouldn’t push the plan forward one step. Everyone was self-hypnotizing in the lukewarm comfort of pretending to work hard as if sitting here arguing could produce results. In a sense, this conference room was a stage, where everyone knowingly acted out their parts, performing for others and themselves. With catastrophe approaching, they had to do something, or at least pretend to do something—it was their duty.
Being here chattering was less effective than getting the abbot from Qixia Temple to chant sutras—the latter might have better results.
Ninety percent of meetings in this world were less effective than monk chanting—Wang Ning had deep experience with this.
“Second point, we must ensure the target remains within the nuclear bomb’s effective kill range. This requires manual adjustment. If we place the nuclear bomb near Meihua Villa,” the speaker held a pen, pointing here and there on the PowerPoint with its cap, “moving the nuclear bomb to the preset detonation point is a high-risk action, should be marked in red.”
“Do we have any way to monitor the Knife Guest’s actions again?”
“We need telemetry satellites.”
“Satellite preparation takes time, and rockets are even more troublesome.”
Old Zhao sat with arms crossed, displeased with everyone, his lips pursed enough to hang a beer bottle from them.
The mission failure had caused him major troubles. It had weakened Zhao Bowen’s authority in the entire command center. In his view, the second hardest thing in the world was saving it; the hardest was leading such a massive team to save it.
“Congratulations on your fortune—! I congratulate your brilliance—!”
Andy Lau’s festive voice suddenly rang out in the conference room, interrupting the speaker’s PowerPoint and breaking the serious atmosphere. Everyone was startled, turning their heads toward the sound.
Bai Zhen fumbled to pull his phone from his pocket and silence the call. The speaker frowned slightly in displeasure—setting phones to silent or vibrate during meetings was basic etiquette.
Old Bai silenced the phone, hiding it under the table, smiling awkwardly.
“During meetings, please keep your phones on silent or turned off,” the speaker coughed dryly. “Now, let’s look at the third point…”
Bai Zhen secretly replied via WeChat under the table:
“Son, I’m in a meeting, what do you need to call me for?”
A few seconds later, Bai Yang replied.
The phone vibrated slightly. Old Bai opened WeChat and looked, his eyes growing wider and wider until they seemed about to pop out of their sockets.
“Holy sh*t!”
Old Bai suddenly shouted, startling everyone.
The speaker was also startled, turning a bewildered gaze his way.
“Holy SH*T—!” Old Bai slammed the table forcefully, leaping to his feet. “Holy f**king sh*t holy f**king sh*t holy f**king sh*t! Holy f**king sh*t Old Zhao! Zhao Bowen, you son of a—!”