Su Qing felt that he had been having a very, very long dream. In the dream he seemed to be a bird with a pair of wings on his back that shed feathers when he shook them. He lived in a nest above a precipice. 

He stuck his head out of this dangerous abode, feeling that this place was more hair-raising than any tottering, creaking condemned house—below was a precipice of unknown depth, and a brisk wind streaked over his face as though it could sweep him away at any time. Farther on, the vast blue sky and the wind seemed to blend together, so wide that you could never see their limit. 

The sunlight was blocked by the cliff. The bird Su Qing shifted carefully and found that he couldn’t reach anything. 

He understood. He lived in a fluttering condemned house. 

Su Qing took one look and retreated fearfully into the nest—while the nest was built in a very exotic location, it was very comfortable inside, soft and warm. Not a bit of wind blew in. 

At first he thought that he would starve to death trapped here, but not long after, he saw a big bird with the light at its back land and bring food up to his mouth. Su Qing narrowed his eyes and struggled to raise his head, but he still couldn’t clearly see what the big bird looked like. He only thought that the look it gave him was very tender. 

The big bird rubbed against him, spread its wings, and flew away. 

So Su Qing began to live day to day suspended over a precipice. A long time passed. Every day the big bird came to bring him food or carried some sticks and straw in its mouth to shore up the nest. Then it went away. Su Qing very much wanted to communicate with it, but sadly he had failed bird language in university. He couldn’t understand it. 

He couldn’t remember why he had turned into a bird, nor why he had come to this place. He also didn’t have any desire to learn. He only dimly had a strange feeling in his heart, both serene and apprehensive. Each time he saw another bird wheeling through the air, he felt a desire to fly along with it. But each time he came to the edge of the nest, he looked down at the sharp, forbidding precipice and retraced his steps on weak legs. 

Su Qing felt imprisoned in this warm nest. 

Finally, one day, the big bird came again, and Su Qing gathered his courage and crawled out of the nest, clenching his teeth and stamping his feet, fanning out his wings. The big bird stood calmly at the edge of the nest, its head tilted, watching him nervously flap his wings like an airplane propeller and waveringly fly out. 

Su Qing’s body rose into the air. He couldn’t resist looking down—he thought he was perhaps still human, because only a human would be scared of heights—it didn’t seem so bad looking down like this, but Su Qing felt his blood pressure rise on the spot. Whizzing curses roared through his mind, shaking it so he couldn’t think of anything else. His first flight encountered an in-flight incident—he bumped right into the opposing cliff and went tumbling down. 

Su Qing thought, That’s it, this time I’ll really fall to my death. 

Suddenly, his back was caught by a pair of strong claws. When Su Qing came around, he had returned to the nest in a daze. The big bird gently pecked his head as though reproaching a child who didn’t know his own limits. Then it once more spread its wings and flew away. 

Through wind and frost, through rain and snow, year in and year out, Su Qing felt that he had lost his faith in flight. The big bird always came and went in a hurry. Most of each day was spent staring emptily at the sky, where the colors and the weather changed frequently. He longed for the sunlight more and more, but he couldn’t see it. He could never touch it. 

Slowly, he began to hate this nest. Why did it have to be built above a precipice? Why did it have to be so warm and snug, and so small? Then his hatred turned on the sky, on the wind, on the stones, on the sunlight, even on the big bird. He dodged the big bird’s intimate touches when it came. He was no longer interested in food. 

Su Qing felt that for the rest of his life, he would be nothing but a stupid bird hiding in a nest, eating and killing time. He would never fly up. 

After some more time, he couldn’t even muster hatred. He only felt profound sadness. If a bird couldn’t fly, why should it exist? He couldn’t think of an answer, so he began to refuse food, planning to starve himself to death. 

Over and over, the big bird found that he wouldn’t touch the food it brought him. It became a little worried and turned circles around Su Qing. One day it even flew out and came back with a colorful flower. 

Sadly, Su Qing was whole-heartedly running along his wild path to death. He had no interest in beauty. He only turned his head and took a look, then wearily turned away. 

“Why do you have to be so nice to me? It must be because you’re a big dumb bird with a stomach that's too big and a brain that's too small. You’ve made a mistake. What is there about a bird who can’t even fly that’s worth clinging to?” Su Qing thought dully to himself. 

The big bird stuck to him more and more, exhausting its resources to bring all kinds of curiosities to cheer him up, but Su Qing became more and more fretful, even using his scant remaining strength to chase the big bird away. He despised this care that came out of nowhere, because he thought that he wasn’t worthy of being cared for. It should leave him here and let him run his course. 

The big bird had one of its feathers shaken off by his rough treatment. It stood there not daring to approach him, making a mournful sound. 

The irascible and bristling bird Su Qing suddenly calmed down. He looked at the big bird. In a flash, he understood something—it turned out that he didn’t despise the big bird; he didn’t despise anyone. He only despised himself. 

A bird…or a person by the name of Su Qing. 

After its mournful cry, the big bird charged right into the skies. Just then, Su Qing dimly heard a child’s indistinct voice in his ear. He could only distinguish the words “shut up in a little box.” He thought that the child’s voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t remember who this was. 

A thunderclap came down from the sky, rumbling incessantly. The big bird wheeled and flew back. It tentatively stood beside him and reached out a massive wing, blocking the wind and rain. Su Qing looked up and found that there was a straight line on its wing. 

A line…

Someone had once drawn a line for him. He had said, “Don’t trust in emotion, trust in logic.” 

Another clap of thunder. Su Qing froze—logic…yes, logic is a line, a line that can pursue cause and effect. Why do I want to die? Because I can’t fly. But why can’t I fly? Because I’m scared of heights. I’m afraid of the unmatched abyss below, I’m scared…that I’ll fall. 

But so what if I fall? I’ll die…

Su Qing gave a start, because he found that the whole thing was nonsense—because he was cowardly and afraid to die, he was attempting to commit suicide. 

Just then, the familiar childish voice sounded in his ears once more. This time, Su Qing heard it clearly. The child was saying: “Uncle Annoying, hurry and wake up, don’t sleep anymore. If you keep sleeping, they’ll shut you up in a little box.” 

The rain had stopped at some point. Su Qing raised his head, his eyes meeting the big bird’s. The big animal’s eyes were gentle and sorrowful, like a father with a heart full of helplessness and no way to express it. The sky was still hazy, and muffled thunder rose and fell. Su Qing climbed up. His gaze swept over the abyss. He suddenly understood his path—freedom or death. 

He stood at the edge of the nest, took a deep breath, then threw himself forward. The air supported his body. He sailed up on his wings. Sunlight pierced the thick clouds like a sharp sword and fell on him. 

Su Qing suddenly opened his eyes. He had become human again at some point. He was lying on the ground, listening to Cheng Weizhi and Zhao Yifei’s cries, while Tu Tutu sat in front of him. A piece of stone big enough to crush the child like a watermelon was falling out of the air. 

Su Qing grabbed Tu Tutu, rolling backwards without even thinking. There was a huge rumble, and his vision went black. He realized that the building had collapsed, and he was trapped in an airtight little space. A stab of intense pain came from his lower leg. He couldn’t move it. It seemed to have been broken. 

Tu Tutu was crying like a little cat. Su Qing patted him on the back, wanting to comfort him, but he found that his throat was parched and aching fiercely. He couldn’t make a sound. 

Hu Bugui hadn’t thought that after their escape attempts were intercepted again and again, the Utopia members would really have the guts to blow up the whole base. Qin Luo contacted him urgently once again: “Captain Hu, news from Chen Lin. He says that Utopia is urgently assembling helicopters, preparing to lift off simultaneously and move researchers and blue seals mixed together…” 

Hu Bugui interrupted her: “Is Chen with them?” 

Qin Luo said, “No, one of the blue seals dislikes him and suggested that all the blue seals split up to cooperate with the long-range attack. He also requested to go with Chen Lin. He may have had something particular in mind, so Chen Lin refused to be moved.” 

Hu Bugui grunted. “So his luck is good. Tell Chen Lin to give a plausible goal for mixing in with us. Prepare to fire. Also, I need a topographic map of the base.” 

When he mentioned Chen Lin, Hu Bugui gnashed his teeth somewhat. Chen Lin had carried out his promise—handed over all of Utopia’s internal deployments. He was having much more success as a “link” than Su Qing, but whether unintentionally or on purpose, the only thing he had left out was their plan to prioritize taking care of the grey seals. 

Qin Luo said, “Yes, sir.” 

A moment later, a clear map came to Hu Bugui’s glasses, which had one lens broken. Hu Bugui immediately put on a helmet and a bulletproof vest, broke up the military vehicle, and charged right into Utopia’s firing line on an improvised motorcycle.

Fang Xiu glimpsed him through the monitor projection, and his eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets. “Captain Hu, what are you doing?!” 

With reckless bravery, Hu Bugui rode the motorcycle like a rocket, laying flat along it. The front windshield was unusually bulletproof. It saved him countless times in the patter of gunfire. As though playing an extreme sport, Hu Bugui left the ground with both wheels several times, pursued by a row of machine guns hot on his tail. But his expression was extremely calm, as if he wasn’t gambling with his life but playing Super Mario! 

Pushed beyond his capabilities to become a temporary commander, Fang Xiu’s heart rate jumped at once to 150, pounding so hard his throat hurt. 

Hu Bugui could already see the grey house. In a moment of inattention, a bullet grazed his arm. This didn’t seem so bad, but when his arm lost strength, the charging motorcycle twisted into the steps of a folk dance, and Hu Bugui flew right off. He quickly adjusted his posture and protected his head…covering the last stretch of ground aloft to spare the trouble of riding. 

He was thrown into a pile of corpses, at any rate not landing right on the hard cement ground. Hu Bugui was stained all over with blood. The instant he touched the ground, he subconsciously rolled aside to take advantage of the cover. He pulled the machine gun off his back and strafed a swath. 

When he had brought down the people nearby, Hu Bugui spared some attention to look on the ground, his heart instantly missing a beat—when the words “too late” leapt up in his brain, Hu Bugui felt his hands go cold. 

He felt a pain like his chest being torn and woodenly lowered his head to look at his hands soaked in someone’s blood. An indescribable feeling welled up in his heart, making all his organs ache. 

Hu Bugui’s legs went weak, and he fell to his knees. He pounded his fist into the wreckage, then buried his face in his hands. The thick, sticky, ice-cold liquid on his palms stuck to his face. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and did his best to calm down. He fiddled with the glasses on his nose, which were letting off sparks and planning to go on strike at any moment. He quietly said, “Scan this area for life signs.”