UAAG CH3

Having only stayed in Boston for a day, Fu Cheng flew back to New York the next morning.

Two days ago, as an active-duty pilot for Donghua Airlines, he had flown a plane to New York. Now, he had to fly it back.

At 9:00 AM China time on July 7th, a massive Boeing 777 dove from the clouds, broke through the thick, scorching air, and landed at Shanghai Airport in China. Inside the cabin, flight attendants coordinated with the passengers, ensuring an orderly departure.

Once all the passengers had disembarked, Fu Cheng lowered his head to fill out the flight log.

The captain beside him unbuckled his seatbelt and looked at him: “Are you delivering the report to headquarters this time?”

The writing motion paused slightly. Fu Cheng looked up: “Sure.”

Donghua Airlines’ headquarters was located right next to Shanghai Airport. Taking the shuttle bus, Fu Cheng quickly arrived at the headquarters building.

After handing the flight report to the designated ground staff, Fu Cheng was about to turn and leave when a hesitant female voice sounded from behind him: “Um… Fu, Fu Cheng.”

The black-haired young man stopped, turned around, and showed her a gentle smile: “Is there something else?”

The ground staff member thought for a moment before speaking: “I heard something, I don’t know if it’s true. Recently, there seems to be an air crash investigation organization called UAAG. The authorities place great importance on it. A notification might come down in a few days, and you might be specially recruited into this organization.”

The smile at the corner of his mouth faltered for a second. Fu Cheng: “Air crash investigation organization?”

The young ground staff member: “Yes. Um, I’m not sure if it’s true or false, I just overheard the director mention it by chance…”

“Thank you, I understand.”

“No, no need to be polite!” She revealed a delighted smile.

Stepping out of the headquarters building, the scorching air, thick enough to be water, instantly pressed into his lungs. The high-temperature sun beat down on the ground, making it hard to breathe. He went directly to the underground parking garage, found his car, inserted the key into the ignition, and with a crisp “click,” the car engine started.

His right hand holding the steering wheel, just as he was about to drive out of the parking lot, Fu Cheng suddenly remembered what the young ground staff member had said.

“…UAAG?”

Slender, fair fingers tapped lightly on the black sheepskin steering wheel, producing a faint sound with a specific rhythmic cadence. The dim light of the parking lot shone through the windshield, landing on the slightly protruding knuckles of his wrist, casting a hazy yet translucent shadow.

The next moment, the black-haired young man gave a helpless, low laugh and drove away.

Three days later, the transfer notice from UAAG arrived at Donghua Airlines headquarters.

UAAG, full name: United Aviation Accident Group.

A multinational cooperative aircraft accident investigation organization.

Although he had been prepared, Fu Cheng still felt astonished when he actually received the transfer order.

Air crash investigators are generally experienced aircraft maintenance personnel or ground support staff, though pilots are not unheard of. It’s not uncommon for pilots to transition to air crash investigators, but those are usually older pilots or those whose physical condition no longer meets flying standards.

He was in his prime. Asking such a young pilot to become an air crash investigator—firstly, he might not have much experience handling accidents, and secondly, this might be a waste of talent.

However, Donghua Airlines agreed to his transfer notice.

That afternoon, Fu Cheng completed the flight duty handover with other pilots and returned home.

Just after coming out of the parking lot and before getting on the elevator, his phone rang.

Looking at the phone number starting with “0033” on the screen, Fu Cheng paused slightly, then pressed the answer button.

“Bonjour?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and soon, a soft, gentle female voice replied: “Bonjour, vous parlez français?” (Hello, do you speak French?)

Fu Cheng smiled and responded: “Can you speak English?”

When the other party spoke again, it was in very fluent Chinese: “Mr. Fu Cheng, hello. I am Stephanie, an administrative staff member at UAAG. You can call me Lina; that is my nickname.” She spoke quickly but didn’t make one feel rushed; her voice was gentle and pleasant: “It is currently 5:31 PM on July 10th, China time. I assume you are still at Donghua Airlines?”

Fu Cheng: “I have already gone home.”

There was a moment of silence on the phone. The female voice said apologetically: “I am very sorry to disturb your rest time. According to the time on the transfer order, you were supposed to report to UAAG headquarters tomorrow. However, something sudden has come up. We received a temporary commission and have now arrived in Finland. I have also booked a flight ticket for you. If it is convenient, I will send a car to UAAG headquarters to pick you up and take you to the airport to come to Finland.”

“Okay, no problem.”

“The license plate number of the car picking you up is…”

Fu Cheng recorded the license plate number.

The female voice on the phone said in a gentle and polite tone: “Then, we will wait for you in Finland.”

We?

Fu Cheng looked thoughtful. He smiled: “See you in Finland.”

UAAG’s headquarters was in the city center of Shanghai, where land was worth its weight in gold.

Skyscrapers lined the surroundings, and luxury cars flowed through like a school of fish. White-collar elites in formal wear walked hurriedly, unwilling to waste even a second of walking time. Holding mobile phones, they were either talking business on calls or writing messages and emails.

The air was filled with the fragrance of banknotes.

Surrounded by hurried urban elites, Fu Cheng stood calmly downstairs, hands in his pockets, waiting.

Until a harsh noise came from beside him.

“Huh? Is this how RIP treats his companions? He begged me to come, and now he just leaves me hanging?”

The voice was immature and raw, carrying a clear brightness unique to teenagers.

Fu Cheng turned to look. Sure enough, it was indeed a teenager who looked to be in his teens. He had green headphones hanging around his neck and a silver skull stud in his right ear. He wasn’t tall, visually estimated at just over 160 cm, wearing a graffiti-style loose T-shirt. His right hand dragged a black suitcase, and his left hand held a phone, his face full of resentment and impatience.

“…What do you mean his name isn’t RIP? Tsk, his name is RIP. You tell RIP that I’ve gone back to Boston. Goodbye!”

“I should tell him to his face? Is he in the country? If he appeared in front of me right now, I’d say the same thing to his face!”

The teenager hung up the phone indignantly. Sensing someone looking at him, he raised his head.

Because the two were standing very close, and Fu Cheng was 183 cm tall, the punk teenager had to look up to meet his gaze.

And not just a small tilt.

Punk teenager: “…”

“Hmph.”

Fu Cheng: “…”

What’s his problem?

At this moment, a black Rolls-Royce slowly drove up to them. The driver got out and opened the door.

Fu Cheng had seen the license plate clearly as the car approached. Now that the driver had opened the door, he stepped forward to get in. Unexpectedly, he collided with a scrawny figure.

Both of them were stunned.

“UAAG?”

“From UAAG?”

“…”

“…”

Sure enough, you UAAG people are all weirdos!

Both of them got into the car.

Fu Cheng and the punk teenager sat on opposite sides of the back seat. Once inside, the punk teenager seemed to just notice that this was a luxury car.

“Whoa, RIP is really rich. A luxury car. Didn’t notice just now—Starlight Headliner, RR?” The punk teenager excitedly felt around left and right. He pressed a button, and a sterling silver cigar box popped out from the left; he pressed another button, and the glass between them and the front seat slowly turned frosted, blocking the view. The punk teenager’s eyes lit up. A thousand words converged into one sentence: “Fuck, it’s good to be rich!”

Fu Cheng nodded in heartfelt agreement.

However, this Rolls-Royce airport pickup was just the beginning.

As soon as the two arrived at Shanghai Airport, before they even got out of the car, a beautiful flight attendant opened the door for them.

“Respected Mr. Fu, Mr. Su, this way please.”

Two other flight attendants took their luggage from the trunk.

The punk teenager was dumbfounded.

Fu Cheng knew such services existed at the airport, but it was his first time seeing them too.

The flight attendant had a gentle smile, a pleasant voice, and was exceptionally beautiful. After taking them into the lounge, she thoughtfully served them all the way until seeing them board the plane. The punk teenager felt like he was walking on clouds, floating in ecstasy.

Of course, the flight was also first class.

When they arrived in Helsinki, the capital of Finland, and got off the plane, a Bentley was there to pick them up.

The punk teenager said blankly: “What on earth did UAAG do here?” Pausing, he turned to look at Fu Cheng beside him. Curiosity overcame his pride, and he couldn’t help but ask in a whisper: “Hey, UAAG guy, what are you guys actually doing here?”

It was Fu Cheng’s first day too, but he rested his chin on one hand, leaning against the soft leather seat. After pondering for a moment, he already had an answer in his heart.

“Speak up.”

Fu Cheng lowered his eyes to look at him. His handsome face didn’t have much expression, and his voice was calm and flat: “Half a year ago, Japan Airlines Flight JL917 flew from Tokyo to Helsinki and crashed over farmland one kilometer from Vantaa Airport. 136 passengers and 9 crew members on board perished; 89 survived.”

The punk teenager’s expression froze.

The Bentley slowly came to a stop. Fu Cheng glanced at the teenager and opened the door to get out himself.

This seemed to be a factory district, rarely visited by people. Orange factory sheds housed all the people and machines, hiding them within. The car had stopped outside a two-story building. By now, the sky was darkening. On the vast expanse of land, a breeze blew, carrying the elegant scent of lilies of the valley into his nasal cavity.

The setting sun had not yet completely sunk below the horizon. Near the edge of the earth was a strip of magnificent, fiery orange-red.

From a distance, through the dim light, Fu Cheng saw a tall, slender black figure in front of the two-story building.

There was no other path to take at this point. The punk teenager got out of the car behind him and gloomily went to get his luggage. Fu Cheng strode forward, intending to ask for directions.

As he got closer, the scent of lilies of the valley in the wind grew stronger, along with the heavy smell of tobacco.

This person wore a thin, simple white T-shirt, seemingly unafraid of the low temperature of just over ten degrees in Helsinki after nightfall. His two lean, strong arms were exposed to the air. His upper body sat on the upper rail of a double-layer iron railing. Because he was too tall and the railing too low, his long legs had nowhere to go, so one foot rested on the lower rail while the other slanted down to step on the ground.

He leaned back, supporting himself on the railing with his left hand, looking up at the night sky. His right hand held a cigarette, puffing out clouds of smoke.

Fu Cheng didn’t intentionally hide the sound of his footsteps, so this person should have heard him. Yet, he continued to look up at the sky, showing no intention of turning his head to look.

His slightly long black hair was tied into a small bun at the back of his head with a simple rubber band, but most of the hair had fallen loose, covering half his face, revealing only a high, cool bridge of his nose.

Fu Cheng stopped: “Hello?”

“Bonjour?”

“…Hei?” (Finnish for Hi)

“Besides French, you also speak Finnish?”

In the cool summer night, the man’s nonchalant voice cut through the floral scent of lilies of the valley and the bitter smell of tobacco, landing on Fu Cheng’s heart. Clamping the cigarette in one hand, he turned his head, tilting it slightly to look at the black-haired young man before him with a faint smile. Those thin lips curved into an arc that could arguably be called benevolent.

However, under the gradually descending night curtain, the black-haired young man’s pupils constricted sharply, and his fingers trembled.

He didn’t speak.

At the edge of the earth, the last ray of sunset vanished into the abyss.

He was ruthlessly thrown into the deepest part of a polar glacier. The moment he saw this man, all the blood in his body congealed.

At this moment, the sound of dragging luggage came from behind, followed by the punk teenager’s exclamation: “RIP?”

Zhuo Huan let out a light hum from his nose: “Hmm? The loser?”

The punk teenager flew into a rage from shame: “Who the fuck is your loser!”

“Just won 37 games of Blackjack against you, that’s all.” Gripping the cigarette with his teeth, he lightly pushed off the iron railing with his long leg and stood up straight. Zhuo Huan put his hands in his trouser pockets and lifted his chin towards Fu Cheng. “Zhuo Huan.”

This was him introducing himself.

Without waiting for Fu Cheng’s reply, Zhuo Huan laughed, turned around with the cigarette in his mouth, and entered the small building: “I know your name is Fu Cheng.” Having said that, he lazily raised his hand and waved backward without looking back.

He walked with incomparable ease and confidence, as if he knew the two behind him would definitely follow him through that door, with absolutely no second choice.

Dragging his suitcase, the punk teenager followed aggressively.

Just as the man’s figure was about to disappear into the shadows of the small building, the black-haired young man frozen outside the door also moved. He lifted his foot and followed him inside.

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