Beyond the Zenith

Han Qingyu deliberated for three minutes. Or maybe it was five. The chaos on the battlefield reflected his racing thoughts. It was hard to make a decision.

Finally, he heard someone say “Scatter.” That single word spoken in a low tone made the people with the metal backpacks immediately disperse. This was obviously not a retreat. Rather, this command signaled that the fight was drawing to a close.

To Han Qingyu’s surprise, it appeared the humans were going to win this bloody battle. They had launched wave after wave of attacks, unafraid of death or injury, gradually wearing the two robots down until they were sluggish, riddled with damage, and finally, no longer capable of fighting.

A drawn-out hum that made one’s teeth ache filled the air as the spindle-shaped “UFO” not far away suddenly began to swell, crack, and fall apart. There was no explosion, but as it crumbled, black pieces of metal flew in every direction.

Almost at the same time, black vapor rose from the two battered “suits of armor.” Then, with the same low hum, they too gradually cracked and split apart.

Everyone pressed themselves flat against the ground to take cover, even though the shrapnel was flung far less forcefully than the shrapnel that had flown around during the battle.

Han Qingyu naturally did the same.

Good thing I’ve got a ditch to hide in. As he thought this, something struck him.

While metal shards flew out from the self-destructing UFO, a dark-golden piece of metal the size of a broad bean had fallen onto the ground and rolled straight into Han Qingyu’s ditch.

The impact felt heavy, but not hot. Even though the piece of metal appeared distorted, and its color made it look like a chunk of iron that had spent a bit too much time in the forge, it had not burned him.

Han Qingyu propped himself up slightly in an awkward manner and poked his head up to look around. Shards of metal whistled past his head, and he quickly pressed himself down into the ditch again.

After a while, the last shards of metal finally hit the ground, and several anxious voices called out, “Platoon Leader Lao! Platoon Leader Lao!”

Hurried footsteps came from all directions.

Han Qingyu had no time to think or deliberate. The moment the shrapnel rain stopped completely, several people with metal backpacks were already rushing up to him.

They had obviously come looking for the injured man, and naturally discovered Han Qingyu as well.

Their eyes met.

“You...”

Han Qingyu sat up slowly. “Hello. I... saved him.”

There was silence.

“Really, I did,” Han Qingyu said sincerely.

***

In the battle of nearly forty against two, four had died and nine were severely injured. That was not even counting those who could still crawl to their feet by themselves and those with minor injuries.

This was Han Qingyu’s first time facing a scene so bloody and terrifying.

Some people were collecting bodies and severed limbs. Some were tending to the wounded. Others cleaned up, seemingly responsible for erasing any traces of the battle. The remaining people held small devices and searched the surrounding area carefully. They picked up every last metal shard, no matter how small, and gathered them together.

“Have you found everything?”

“Yes, but it’s weird. We haven’t found the source energy core.”

“Huh?! Really?!” Cold sweat dripped from the man’s forehead.

The other man was just as anxious, stumbling over his words. “W-we couldn’t find it, no matter how hard we looked. Could it have been... completely depleted?”

“That’s not entirely impossible... But how could the timing be this perfect?!” the first man wailed in despair.

He thought for a moment, then suddenly snapped his head toward Han Qingyu and asked sternly, “Kid, did you see a dark-golden lump of metal? About this big... Or maybe smaller than this... Maybe not even a proper chunk, just a nugget.”

Stay calm. Stay calm. This is like when you were catching snakes. Calm down. Han Qingyu stood there like a shackled prisoner, chanting to himself over and over again despite trembling all over.

The Han family had passed down the art of catching snakes for generations. Han Qingyu had once known it too, from the age of ten or so, but after his grandfather died, his mother had stopped him and his father from ever doing it again.

Confronted with an unavoidable life-or-death situation, he finally remembered and reached for that feeling again.

Everything that had happened—and was continuing to happen—was beyond his comprehension and ability to process. Only one thing was clear: He had to stay calm.

This was obviously no ordinary event. It might be an earth-shattering secret, a classified military operation, a shadow war between nations... Whatever it was, he should not have seen it.

He had seen too much. He knew too much.

His face pale, he kept his expression blank and shook his head firmly.

That thing was precious. He had seen it, but he had not taken it. However, this wasn’t something he could admit. He had clearly watched them scan the ditch thoroughly with their devices several times to no avail. If he said he’d seen it, he would have to explain where it had gone, and he couldn’t. In his situation, even the smallest slip or misunderstanding could be fatal.

“Oh?” The man gave him a cold look, then gestured to the person next to him. “Search him.”

“Come on, do you really think...” the other muttered under his breath.

He probably intended to say something along the lines of, “Do you really think a village kid would be bold enough to hide something from us?”but he still walked over and scanned Han Qingyu several times before reporting back with disappointment.

“Nothing.”

“Then it really must have been depleted.”

“Most likely. Either way, let’s search a little more.”

“Understood. What about the kid? What do we do with him?”

By the time he said this, the few who appeared to be in charge had finished their discussion. Apart from those who had resumed searching, more than a dozen pairs of eyes turned back to Han Qingyu. This included Platoon Leader Lao, who had just woken up and still had not wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

The man had been unconscious just moments ago, so it was surprising how quickly he had come to. His injuries did not even look as severe as Han Qingyu had initially assumed.

Platoon Leader Lao pulled himself into a sitting position, propped his back against a large pine tree, and rested one hand over his chest. Lowering his head, he spat out a mouthful of blood, then looked up at Han Qingyu. Even this seemed to require great effort.

“You. Come here.”

He seemed to be in his late thirties, and his voice was deep and commanding.

Han Qingyu had no choice but to go over.

Platoon Leader Lao continued in a gentler tone, “You tried to save me just now, right? Thank you. My name is Lao Jian, and I’m the head here.”

Before Han Qingyu could reply, Lao Jian added with evident regret. “But... what you just witnessed is the greatest secret in the world right now, the highest classified information concerning the stability and survival of human society. I’m very sorry, but there’s no way around it.”

Han Qingyu watched as one of the men behind Lao Jian sneered, raised his hand, and drew a finger across his own throat.

Lao Jian struggled to his feet, accepting the knife passed to him by one of his subordinates before leveling it at Han Qingyu’s throat.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Han Qingyu said.

Lao Jian’s expression did not change. “It doesn’t matter.”

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds... Five seconds. Ten seconds.

The knife was in front of him. Han Qingyu silently stared at Lao Jian. He had a feeling that the other man was waiting for his reaction, waiting for him to say or do something.

So, he said nothing and did nothing, fearing that taking initiative would mean making a mistake.

Lao Jian seemed a little surprised and curious. “You’re not going to cry? Or fall to your knees and beg me, like in a TV drama?”

“Would it work?” Han Qingyu asked earnestly. “If it works, I’ll beg.”

Lao Jian paused, his expression shifting as he gazed at Han Qingyu. “No.”

“Alright. I’m trying to think of another way to persuade you, it’s just that nothing comes to mind.”

Hearing this, a few others nearby felt like laughing. Although he had said it with the same genuine sincerity as everything else—or maybe precisely because of that—it sounded a lot like a joke.

Lao Jian visibly forced himself to keep his expression in check. He had no way of knowing that the plain, timid-looking country boy in front of him was actually trying to get a feel of his personality.

The most critical step when catching a snake was getting the snake to calm down. A true expert could even hold one in their bare hands with no danger. Similarly, when dealing with a person, the most critical thing was to get a clear read on their temper and character, then move with the current.

There was also one key detail. Han Qingyu remembered that when one of the men had mentioned him to the others just now, he had asked, “What about the kid? What do we do with him?”

If elimination were truly the only option, he would not have asked that question.

In other words, there had to be another possibility.

What he had to do now was find a way to grasp that other possibility from Lao Jian’s hands. He could certainly put on a pitiful appearance and start begging, but making the other man offer it on his own initiative would be far safer.

Lao Jian clearly had no particular animosity toward him and no unavoidable reason to want him dead. That was the premise for Han Qingyu’s gamble.

After a brief silence, Lao Jian commented, “The knife is at your throat, and you’re still thinking?”

“I’ll try for as long as it hasn’t cut my throat,” Han Qingyu answered honestly. “It’s just a shame I still haven’t thought of anything yet.”

Lao Jian dropped his arm, as though the knife were suddenly very heavy to him. His weary face broke into a tired smile as he nodded and said, “Not bad. You’ve got some nerve—”

Lowering his head, he coughed painfully for several moments, then looked up.

“Since that’s the case,” he continued. “I’ll give you another option.”

Here’s the opportunity!

Han Qingyu nodded, staring at Lao Jian with a questioning... or, rather, expectant look in his eyes.

“Join the military,” Lao Jian said simply.

Join the military?!

Han Qingyu’s mind went blank for a moment, then he felt an absurd flash of excitement. He had just been discussing enlistment with his parents, and now the opportunity was right in front of him!

However, he knew that the military Lao Jian spoke of was probably not the kind he, or any ordinary person of this era, would picture.

He glanced around at the bodies and wounded on the ground, at the weapons they carried, thought about their enemies, and noted that the clothes these people wore were not standard military uniforms.

Han Qingyu suppressed the disappointment rising inside him and tentatively asked, “What... kind of military?”

“You’ll know once you get there. To put it simply, our kind of military.”

Our kind of soldiers, who fight a mysterious and formidable enemy; who can get injured or killed at any time; who carry secrets and do not know when they will return home...

Lao Jian ultimately did not elaborate; he just left it at that. He straightened up his posture and gave a smile that looked teasing, though it also carried both pride and bitterness.

“How long would I have to serve for?” Han Qingyu pressed on earnestly and stubbornly, like a fool who still hadn’t grasped the situation.

A flicker of amusement crossed the faces of the people nearby, but several of them lowered their heads, the light in their eyes dimming.

Lao Jian appeared slightly shaken as well. He looked at Han Qingyu, thought seriously for a moment, then met his eyes with a candid gaze and said in a slightly subdued voice, “Maybe three to five years. Maybe ten or more... Maybe a lifetime.”

Then he turned his head and silently gazed at the bodies of his fallen comrades nearby. When he turned back, his gaze had gone entirely dark, filled with pain and sorrow.

It was not the explosive kind of grief, but a long-standing and drawn-out one; something that had to be gradually accepted. It was the kind that may have once existed only in prolonged and brutal wars, when the person beside you in the trench could fall at any moment without warning.

Han Qingyu waited for a while, then asked, “Would I be able to go home and see my parents after this?”

There was immense sincerity in his eyes.

Lao Jian nodded. “After a certain amount of time, once you’ve earned sufficient trust, you’ll have opportunities to visit your family. Yes.”

“Alright.”

That was, so far, the only answer that counted as any kind of reassurance. Han Qingyu continued to think.

“Are you about to ask about getting married and having children next?” Lao Jian asked, half-amused and half-teasing in an attempt to break the sullen atmosphere.

The people around him let out a few dry laughs.

Han Qingyu was also a little embarrassed. He had actually forgotten about that.

“There’ll be plenty of time for you to ask those questions later. For now, let’s leave it at that.” There was a brief pause as Lao Jian looked up once more at Han Qingyu’s eyes, tone shifting. “Otherwise, my only option left is to kill you.”

Han Qingyu had been thinking about pushing his luck one more time, but Lao Jian had taken the initiative to stop him. This time, his voice carried no threat, only resignation and hesitation, even something like concern, or reluctance.

Even so, Han Qingyu could tell that Lao Jian meant every word. If he refused or tried to run, Lao Jian would truly have no choice but to kill him.

From what he had just witnessed in the battle, from the casualties among their comrades, it was clear these people had long since grown accustomed to both facing and causing death.

And so, this other choice that Lao Jian had offered him was, in truth, no choice at all.