Chapter One: Rebirth

“Hurry, you need to go now! The CIA has already surrounded this place. Here’s the escape tunnel. I’ll stay behind to hold them off. Don’t hesitate—what you have seen is too important. You must return home safely! The country needs this!”

“Old Wang, be careful. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get back! I’ll take these documents with me and never let our comrades’ sacrifices be in vain. I swear this on my honor as a Party member!”

“Yes! Old Wang, I promise to escort Director Yang back safely. If anything happens, I’ll die before he does. I swear it.”

“Enough talk, go, quickly…”

Old Wang turned around, shut the tunnel entrance, and triggered the pre-set explosives. With a muffled boom, the entrance was destroyed.

Pop, pop, rat-a-tat-tat… rat-a-tat-tat…

“Director Yang, we need to go. The gunfire has stopped. I’m afraid Old Wang… we can’t wait any longer—we have to leave right now!”

With a heavy heart, he slammed his fists against a nearby tree, eyes red, and took one last look back.

“Let’s go, Xiao Liu. We’ll wait a bit in Amsterdam! I believe Old Wang might make it out.”

The two quickly vanished into the night.

Netherlands, Amsterdam.

“Hello, I’m ‘Little K,’ head of the European Unit Three. I’ve prepared two passports for you. Remember, you’re returning overseas Chinese. I’ll do your makeup. At 14:00 today, you’ll take Malaysia Airlines flight MH17 to Malaysia, then back home. Once you land in Malaysia, someone will meet you. Arrangements have been made for a submarine off the coast to bring you back. Once you’re aboard, you’ll be safe. Understand?”

After a brief consideration, “No problem, but we may have another comrade—he…”

“Don’t worry. If he’s alive, I’ll arrange for him.”

13:30, midday.

“Director Yang, let’s go. Old Wang really can’t make it now! If we’re late, we won’t be able to board with the other passengers. Even a few minutes’ delay could expose us, since we’re in disguise. He’s not the first in these past days, and probably won’t be the last. He won’t be lonely. Let’s go! We can’t let their sacrifices be for nothing!” Xiao Liu picked up his luggage after a glance around.

“Let’s go.” Tears welled in Yang Hui’s eyes as he walked toward the airport.

Under the blazing sun, the massive Boeing 777 took off. As the wheels retracted, the flight left the airport, heading for Malaysia.

Cockpit: Captain Zahari expertly set the flight route and switched to autopilot. “Farik, this Boeing is really something. Once the route is set after takeoff, everything’s done. We could even take a nap, ha ha.”

In a heavily guarded black-ops room in Amsterdam, the sound of frantic typing echoed. Green data refreshed continuously on a huge diffraction screen.

“Sir, we’ve found them. The two escaped Chinese boarded Malaysia Airlines flight MH17, a Boeing 777. We’ve already contacted headquarters—they’re tracing the flight path.”

“Hmph, do those fools really think they can get away just by boarding a plane? They’re on an American plane! Contact domestic headquarters again!”

The staff immediately picked up the satellite phone and skillfully dialed headquarters.

“Sir, you’re connected.”

Taking the phone, “George, listen. Activate the backdoor in Malaysia Airlines’ MH17 system. Change their navigation and route the plane over Eastern Ukraine’s war zone. There are Chinese spies on board who know about the ‘XXXX Project.’ We must ensure the plan’s absolute security.”

“Understood, Likov. The plane’s been rerouted over the Eastern Ukraine war zone. But what’s your plan?”

“Shoot it down.”

“But… there are other passengers on board. Shouldn’t we consider other options?”

A moment of silence on the line, then a firm voice returned.

“No. We don’t have enough reason to demand the plane land for inspection. The entire plan can’t be exposed—even a little.”

Barely two hours after takeoff, over war-torn Ukraine—a Boeing 777 soared through the sky.

“Director Yang, by my watch, we’re already over Ukraine. This time, really, so many of our comrades…”

“Xiao Liu, don’t talk. We’re in public. Remember protocol.”

“Oh!” Xiao Liu fell silent. Yang Hui gazed out at the wing, lost in thought, listening to the faint drone of the engines. So many thoughts—if only we could build planes like this, I could die with no regrets.

In the cockpit: “Captain, I feel like something’s wrong with our route. We seem off course.”

“Farik, you’re still young—don’t trust your feelings. Trust the plane, especially with these routine commercial flights. Instrument flying—you’ve studied that, right?” Zahari replied dismissively.

“Of course. Young man, maybe you can chat up those flight attendants, or go flirt with a couple of pretty passengers. By the time we reach Kuala Lumpur…” Zahari added with a sly grin.

They had no idea the flight path had already been secretly altered. They were flying into the smoke and fire of Eastern Ukraine.

“This isn’t right, Farik. The plane’s course is really off, and now we can’t control it. My God, what’s happening?” Zahari was terrified, confronted by the unknown.

How could the plane suddenly be out of control? The fly-by-wire system had failed, so he tried switching to backup manual controls. Still nothing. Even the communications were dead; they couldn’t even adjust altitude, the plane was locked in level flight until the fuel ran out and it crashed. The captain exhausted every option, but nothing worked.

“Farik, forget it. The plane will fly itself to wherever it’s meant to go. All we can do now is await judgment.”

“I’m Likov. The Eastern Republic’s spies are on MH17. The tech team has changed the flight path. The plane is now over the Eastern Ukraine war zone.”

“So, what do you propose?”

He laid out his plan: “General, deploy our assets in Eastern Ukraine. Use missiles from either side of the conflict to shoot down the plane. That will end everything.”

The general considered the pros and cons, agreed, and began to activate covert operatives.

Eva was a fallen ‘swallow’ from the Soviet era, now working for the CIA. Upon receiving her orders, she executed them loyally. Thanks to the organization’s support, she was now the commander of an entire surface-to-air missile battery. She personally launched the missile without hesitation. Pressing the button, the missile soared into the sky, streaking toward the airliner.

“Attention passengers: I have bad news. Our aircraft is completely out of control and cannot contact the ground. We are, for all intents and purposes, already dead. If you wish, you may write your last words.”

No sooner had he finished than the missile struck. A violent explosion—shrapnel tore through the fuselage, shredding and hurling everyone into the sky.

In his final moments, Yang Hui understood everything. Only in Eastern Ukraine could someone be so fearless as to use missiles against a civilian airliner. Clearly, the Americans had tampered with the plane. Not only would this eliminate him, but it would also pin the blame on Russia, and even drive a wedge between China and Russia. A masterstroke—three birds with one stone.

As time slipped away, life ebbed out. Yang Hui died with deep regret.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he opened his eyes. “I’m not dead?” But as Yang Hui looked around, he was so shocked he could barely speak.

A strange yet familiar voice rang in his ears: “So you know you’re not dead? You just dropped your thesis in the river! You tried to jump in and fish it out even though you can’t swim, almost drowned. And I can’t swim either! Luckily, someone who could got you out. Otherwise, you’d be a goner! It’s just a few pages—write it again, won’t kill you.”

Yang Hui had no heart to listen. He stared in disbelief at his surroundings, at the speaker—his university classmate Yang Wei, who would one day become the renowned chief designer of the Fierce Dragon S, the chief designer of the Vigorous Dragon, and the lead designer of China’s first fifth-generation stealth fighter, the Mighty Dragon. In the future, this dorm would produce three aircraft designers, including Tang Changhong, chief designer of the Kunpeng transport aircraft, and Wang Yongqing, deputy chief designer of the Flying Shark carrier-based fighter. Yang Hui stared blankly at everything—familiar faces, a familiar place, even his younger self. Glancing at Yang Wei, busy at his desk, his mind was a chaotic mess.

What on earth was happening? Wait—some of the new recruits at the test flight institute liked reading web novels about being reborn. This felt just like that. But that’s nonsense! He’d lectured them often—stop reading those useless books, focus on the real work. Party members are staunch atheists, believers in science. But now, there was no explanation. He was utterly shocked and confused. Why wasn’t he dead? Why was he back in his university days, alive in such a strange way?

Rebirth? Could this really be happening? The thought was laughable. But if not, then what was going on? No matter—this was reality now. He was alive, and that was enough. Perhaps this was Heaven giving China’s aviation industry a second chance. Understanding this, Yang Hui realized his mission for this new life: through his efforts, to make China’s iron wings stronger, to fortify China’s steel sky. Ha! The Americans could never have imagined their plot would send him back to his university days. The thought filled Yang Hui with renewed strength and unwavering resolve.

He quickly got out of bed and looked at the room filled with papers and books. His heart felt heavy. China’s aviation industry was comprehensively behind, though at least the basic framework was intact. Still, it only met the most basic needs—far from being as thorough as foreign industries. Yet, these were the very shortcomings he was here to address. His purpose was to fill those gaps, correct those flaws and regrets, and lead China onto a stronger path—catching up, even overtaking others at the bend. But where to start—that was his most urgent question.