Damn, I wish I could get a robot to do this! Zi Ye grumbled inwardly. Too bad robots weren't alive; without the proper programming installed, it wouldn't lift a finger. By the time Little Sprout managed to create and install a tree-trimming program, she would have finished carving most of the branches herself.
Alas, manual labor it was.
By the time Zi Ye finished shaping the branches, An Jun Lie had already constructed the frame. He then used bark to lash the frame into the shape of a kite. Next, he took the tablecloth prepared for the picnic, tore off half a meter, secured it to the frame, and just like that, the kite was complete.
The tablecloth was a 32x32 black and white checkered fabric; as a kite, it looked sharp, clean, and utterly streamlined.
Zi Ye’s eyes lit up. She tossed aside her tools, snatched up his kite, and exclaimed with genuine delight, “You’re amazing! You actually managed to build this!”
An Jun Lie smiled faintly. “So, you were trying to set a challenge for me?”
Zi Ye shrugged, completely unrepentant. “A trivial little thing like this couldn’t possibly stump the Angel CEO, could it? Besides, I’m taking this kite.”
An Jun Lie didn’t argue. “Wait, we still need string.”
He pulled a loose strand from the torn edge of the cloth. The single thread was too thin and prone to snapping, so he gathered several more strands, twisted them into a sturdy cord, stretched it out, and began winding it around a small piece of wood. Round after round it went, until he had sufficient length. He finally bit the thread off, handed the makeshift spool to Zi Ye, and said softly, “There you go, go fly it.”
The tone was startlingly close to how one might coax a puppy. Annoyed by his patronizing manner, Zi Ye shot him a glare and happily ran off with the kite. Kites, this artifact, only existed in the Interstellar Museum now, relics from millennia past.
Before An Jun Lie had built the kite, Zi Ye only knew the word existed; she had never actually seen what one looked like. Now, she acted like a child presented with brand new stationery, immediately asking Little Sprout how to launch it.
Little Sprout looked at her with undisguised contempt. “I tell you you’re slow, and you refuse to admit it. For anything to fly, you need to know two things: one, wind direction, and two, wind speed. Flying against the wind will lift it.” It rattled off data: wind direction, wind speed, kite weight, and field influence strength, calculating that to lift the kite to a height of 100 meters, she needed to run at a speed of 30 meters per second.
Zi Ye glared at it dismissively. “Do you think everyone is the Flash? This kite doesn't even have 100 meters of line. Your math is getting worse.”
Little Sprout looked back at her pitifully, let out a couple of whines, deflated, went limp, and entered standby mode—striking. She poked it hard; no reaction. She tugged its synthetic fur; it didn’t even open an eye.
With a sigh of frustration, Zi Ye tossed it into her bag and began running, attempting to follow the method it had just described.
The depressing reality was that the kite didn’t rise; instead, it tumbled straight to the ground.
Refusing to give up, she picked it up and tried several more times, but success remained elusive. Zi Ye kept picking up the kite and running, and carrying the five-fold field burden wasn't easy; soon she was panting, exhausted. She tried to console herself: this place couldn't even support trees, so it was probably normal that a kite wouldn't fly here.
An Jun Lie, having finished his own tasks, saw her sitting on the ground, looking dejected, and chuckled. “Silly child, you can’t launch a kite like that.”
Zi Ye sighed miserably. “Do I really need to run at 30 meters per second to get it airborne?”
An Jun Lie walked over and patted her shoulder. “Didn’t you just refute Little Sprout’s calculation? Why can’t you convince yourself?” He set his own kite on the ground, took the spool of line from Zi Ye’s hand, and said, “You just stand there holding the kite. I’ll run.”
Now that was more like it!
Zi Ye happily stood up, holding the kite aloft with both hands, watching An Jun Lie run. After he had sprinted for a short distance and let out sufficient line, he called out, “Release!”
Zi Ye let go of the kite, and to her utter astonishment, it wobbled precariously for a moment and then actually ascended! She tilted her head back, watching the sky, expecting it to plummet any second. Instead, it didn't fall; it climbed higher and higher. Its simple swallow-swoop shape flew with the most fluid grace, like a large bird spreading its wings, soaring across the heavens.
What the hell, even the kite is bullying me!
Zi Ye stared at it with dissatisfaction, suddenly overcome with the urge to slash the line and see how long its smugness would last!
Despite the thought, her actions were the exact opposite. She quickly stripped the yarn from another kite she had prepared, hurried over to An Jun Lie, and said, “Tie this extra length on. Let’s see how high it can go.”
Once An Jun Lie had secured the splice, she snatched the line back immediately and took a turn running herself. Ha! Flying a kite felt genuinely exhilarating. She ran until she hit the seven-fold field strength limit and could run no further. She tied the line securely to a stunted branch, found a patch of ground devoid of any vegetation, and sat down to rest.
The scenery in this region was actually quite beautiful—deep shades of violet, ancient, unrestrained, free, and wild. It wasn't the wind, but it evoked a feeling of boundless space, offering a strange, almost neurological comfort. Light pierced through the thick layers of atmosphere in columnar shafts, like a magnificent gilded border, resembling a miracle.
Gazing at the kite, now just a tiny speck in the vast sky, inspiration struck her: if she could design an airship with this shape, wouldn’t it drastically reduce air resistance?
She immediately pinched Little Sprout awake and sketched out all her ideas, saving the resulting drafts. An Jun Lie glanced over them. “This is a very good concept. Most starship hulls in space are also based on the forms of natural creatures, especially birds, because they possess the inherent conditions for flight. For example, the most classic cruiser, the Petrel, and the frigate, the Vulture…”
Zi Ye listened, utterly captivated. She held a deep reverence for starships, though she was nowhere near understanding the fundamentals yet. “I don’t know about that yet; let’s focus on the airship for now.” Once she had sketched the design, she beckoned An Jun Lie over. “Come here.”
An Jun Lie obeyed, sitting beside her. She patted his thigh. “Lend me your lap; I’m exhausted.” An Jun Lie froze momentarily, but Zi Ye was already settling down, resting her head on his knee.
She redonned her sunglasses, watching the kite drift in the air, as if that tiny shape carried the weight of her dream for freedom.
I will succeed, she told herself silently. An Jun Lie will leave Silver Talisman Star, and I will soon regain my own freedom. She longed to travel freely across space, to go wherever she pleased.
On Silver Talisman, it wasn't just freedom that was constrained; it was the spirit.
An Jun Lie proved to be a perfectly compliant pillow, remaining utterly still, unbothered by how she shifted or slept. The sky was clear, the breeze gentle—a perfect, warm day, beautifully static. It was the kind of moment that effortlessly brushed against the finest strings of the heart.
After an unknown amount of time, An Jun Lie suddenly moved his hand, gently stroking the back of her hand. It is generally unwise to wake someone abruptly from sleep, and touching the back of the hand is the quickest, mildest way to rouse someone. Sensing the movement, Zi Ye mumbled groggily, “What is it?”
An Jun Lie pointed toward the sky. “Look, what is that?”