Chapter 135: Extra 1 – Chronicles of Ping An Island
Safe Point 184, called Ping An, bore a plain, honest name.
Its residents lived by agriculture.
The island wasn’t vast, but its flat, fertile soil—rich enough to ooze oil when squeezed. Not farming it would be a shameful waste.
Compared to Silver Hammer’s exploding population, Ping An’s hovered at four or five million.
Life was tough, so they lived frugally, earnestly, seeking a death without regrets.
But that wasn’t enough.
They pushed hard into deep-sea fishing, hauling back soil to reclaim land for crops, creating a constellation of vibrant islets scattered like stars across the blue sea.
The arrival of Bridge disrupted Ping An’s relatively calm life.
The islanders were wary of Ning Zhuo and his group.
Island 183 had shown clear hostility before.
This sudden visit, with unknown intentions, made anyone uneasy.
After urgent talks, Ning Zhuo’s crew was settled on a freshly reclaimed islet.
They stayed in a row of shipping containers, previously housing island-building workers, fully equipped with living amenities.
The workers had left, and the containers hadn’t been dismantled, now serving as their temporary home.
To Ping An’s people, the conditions seemed harsh, hardly befitting hospitality for far-flung guests.
But they couldn’t just invite a heavily armed group onto the civilian-packed main island. After settling them, they sent a pile of seasonal fruits as an apology.
Facing Ping An’s makeshift diplomat, the crew thanked them politely, but back at base, they gawked at the fruits.
Kuang Hexuan swallowed hard: “These… all for us?”
Yu Shujian thought deeper: “Free stuff like this? What’s their angle?”
Shan Feibai and Ning Zhuo didn’t sweat the small stuff.
Their minds worked fast: grapes sold by the bead in Silver Hammer were here for the taking by the bunch.
Every place had its quirks and perks.
After years of hardship, Ning Zhuo’s radar for “kindness” was razor-sharp.
If the other side showed goodwill, everything was negotiable.
Once grounded, Ning Zhuo’s dizziness faded, and he began planning to explore this new world.
But the first night on the island, he couldn’t sleep.
Lately, he’d forced himself out of a death-defying, chaotic sleep schedule, striving for normalcy.
It was step one in healing his body.
So, even sleepless, he tried hard to rest.
But day one of his plan was derailed by Shan Feibai’s leg, slung over his waist.
Shan Feibai nuzzled his shoulder, sniffing his skin, whispering: “Ning-ge, Ning-ge. Can’t sleep.”
Ning Zhuo found his warmth cozy, ignored him, and feigned sleep.
—Until Shan Feibai’s long, strong, slightly rough fingers traced his waist, slipping easily under the edge of his loose pajama pants.
His hot palm seared Ning Zhuo’s thigh, making his cold skin twitch in the midnight tide’s rhythm, like a small sun drifting closer, landing beside him.
Shan Feibai’s hand moved gently a few times. Ning Zhuo, caught off guard, frowned and let out an “mm.”
Usually, Ning Zhuo held back, while Shan Feibai was the one whimpering, his lively tone and coy voice amusing Ning Zhuo—laughter softened his body.
Exhausted, Ning Zhuo’s “mm” sounded like a restless murmur in sleep.
Hearing it, Shan Feibai paused, reluctantly stroking Ning Zhuo’s taut muscle, slowly withdrawing his hand.
He thought: Ning-ge’s too tired.
The mischievous wolf in him retreated obediently.
Though a dark fire blazed within, he could douse it.
As Shan Feibai painstakingly tucked his hand back under the covers, a cold hand, unannounced, loosely gripped him through thin underwear.
Its chill jolted Shan Feibai.
He heard Ning Zhuo’s icy voice: “…You can sleep?”
Ning Zhuo was yanked roughly, tossed into the sea again.
Sometimes drifting, sometimes swamped by waves.
Already sleepless, this ruckus killed any chance of rest.
Afterward, Ning Zhuo took Shan Feibai outside.
Opening the door, they faced a sky full of stars, grandly overhead.
Ning Zhuo froze.
Back home, doors opened to ceilings, “Haina’s” ventilation system humming year-round, pumping fresh air.
But no tech could rival nature.
A crisp, salty sea breeze hit, billowing Ning Zhuo’s white shirt like a sail, as if sprouting wings, faintly revealing flesh and an unnatural flush.
Ning Zhuo didn’t notice.
The others, busy with their own tasks, didn’t either.
Surprisingly, not one “Haina” or “Panqiao” member slept. They sat scattered in twos and threes on the beach, each to their own.
Some chased the tide, racing waves.
Others caught fingernail-sized crabs, releasing them after.
Yu Shifei and Jin Xueshen competed, building sandcastles, erecting two small towers.
The two mercenaries, volatile as oil on fire, had fought again for no clear reason, now sand-covered, leaning back-to-back on a rock, smoking. Twin streams of smoke curled from their split lips.
Ning Zhuo trudged over, uneven steps: “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Phoenix, trying to bury Min Min in sand, looked up: “Haven’t slept on land in ages. Scared wolves’ll snatch me.”
A joke, of course.
This man-made islet had no wolves, nor could they swim here.
They were just newcomers, long burrowed underground, unable to sleep easily.
So, they sat neatly by the sea, shoulder to shoulder, bathed in the breeze, gazing at the distant mainland’s myriad lights.
A young mercenary muttered to himself: “How come their lights look so nice?”
In Silver Hammer, they’d grown sick of light pollution, assuming all lights worldwide were garish, vivid, and chaotic.
Ping An’s main island had colored lights too, but they weren’t blinding. The sky was so clear, so blue, that even with the lights dimming the stars, they remained faintly visible.
Two people were counting stars: “One, two, three…”
Too many, they soon lost track, their counts misaligning.
Stubbornly, the pair sectioned off a sky patch, vowing to count clearly.
Ning Zhuo found them pointless.
But pointless had its charm. They hadn’t had such carefree idleness in ages.
In Silver Hammer, they were shared weapons, their daily task to maintain themselves and avoid breaking.
Each day survived was a win.
Now, bickering with the stars was a good sign.
But some worried about the future.
Min Min asked: “What can we do here?”
Ning Zhuo countered: “Know how to live?”
This non-answer sparked a shared question:
How do you live, anyway?
Born and raised in Silver Hammer’s muck, they’d never tasted “living.”
With no clear answer, they’d just live and see.
…
Settling in, Ning Zhuo, while resting his mind, began gathering intel on Ping An.
“Gathering intel” was his lifeline these years, almost instinctual.
He was curious why such a juicy prize sat untouched by Silver Hammer’s corporations.
…Until he found books used to prop table legs by workers.
From them, Ning Zhuo learned Ping An’s main energy source was offshore uranium mines.
The island ran on nuclear power, developing some weapons.
They wouldn’t invade afar—too few people, all vital, making distant conquests impractical.
But if enemies came, they’d ensure mutual destruction.
Ping An’s ethos was stability and peace, avoiding unwelcome places.
Silver Hammer wouldn’t rashly bite this indigestible bone.
This created a strange, non-interfering balance.
…
Tang Kaichang’s small base was gone, so he claimed a container, carving out his own world.
Like the others, he was lost about the future.
But his concerns were unique.
The “Haina” base he’d painstakingly built was miles away. He didn’t miss it much, knowing Boss Fu was there, so it endured.
But his surveillance system stayed behind.
Tang Kaichang’s daily joy was watching “little people” on monitors.
Now, with no one to watch, he was miserably bored.
Idly, he explored and found newly installed, unused automated livestock equipment.
The island’s purpose, set before reclamation, was ranching.
The equipment arrived a day before Bridge.
Bridge’s arrival threw Ping An into mild chaos, forgetting the gear, inadvertently gifting Tang Kaichang a “toy.”
In an hour, he mastered its functions.
But he spent a day pondering its design’s intent.
…This setup’s efficiency is so low.
Unable to unravel its cleverness, Tang Kaichang, tentatively and sneakily, began tweaking it.
He did it out of curiosity.
Modifying without permission felt wrong, but boredom overrode his shaky morals. Secretly, he tinkered with liquid gold materials and tools.
Five days later, Ping An’s main island sent a team to check the forgotten machine.
Tang Kaichang, engrossed in his giant toy, was caught red-handed.
Immersed, he didn’t notice until a group surrounded him.
Panicked, with no escape, he ingeniously locked himself in a spacious chicken coop.
The leader, a kind-faced officer, meant to negotiate but startled him.
Thinking Tang Kaichang was a parts thief, he saw scattered tools and hesitated.
Scratching his head, he crouched, eyeing the youthful Tang Kaichang, and said gently: “Kid, what’re you doing?”
Adult “kid” Tang Kaichang stayed mute, shrinking his presence.
The officer hit a wall, waved for a technician to check for damage.
The technician, about thirty, lean, neat, with thick glasses, stepped up, examining the modified H-slot on the feed machine. His brow furrowed.
He seemed to see something incomprehensible, pushing his glasses instinctively.
Someone behind chuckled: “Uh-oh, Old Lan’s pushing his glasses—trouble’s coming.”
The officer sighed.
He assumed Tang Kaichang’s clumsiness broke the machine.
Each machine was precious to Ping An.
Bridge’s shocking arrival made them forget it.
But as guests, accusing them outright was awkward.
As the officer fretted, “Old Lan” stepped back, inhaled, eyes gleaming with狂喜 behind his lenses.
The officer, puzzled: “What?”
Tang Kaichang, gripping the cage, weakly justified his unauthorized tweaks: “This way, it can feed two thousand more in the same time.”
Everyone: “…”
As they exchanged silent glances, Ning Zhuo, spotting the landing boat, rushed over with “Haina” and “Panqiao” crews.
Near noon, the seaside sun blazed. Ning Zhuo, gloveless, wore a sleeveless black tank, showing toned muscles and his full mechanical right arm.
At their dawn meeting, his arm hid under sleeves and gloves, unnoticed.
Seeing its intricate design, Old Lan gasped, exclaiming: “Heavens…”
…
Initially, Ping An’s people agonized over what Bridge’s arrival meant.
They’d planned a serious talk.
But Ning Zhuo’s group brought more than they’d imagined.
The liquid gold they carried was limited, but its tech was jaw-dropping.
Ning Zhuo’s 52 functional prosthetics made Old Lan push his glasses repeatedly.
Seeing liquid gold’s potential, they eagerly discussed trade.
If trade linked the islands, Ping An’s medical field could leap forward!
A boon for all residents!
Ning Zhuo listened silently.
Trade would stir Silver Hammer’s stagnant swamp.
The corporations would hate it.
Chaos would elevate “White Shield,” making it a pivotal force.
His planted pawn, Lin Qin, was ready to shine.
Ning Zhuo knew how Lin Qin would align.
Imagining the frantic corporations and tycoons, Ning Zhuo smiled inwardly.
This revenge was perfectly fitting.
