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Chapter 10: Gravitational Anomalies
If there was anything worth celebrating today, it was that the rain was just rain.
Though black and viscous, it wasn’t corrosive, nor did it carry radiation or toxins—at least none potent enough to instantly melt a person. Old Liu switched on the headlights, donned his poncho inside the car, and stepped out as quickly as possible, fully enveloping himself before inspecting the wreckage blocking the road.
What lay ahead was no ordinary accident. It looked as though dozens of vehicles had collided head-on at high speed. Some cars were flung into the air, crashing down onto others with devastating force. Several vehicles were mashed together so completely they formed a jagged heap resembling a small mountain.
The crash appeared to have occurred long ago, but with societal order in shambles, no one had come to clear the debris. Li Xingyuan wasn’t a detective and couldn’t reconstruct the events leading up to the disaster—though even the sharpest minds might struggle. Understanding this scene required not logic or reason, but imagination.
Old Liu examined each vehicle closely.
Without heavy machinery, clearing the road by hand was nearly impossible. Unlike supernatural hallucinations, this obstacle posed a far more tangible threat to their journey. If they couldn’t resolve it, their only option would be to detour. The military jeep’s off-road capabilities might allow them to carve a path through the wasteland.
Old Liu returned quickly, but instead of opening the door, he tapped on the window. When Li Xingyuan moved to roll down the glass, Old Liu stopped him, gesturing for them to communicate through the pane.
“It wasn’t a collision,” Old Liu’s voice came through muffled. “These cars fell from the sky.”
Seeing the incredulous expressions on Li Xingyuan and Lin Song’s faces, Old Liu elaborated.
“There are no signs of front- or rear-end impacts. I checked the bumpers—some are intact. These vehicles were smashed together. It’s like a tornado picked them up and dumped them all here at once. The casualties must’ve been severe. No one could’ve survived something like this. If order hadn’t collapsed, it’d probably cost someone their job.”
The situation was bizarre, but in this era, what wasn’t? Li Xingyuan focused on practical concerns: “Can we get past?”
“It’ll take some effort,” Old Liu replied, patting the jeep affectionately. “There’s tow rope in the trunk. We can drag a few cars out of the way—it’s still better than taking a detour.”
“Then let’s wait until the rain stops,” Li Xingyuan said, exaggerating his gestures to ensure Old Liu heard him over the storm. “Get back in the car first.”
But Old Liu shook his head.
“I’m soaked,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt, but I don’t trust it. If I bring it into the car, we’re all done for. I’ll spend the night in one of those wrecked cars. I checked—they’re structurally sound enough to keep me dry.”
“Old Liu!” Li Xingyuan felt a lump rise in his throat, but Old Liu merely waved dismissively and walked toward the pile of wreckage.
Li Xingyuan couldn’t understand men like Old Liu.
He was made of iron, forged of steel—a hard-bitten hero straight out of legend who wouldn’t flinch while scraping poison from his bones.
Yet Li Xingyuan recalled how Old Liu had called Lin Song “Pan Shuai” earlier, and a pang of melancholy struck him.
To Li Xingyuan, Pan Shuai was merely a companion on this journey. But to Old Liu, he was a comrade-in-arms, a brother-in-arms he’d lived alongside for who knows how long.
Out of the twelve soldiers who began this mission, only Old Liu and himself remained. Even if Old Liu truly had a heart of steel, surely a few iron tears would fall.
“Mr. Li, shouldn’t you try to persuade him?” Lin Song asked, his voice heavy with concern.
“Who could change his mind?” Li Xingyuan sighed, shaking his head. “He’ll be fine on his own.”
“Enough. We’ve driven far today and done plenty. Let’s rest.”
Lin Song grunted in agreement, then turned off the headlights, plunging the car into darkness.
Li Xingyuan wanted to sleep but couldn’t. He sat motionless in the dark, faces swirling in his mind—Chen Yancheng, Old Liu, Pan Shuai, and the other fallen soldiers. Sometimes their features were normal; other times, they swelled grotesquely, like the bloated whale.
Lin Song wasn’t asleep either. Li Xingyuan heard him shifting restlessly in his seat. After a while, faint sobs reached his ears.
Li Xingyuan remained silent, pretending to be asleep.
No man wanted another to know he cried in the night.
Instead, Li Xingyuan stared at the rain pelting the windshield. One large droplet caught his eye as it raced against others down the glass. Silently rooting for his chosen drop, he wiled away the time.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes. Eventually, Lin Song’s crying subsided, replaced by soft snores from the front seat. Li Xingyuan continued watching the drops. His record stood at three wins and seventeen losses—not great odds.
This time, he bet on a larger droplet. From the moment it hit the glass, it surged forward, propelled by gravity toward the bottom of the window. Four wins, seventeen losses—he updated his tally mentally.
But just as the droplet neared the finish line, it froze mid-descent. It wobbled slightly, then—to Li Xingyuan’s disbelief—began moving upward.
Not just that droplet—all of them. Every raindrop on the windshield and the ground reversed course, rising into the sky.
No—that wasn’t it. The blanket draped over Li Xingyuan began floating gently upward.
Gravity itself was changing.
Earth’s pull was vanishing, and the world was being drawn skyward.
Li Xingyuan now understood why the vehicles were stacked so strangely—they’d been yanked into the air by some unseen force, only to crash back down when gravity reasserted itself, crushed between opposing forces.
“Lin Song!” Li Xingyuan barked, startling Lin Song awake. Military training had honed his reflexes.
“What is it?” Lin Song gripped his rifle tightly, panic evident in his voice.
Li Xingyuan ignored him, thinking furiously.
What now?
Judging by the wreckage, this force might start gently but vanish abruptly. Falling from the sky would be fatal—whether inside or outside the car.
“Drive!”
Surely the range of this phenomenon was limited. Otherwise, the entire highway would be littered with similar crash sites.
If they could escape its radius, they might survive.
Lin Song obeyed, sliding into the driver’s seat. But he paused, turning back to ask, “What about Old Liu?”
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