As far as the eye could see, desolation stretched out before Chen Ang.
Trudging atop the high hills, he peered into the sky—no vegetation, no fauna, not even a trace of gravel in this Star Wars-like Milky Way. Millions survive on which planet in this galaxy? Where was he?
Chen Ang had no answers. He'd been heading eastward for a week, carrying only three days' worth of provisions. If he failed to locate replenishments soon, he'd have to turn back.
Indeed, signs of life were utterly absent. Having surveyed most of the planet's natural terrain, Chen Ang found no noticeable traces of airborne water molecules. Large clusters were nonexistent, indicating no exposed water sources within a few hundred miles.
The underground gravel was parched and brittle, reaching hundreds of miles deep with only magma underneath and no aquifer in sight. The surrounding rock layers indicated water erosion millions of years ago. Chen Ang concluded there was no life on this planet.
For humans, millions of years seemed a daunting timeframe, but for a planet, it was a mere blip. Life could thrive in water, and this unfamiliar air, although unsuitable for ordinary human survival, seemed peculiarly fitting for this planet.
On the horizon, amidst the dunes, Chen Ang spotted a blur of light and shadow, rapidly approaching. Estimated to be traveling at hundreds of kilometers per hour, it closed in within two minutes. Despite hunkering down, Chen Ang remained unconvinced that his precautions would withstand a sandstorm of such magnitude.
The outcome proved evident.
What constituted a real tempest? Was it an unstoppable force of nature or an earth-crushing monolith? As the sandstorm engulfed him, Chen Ang realized that true tempests were annihilating forces, surpassing any human-created devastation.
Tiny gravel, propelled by incredible kinetic energy, explained why nothing else existed in this raging dust storm.
Exposed to this frenzy, anything larger than gravel—be it spaceship deck alloys or else—would inevitably be worn down. Witnessing a titanium alloy dart reduced to iron powder within seconds, Chen Ang yearned to flee, yet suppressed the urge, lifting himself off the ground. What was the sole means to avoid succumbing to this onslaught?
Move alongside it!
If any denizen of Tatooine were present, witnessing Chen Ang welcoming the storm with open arms, they'd likely revere him. The black storm of Tatooine was their bane—a condition necessary for the birth of civilization on this desolate planet. The Tatooine people's sole chance at survival was steering clear of this black storm.
This storm, the maker of Tatooine's unruly civilization, bred a people contemptuous of death, embracing violence, and fearless even in the face of absolute lawlessness—feared universally, even by the Galactic Republic.
He who conquers the black storm can conquer Tatooine. He who conquers Tatooine can conquer the galaxy—an ancient Tatooine proverb and a testament to their character. Countless attempts by Tatooine's inhabitants to challenge this adage resulted in the storm proving its might at the cost of their lives.
Chen Ang, akin to a leaf, surrendered to the wind's force without resistance. Engulfed by the storm's velocity, he traversed vast distances, experiencing multiple frictions and the relentless churn of the tempest, his eyes gleaming with a radiant blue light that almost overflowed.
Amidst tumultuous sways and desperate rotations, numerous gravel belts halted momentarily against Chen Ang's body, each one a testament to his resolute inner strength, channeling every muscle, pressing the Dantian's internal force, battling to resist this trial—like a beacon of light amidst the darkness.
He's acutely alert at this moment, every vector, every minute change well within his grasp. Yet, despite being able to sense the trajectory of millions of grains of gravel, every subtle wind shift, Chen Ang is nearing his physical limits.
It's not merely his mental acumen and physical endurance being tested but also his willpower, slowly eroding under the excruciating pain in his head. He must remain strong; relaxing means death. There are moments when Chen Ang genuinely feels that living isn't worth the suffering. After all, once suffocated, everything would end.
He contemplates releasing the control over his abilities, letting the force whisk him away from this world. Everything would then cease.
But Chen Ang refuses to give up. He grits his teeth, channeling every ounce of his potential to adapt to this dire state. Silently enduring, he exceeds the calculated limit by minutes, yet steadfastly maintains a modicum of control over his body.
In his disorientation, Chen Ang senses the lure of death in the direction he's being propelled. It incrementally chips away at his resolve; fainting seems like an escape route. Fainting would be fine; his abilities would transport him to safety. This thought gnaws at Chen Ang's determination, a faint glimmer amidst the yellow sands.
Is it truly impossible to halt this course? His heightened brain function conjures illusions.
Suddenly, Chen Ang feels weightless, plummeting from a hundred-meter height. Faintly, amidst the cacophony outside, he discerns various unintelligible shouts.
Instinctively, Chen Ang analyzes the language, and to his amazement, he undergoes an extraordinary change. Not only does he remember the pronunciation, intonation, pitch, and volume but also discerns vague emotional nuances within the language, sensing the feelings of the speakers. It's as if the emotional aspect of their intelligence is laid bare before him.
In this altered state, Chen Ang quickly learns the most commonly used language within a short span of time. He comprehends their words' meanings and instinctively absorbs information from the clamor.
"Black sandstorm, gold mine, broken gold sand," the most frequently used vocabulary, revealing the populace's avid discussion on the latter two and their deep fear of the first.
"Is there someone here, a wanderer?" a young voice whispers. "Wake up, wake up!"
"Hey!" Chen Ang feels a slender figure strenuously carrying him but lacks the drive to open his eyes. His body's instinct suggests that unless threatened with harm, he could evade or retaliate. However, for this non-threatening child, he remains inert.
Gradually, this ambivalence fades into obscurity, his subconscious assuming control.
Upon rousing from a faint slumber, Chen Ang finds himself beneath an unfamiliar ceiling—perhaps a decrepit shack. Gradually testing his fingers, limbs, and eventually his entire body, he rises freely, a far cry from the collapsed state he'd been in earlier.
However, something feels amiss as Chen Ang senses numerous faint lights around him, seemingly suspended in the air. Plucking at one, he receives a peculiar message—a morning news update followed by a text message, an intricacy that ordinary folks couldn't perceive.
These were electromagnetic waves, disrupted quantum information, imperceptible light, and even radiation.
Encountering information he'd never seen before, he notices a wave of life approaching from afar.
"You're awake!" exclaims an eight- or nine-year-old boy, delighted at Chen Ang's revival. He sets down a worn-out part and hands a cup to Chen Ang, who smiles and accepts it, thanking the boy.
"You don't have to thank me; helping each other is standard across the stars!" The boy beams with pride and joy.
Chen Ang perceives the boy's purity and joy and reciprocates with a smile, stating, "But you can do things like this; you're amazing!" It seems no one had ever praised him like this before. The boy's excitement conveys the thrill he feels when Chen Ang compliments him.
"You're hungry! Let's get you something to eat. Unfortunately, I'm quite poor, so there's not much..." The boy rummages through a box for some money, wrapping it in a treasured package. Chen Ang intervenes.
Picking up the parts the boy had just put down, his gaze lingers as he observes a light and shadow within. He quickly absorbs information about the smelting, forging, and subsequent wear and tear of these parts during spaceship operations. In a matter of seconds, he corrects the precision of the worn parts, assimilating this newfound information.
Lightly tapping the parts a few times with his right hand, the worn components suddenly resonate, the gears aligning. The boy watches the process with rapt attention, gazing at Chen Ang with surprise.
"Look! We've managed to fix the parts!" Chen Ang beams, holding the now functional part and addressing the boy.
"Really!" The boy, astonished, turns to Chen Ang and asks, "Are you a mechanic?"
Chen Ang finds the term in a nearby message—a technician skilled in maintenance and mechanics. Reflecting on his engineering Ph.D. on Earth, he nods.
In truth, who knows what an Earth engineer counts for here? Do they have spaceship repair skills?
Though the boy remains skeptical, the parts in Chen Ang's hand speak volumes. The boy escorts Chen Ang out, muttering, "Let's sell it to my master, Watto. We'll have enough money for a big meal!"
"Master!" Chen Ang notices this might not be a favorable place for him. He glances at the child hopping beside him, deciding to refrain from using the word "master" ever again. "What's your name?"
"Anakin!"
"And your last name?"
"Skywalker! I'm Anakin Skywalker!"