Lu Yuan had no idea where this so-called "Heaven" was, but judging from the look of mild constipation that appeared on Gao Jiu's face every time he mentioned it, it was probably some kind of rustic brothel—a place where you could recline by an oasis, sip wine, wave a hand, and be surrounded by eager beauties. Of course, Lu Yuan admitted that his ideal of "Heaven" might involve some similar indulgences.
Whether it's dreams or daydreams, those were the only two things that kept a man from going insane during hardship. Lu Yuan had been tied to the flagpole for a full day and night now. The harsh UV rays in the daytime had burned his skin in patches, making him itch to the point of agony with no way to scratch himself. Then, every evening, he'd watch the natives drinking and feasting by the bonfire, while Gao Jiu would finally come around at midnight with a tiny bottle of water and a half piece of dried snake meat, just enough to keep Lu Yuan alive but still weakened, ensuring that the lone soldier who had managed to kill over ten men from the Scorpion Slave Capture Squad would remain subdued.
This brutal tactic suited Gao Jiu perfectly. Lu Yuan had been tied to the flagpole on their war wagon, eating dust, baking in the sun, reeking of sweat, and suffering hunger and thirst. Any one of those could kill a man. By the third night, Lu Yuan was barely hanging on by a thread.
Gao Jiu wasn't an idiot. Seeing Lu Yuan hanging there like a piece of rotting meat, he knew that in another day—or maybe even half a day—the so-called "Sinner from Heaven" would indeed be on his way to the afterlife. In his experience hunting slaves, it was clear that Lu Yuan had remarkable stamina; surviving two days and nights was practically unheard of, as most slaves wouldn't survive the first night. Just because he had a strong mouth didn't mean his bones were strong, and even strong bones didn't mean the whole body could take the strain.
So, Gao Jiu finally ordered one of his men to cut Lu Yuan down, secure him with shackles, and lay him in the leader's wagon. They smeared a foul-smelling black ointment on his wounds, gave him some food and water, and let him drift in and out of consciousness.
"That Heaven boy's no different than the rest of us, eh?" one of the leader's guards sneered, while another muttered back, "Yeah, my mom told me women from Heaven smell like perfume, stronger than any of our oil or liquor."
"Get out, let's go have a drink! I'm itching to warm up," the guards bantered as they half-heartedly wrapped Lu Yuan in a couple of rough cloths. Mentioning alcohol only spurred them on, and they slammed the wagon door shut, leaving to join the ruckus by the fire.
After two or three minutes of silence, dim torchlight trickled in through the steel slits in the wagon wall, casting a patchwork of shadows. A sharp glint flashed, and Lu Yuan, who had appeared to be unconscious, suddenly opened his eyes.
He gripped the chain shackling his right hand, slowly lifted it, and leaned against the wall to stand up, balancing on his toes to peer out the wagon window. Sure, he was on the verge of exhaustion after two days, but his paratrooper and Iron Rider training had been brutal enough to make him accustomed to hanging on by a thread. This was tough, but nowhere near enough to kill him!
Lu Yuan scanned the camp. The natives sat around in three groups. Those huddled near the war wagon were the leader's personal guards, enjoying the shelter from the wind, while the motorbike guys and truck crew gathered in separate circles.
Rolling up his sleeve, Lu Yuan checked his watch, worn on the inside of his wrist. High Jiu had prohibited all but a few trusted guards from approaching him, so fortunately, he hadn't been stripped of everything. Though his honorary short sword was gone, hanging off Gao Jiu's waist like some trophy, his watch was still there.
"19:13." Lu Yuan murmured, having previously set his watch to Earth time aboard the Evening Cloud. With the sun setting about a quarter-hour ago, it meant he was in the summer season of this hemisphere. But time was still running short.
From his observations over the past two days, Lu Yuan had noted that the natives stopped each evening around sunset, gathered around their vehicles to rest, ate, and did some light maintenance. Two hours later, they'd finish dinner and move on to idle card games. Interestingly, the natives played poker, often shouting out "King of Hearts," "Three of a Kind," or "Boom!" followed by groans and the sound of fists slamming down.
Two hours might seem like plenty, but Lu Yuan had to find a way to pick his shackles, plan his escape route, and move quietly. The lock might be the least of his problems. He brought his watch face to his hand, disassembled it in a few deft moves, then carefully pried loose a small rusted piece of iron he had managed to pull off the flagpole over the past two days, along with a couple of thin wires.
"Damn it!" he hissed as one of the wires poked painfully under his fingernail, snapping off a small piece of his nail in the process. He stared at the jagged nail for a second before ripping it off entirely.
Biting his lip to hold back the pain, Lu Yuan kept breathing in short bursts to distract himself. Better to suffer now than later when he had to move fast.
He carefully worked the wire into the lock. It was a large, old-style lock—something that would have belonged in a museum back on Shenzhou Planet as an artifact of early human civilization.
Back when he was studying at Sanyi Academy on Shenzhou, Lu Yuan had spent many hours at the Central Museum with Bai Jiyue, who had a particular fascination for ancient Earth artifacts and literature. Lu Yuan had nearly mistaken one of those old locks for an anti-gravity grenade, and he had stared at it long enough that he could remember its mechanism.
Funny how half an afternoon spent flirting in a museum ended up helping him now. After a few tries, the lock silently clicked open.
I swear, if I make it back, I'll donate a million credits to that museum, Lu Yuan thought, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd remember that promise.
He picked up the tiger-head lock, surveying his surroundings. The tiny compartment he was in was at the back of the war wagon. There were no other exits aside from the main door, which could only be opened from the inside. The compartment was empty except for a few welded boxes containing dried wood flasks on piles of straw—barely even usable as weapons.
Lu Yuan gently pushed the rear door, and a gust of cool night wind rushed in through the crack, giving him a shiver. He pushed a little more until he could just slip his hand out, but it wouldn't budge further—it was locked or tied from the outside.
Damn it, he cursed silently. Those guards had been so loud as they left that he hadn't heard how they closed the door.
Peeking outside, Lu Yuan saw four or five guys clustered around the fire. They were all armed, as expected. In this godforsaken place, even when sleeping, these people clung to their guns. If Lu Yuan made any noise, he'd be riddled with bullets in seconds, becoming the first officer from the Interstellar Alliance to die on Earth. He had nothing but disdain for these natives, but he didn't doubt their marksmanship. Bullets were precious here; they wouldn't waste a single one.
Just then, one of the natives glanced Lu Yuan's way, their eyes locking onto his. Lu Yuan quickly pulled his hand back, muttering under his breath, This is bad, this is bad.
The man blinked, wobbled his head, and tipped back in his seat, spitting into the fire. The others cursed, and he raised his bottle and took a long, heavy swig.
Close call, Lu Yuan thought, exhaling slowly. He reached out again, trying to feel for the handle on the door. After a moment of fumbling, he found it—luckily, the door wasn't locked, just latched.
Maybe my luck's not so bad after all. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the perfect moment. As a strong gust of wind rattled the camp, he pushed the door open just enough to slip out and dived under the wagon, crouching down to observe if anyone had noticed.
The men continued drinking, some even puking from the rough liquor. Lu Yuan muttered to himself, Is this that legendary oil liquor? He'd been known for his drinking skills in the fleet, and the sight of them drinking made him swallow involuntarily.
Someday, I'll drink the best liquor here, he vowed, before crawling silently toward the front of the vehicle.
Over the past few days, he'd studied the Scorpion Capture Squad's formation. Their arrangement shifted slightly each day, though the general order of war wagons, off-roaders, trucks, and motorbikes remained the same. His goal was one of the motorbikes hung on the side of the armored truck, his ticket to a speedy escape.
Finally, Lu Yuan reached the front of the vehicle. A few natives were still gathered nearby, but the larger groups had broken off for a nightly brawl around the gas barrels—a common ritual in which they settled the day's frustrations with bare fists. Despite their reckless disregard for life, none of them dared light a fire inside a vehicle, and they followed Gao Jiu's rule strictly, knowing
that one wrong move with a live flame in a fuel-soaked desert would mean their lives.
Taking advantage of the moment, Lu Yuan crouched by the bike, his mind calculating how many seconds he'd need to kick it off the truck, start it, and peel away. He flexed his hand, ready for the dive, when he caught Gao Jiu's eyes watching him through the smoke of the campfire.
Lu Yuan quickly crawled to the front of the war wagon, where several natives were resting at the junction between the wagon and the truck. Unlike the war-wagon crew, who could huddle in groups of four or five around gas barrels to keep warm, the truck crew had to pack in tightly, with an entire truckful of people crowding together. Some had finished eating and grilling, and, unwilling to squeeze in with the others, they trickled back to their own trucks, wrapped in blankets to sleep.
Lu Yuan waited for a while, looking for the right moment. Finally, as the gas-barrel crew nearby stirred up a commotion, launching into their evening "warm-up"—a rowdy excuse for a brawl—he saw his chance. For all their recklessness, these natives wouldn't dare light a fire inside a vehicle, especially given how much ammo, weapons, and gasoline were stored in there. Not only did Gao Jiu strictly forbid it, but no one wanted to risk turning the entire caravan into a fireball. After a day of frustration, they were eager to let off steam, resorting to monkey-like chest-thumping and fistfights to work out their energy.
Hunched low, Lu Yuan darted across the lit area, slipping under the truck.
He was now just one step away from escaping the convoy. But he couldn't just bolt out; wandering into the desert on foot would be suicide. The guerilla motorbikes were all stored inside the trucks, though. Lu Yuan had crawled around nearly the entire circular formation, peeking whenever he could, but hadn't seen even one motorbike mounted on the outer side of a vehicle.
Then, he spotted a group of the war-wagon crew with arms around each other's shoulders, heading off to relieve themselves. He knew that this was their typical post-dinner ritual. Once they'd fought a bit, they'd head back into the truck to start the next round of boasting. The moment they opened that door, they'd see that the "Heavenly weakling" wasn't so weak after all—and that he'd escaped. If they caught him, Gao Jiu would flay him alive.
Damn it, time to go! Lu Yuan gritted his teeth, ready to take the risk for the sake of his own hide.
He finally found a motorbike positioned near the widest gap between vehicles. But before he could finish counting down in his head to spring forward and snatch it, a pair of feet stepped in front of him. He heard a few shuffling sounds—and then a warm stream sprayed down, just two inches from his face.