Ben Yuan isn't a common name in China, but it's the one my parents chose for me. Just like my name, I've always wanted to be different—or at least, I try to be. But these days, it's really hard to do anything truly innovative. Most things have already been done, and not to mention, bringing about real change requires an absurd amount of resources, connections, skill, and luck.
My home country, Tianjin State, spans more than 9.4 million square kilometers.
Tonight, in Mingzhou City, Nǎo Province, the streets are eerily quiet. As a third-tier city, it's not surprising—after 11 p.m., there's barely a soul outside. The only places still alive are a few entertainment clubs, where restless young people burn off their energy.
I sit in my cramped 20-square-meter room, apartment 608 in Minong Community, illuminated by a high-watt incandescent bulb that makes it feel like daylight.
"Voltage test passed…"
"Current is stable…"
"Joystick is normal…"
I read through the instrument data step by step.
In front of me sits a model aircraft—not just any toy, but a high-end piece of aeromodelling engineering. People say model aircraft players are rich, but that's not always true. These days, a remote-control plane can cost as little as a hundred bucks, making it little more than a children's toy.
But the F-10 model in front of me? That's a different story. The exterior is coated with professional-grade aviation paint, and it houses two imported oil-powered engines from Germany, each with 160 kg of thrust. Those engines alone cost 100,000 yuan each. Add in the rest of the internal components and the aircraft body, and this model easily tops 500,000 yuan.
I can't afford to play with something like this. I'm just an ordinary guy from an ordinary family. I graduated from the Mechanical Engineering department at Guangming Institute of Technology, and after an unexpected encounter with aeromodelling, I found my niche—assembling, repairing, and debugging aircraft models for the rich hobbyists of Mingzhou City.
Over the past year, I've built quite a reputation in the local modelling circle. With reputation comes better pay. Take this particular job, for instance. On top of the usual aeromodelling work, the client wants drone-like features, including a navigation flight control system capable of autonomous flight and patrol inspection.
Of course, I said yes.
The best part? This job alone will boost my savings by 50,000 yuan, bringing my total to 300,000. Not bad for someone who graduated just a year ago.
I move to test the joystick again.
"Huh?" I frown. It was working fine just now—why is it suddenly unresponsive? "That doesn't make sense… Frequency band is correct, signal receiver is normal, and I literally just replaced the control chip…"
I scratch my head, baffled. Everything checks out, but the damn thing refuses to work.
"Signal interference again?" I mutter.
Lately, strange things have been happening around here. I live in the suburbs of Mingzhou, where the environment is… well, let's just say, not exactly bustling. During the day, there are mostly office workers and old folks watching over their grandkids. The only possible source of signal interference would be a hidden mobile communication station.
But even that shouldn't mess with my model's remote control. And these issues only started happening recently.
Suddenly—
Bzzzzzt!
From the computer desk behind me, my laptop emits a weird noise. The screen flickers with red, yellow, and blue lines—like an old TV suffering from magnetic interference.
Before I can react, the laptop screen goes black. Then—puff—a wisp of black smoke curls up.
"Shit! My twenty-thousand-yuan laptop!"
I drop the model remote, kick the bottom of my desk, and spin my chair around with a dramatic flourish.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
The power cord of my laptop is frayed, the insulation melted away, exposing the inner copper wires. Right next to it lies a small mouse, twitching as residual electricity jolts through its tiny body.
A mouse?!
On the 8th floor?!
Because my power consumption has been getting out of control, I swapped out my air circuit breaker for a higher-capacity one. Apparently, that was a mistake—this time, not even the fuse blew.
No time to dwell on it. I yank the plug and rush to dismantle my laptop.
After a quick check, I let out a relieved sigh. "Whew… lucky. The hard drive's fine, only the screen got fried."
I glare at the motionless mouse on the floor, my teeth grinding in frustration. "Damn pests! Not only do they spread disease, but now they're destroying my stuff too."
If I could, I'd roast the damn thing and eat it. One bite, and I'm out 1,500 yuan.
"This is so fucking unlucky…"
First, the model aircraft starts acting up. Now, my laptop screen is busted. What the hell is going on today?
With a frustrated grunt, I head to the kitchen, grab a pair of disposable gloves, and lift the mouse by its tail.
And then—
Ding!
A robotic voice echoes in my head.
"Bio-Technological Overlord System initialized... Small creature detected.
Category: Mammal, Rodent, Family Muridae.
Species: Mus musculus—gray color, small build, typically nests in walls, coexists with humans, weighs approximately 20-30g."
"Technology extraction in progress… Please wait."
My fingers go numb.
The mouse slips from my grasp and thuds onto the floor.
I whip around, staring blankly at my laptop. The screen, which was supposed to be dead, is suddenly glowing.
My brain grinds to a halt.
"The… fuck…?"
I'm sure—absolutely sure—I unplugged the power cord. My laptop has no battery, meaning there's no way in hell it should be working.
But it is.
And not just that—the robotic voice is coming from the laptop, despite me never installing any voice software.
No—these aren't even the important details.
The important thing is—
The screen is displaying a message.
"Technology extraction complete.
Object: Mus musculus
1. Balance Stabilizer: Keeps objects steady and maintains center of gravity even in weightless conditions.
2. Climbing Grip: Enables mechanical assistance for climbing, with a maximum gradient of 89.5°."
I drop to my knees.
An 89.5° climbing angle?!
In simple terms, that's nearly vertical. And for mechanical applications, that's a game-changer.
Take off-road vehicles, for example. A car's climbing ability is usually measured in percentage slope. A typical family car handles about 10° slopes just fine. Off-roaders? They push for as steep as possible.
But with this "Climbing Grip" tech?
Forget roads. Forget trails. Cars could climb literal walls.
Holy. Shit.
If this technology is real, even the most die-hard off-road enthusiasts would be drooling over it.
They wouldn't care about models, cars, or even women. All they'd care about is—
"I can climb walls. I can go anywhere."
I need to calm down.
Three cigarettes later, my hands are still trembling.
I take deep breaths, forcing myself to focus.
I need to understand what the hell just happened.