Chapter 12: The Seeded Contestant

West Xiao Gorge.

The canyon winds its way between the mountains, its cliffs twisting and circling, the peaks on both sides steep and forbidding. To the right, the vast mountain meadows stretch out, while the wetlands and flowing ravines form a unique landscape that has made the West Xiao Gorge famous far and wide. It also draws many wingsuit enthusiasts who come to check in and test their skills.

A striking red SUV was parked in the scenic area’s lot; around it, aside from private cars, stood several mid-sized coaches. This wingsuit event was an amateur competition organized by a local club, with a substantial prize that had attracted numerous eager wingsuiters, all ready to compete for a top spot.

Crucially, the competition was designated as a low-altitude flight, with only mild risks involved. Ample safety measures had been installed at the bottom of the canyon. With money on the line and no real danger to life, it was naturally appealing.

In less than ten minutes, An Tong appeared in the waiting area, carrying her gear. A baseball cap perched on her head, her ponytail slipping through the hole at the back. Even with her cool, indifferent demeanor, she drew every eye.

The already noisy waiting area quickly filled with whispers.

“Well, there goes the seed player—competition just got tougher.”

“Who?”

“An Tong,” someone explained softly. “She’s almost guaranteed to win a prize at any wingsuit competition held domestically, as long as she shows up.”

“She’s that good? Is she a professional?”

“Amateur. For low-altitude, unobstructed flights like ours, there aren’t really any professionals. But she’s flown a lot, though it’s not as if she’s never had an accident.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently, in a preliminary round earlier this year, she suddenly veered off course by several hundred meters mid-flight, nearly causing an accident. Thankfully, her parachute deployed and she landed safely. Because of that, the club made her sit out for three months—maybe they were worried about lingering trauma.”

Just then, a man in a black suit and white shirt sidled over with a grin, poking around, “So, An Tong… she’s pretty famous in your circles?”

The young man adjusting his gear nodded solemnly. “If you play with your life the way she does, you’d be famous too.”

The man scratched his nose awkwardly before asking, “How long has she been doing wingsuit flying?”

“Not sure.” The young man thought for a moment. “She’s only come up in the last couple of years. They say she’s an extreme sports fanatic—anything dangerous, she’ll try it. Everyone in the club knows her.”

“Alright, thanks, man.”

With that, the man jogged back to the parking lot.

His name was Cheng Feng.

Back in the car, he turned around, excitement plain on his face, and relayed all he’d learned.

In the end, he raised his thumb in admiration. “Ninth Master, Miss An Tong is a star player at the wingsuit club. Really impressive.”

In contrast to Cheng Feng’s excitement, the man in the back seat remained calm, his demeanor serene.

In fact… his thick brows were slightly furrowed; his dark eyes had been deep in thought for quite some time.

Extreme sports, aside from the thrill, demanded immense willpower and courage. An Tong was far from well-off and had long suffered from illness. It wasn’t necessarily the adrenaline that drew her in—perhaps she was more interested in the generous prize money each season offered.

Dangerous extreme sports left little margin for error; the slightest misstep could spell disaster. She couldn’t be unaware of these risks.

The man pressed his lips together, eyes lowered, rubbing his brow. “What’s the schedule for the competition?”

“Preliminaries are tomorrow. Today is the pre-game briefing and route explanation. Meals and lodging are up at the scenic area hotel.”

…

By evening, the setting sun had stained the Danxia cliffs red. An Tong returned to the hotel with her gear. She found her room with practiced ease, set her equipment on the luggage rack as soon as she entered.

The club always arranged for double rooms, two people sharing. Yet, in the eyes of outsiders, An Tong was moody and eccentric, always keeping to herself. As a result, at every competition or event, the others would rather squeeze an extra bed into another room than share with her.

This time was no different—she had the room to herself.

She boiled water, made herself a cup of instant coffee, then sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space.

Before long, her phone rang.

An Tong snapped back to herself, pulled out her phone, and saw two new messages on WeChat. Both were from Su Ji, asking what she was doing.

Before opening the chat, she noticed a red notification to add a new contact. She tapped it absentmindedly, and when she saw the sender’s note, her eyes flickered faintly.

Rong Jiu.

She was startled, quickly accepting the request.

She replied to Su Ji first, then opened Rong Jiu’s chat window, sending a polite greeting: Hello, Dr. Rong.

In less than half a minute, he replied: How have you been feeling these past few days?

It seemed a perfectly ordinary inquiry between doctor and patient.

An Tong: Very well. No symptoms have appeared. You don’t need to worry.

Rong Jiu: Still doing part-time work?

An Tong glanced toward the distant gorge, typing as she replied: Yes, working.

She figured that, given Dr. Rong’s refined temperament, he likely neither understood nor cared for wingsuit flying. If she brought it up, she’d probably have to explain the whole sport; better to wait for another time to discuss it in person.

Her brief answers brought the conversation to a halt.

No more messages came for a long time. Assuming he was busy, An Tong took a sip of coffee, then stood to unpack her gear.

Elsewhere, back at the Rong family estate, the man sat beneath a plane tree, eyes lowered to the screen, the curve of his lips subtly fading, his gaze unfathomable as he pondered who knew what.

…

At ten o’clock the next morning, An Tong and the other competitors were warming up in the waiting area. Fewer than thirty people were competing, but crowds of unqualified trainees gathered by the gorge to watch and learn.

An Tong was already dressed in her black-and-white wingsuit, helmet and goggles in place, waiting quietly in a corner for the event to start.

She would go seventh; only eight would make the finals.

Soon enough, her turn came. She stepped to the starting line, waited for the signal, ignited her smoke canister to release a trail of red, then spread her arms and leapt boldly into the canyon’s depths.

In less than two minutes, her movements were swift and seamless; she landed safely in the designated square on the plain below.

Nimbly slipping out of her parachute harness, she tugged twice at the straps when, from the left stands, someone clapped and called out, “Fastest time yet—Miss An, you’re incredible!”

Usually, An Tong paid little attention to cheers from the stands. But this voice was oddly familiar. She glanced around, and through her goggles, her gaze met Rong Shen’s eyes directly.

She froze, her hands halting on the parachute pack.

So there she stood, alone in the center of the square, wrapped in her parachute, only her head showing, her expression slightly dazed.

Could the gentle, elegant Dr. Rong really be a fan of such niche extreme sports?

Fortunately, a safety officer’s repeated urging brought her back to herself.

Dragging her parachute, she left the field. As she looked up, she saw the tall man in white shirt and black trousers approaching from the other side.