Following Chen Jiayu’s suggestion, Fang Shengjie purchased a few Nintendo Switch games, including “Overcooked.” Then, he experienced Fang Hao’s crushing skills in this game. “Overcooked” is a cooperative efficiency game where players must manage their time effectively to complete tasks such as chopping vegetables, preparing ingredients, serving and washing dishes. While it usually takes some time for ordinary players to get the hang of it, Fang Hao proved to be anything but ordinary. He can multitask with ease, quickly memorizing all the steps and procedures. Under high pressure, he operates as if he has multiple clocks counting down in his head—a true testament to his experience in control and management.
Fang Hao took the opportunity to lead Fang Shengjie through the entire game of “Overcooked” in a week. Then, he dragged Fang Shengjie through a second playthrough. It’s not enough to pass with one star but with full marks on all levels.
By the time Monday rolled around, Fang Shengjie breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for a break. He was almost sick of the game’s soundtrack. Fortunately, Fang Hao had already left for work at 6 am.
—
After a delightful weekend of gaming and movie marathons with his brother, Fang Hao was in a great mood. But, the moment he stepped into the office, that changed. Fuzi Xiang, who had just finished a night shift, caught him as he entered, “Hao Ge, Director Yan is looking for you.
Fang Hao hummed in acknowledgment, dropped his bag, and went in. He knew the problem with the radar malfunction was far from over. Although the crew had praised him, and even with private commendations from Guo Zhifang, Fuzi Xiang, and his apprentice Wang Zhanbo, there had been no word from the management.
Having waited anxiously and then heard the words Yan Xiong is looking for you, he knew it likely wasn’t going to be pleasant. If there was any good news, it rarely came from Yan Xiong.
Perhaps, as Chen Jiayu had said that day, what’s meant to come will always find a way.
As expected, after Yan Xiong praised him with a couple of sentences like, The situation was really urgent, and under such circumstances, you handled it well. Yan Xiong then changed the tone and handed him a document: “Due to the severity of the situation, the security department reviewed the case over the weekend and revisited the recordings of your commands on that day. They’ve outlined several suggestions for you, and you’ll need to submit an incident report next week. Fang Hao—You might not like hearing this, but it’s the truth. Constructive criticism is needed to improve.”
By now, Fang Hao had grown accustomed to Yan Xiong’s paternalistic tone, so he simply accepted the document. Reflecting on the incident, he meticulously replayed every second of those four minutes multiple times, almost 100% sure there was nothing wrong with his command. He was skeptical that any aspect of his conduct fell short and couldn’t help but wonder what he could have done differently.
Glancing over the report, Fang Hao noted a couple of points. One highlighted his deviation from standard control language when instructing the crew; some places were too simple and could lead to confusion. Another pointed out the irregularities in how flight progress strips were filled out. In short, it was all a matter of minor nitpicking. Fang Hao even suspected that Yan Xiong had forgotten the situation at that time or failed to grasp the severity of it – this was four minutes of critical radar blackout and should not be used as some arbitrary quality control. It was an intense four minutes where he had no access to any visual flight data. An inexperienced controller or just someone with a poorer mentality might have stopped immediately, and the consequences would’ve been unimaginable. In fact, any misstep in that situation could have led to dire consequences. Fang Hao had prioritized efficiency and accuracy in a diffcult scenario, even if it meant simplifying certain procedures. The modifications in communication with the crew and the shorthand in documenting flight progress were quick decisions made to navigate the challenged peak traffic and diversions of flights from the capital’s airport.
It was already good enough if it could achieve effective control under such pressure with a low error rate.
“Director Yan, all the radar screens went blank that day, and even the backup systems failed. I…”
Before he could finish, Yan Xiong interrupted with a wave, “Xiao Fang, I understand it’s not easy for you, but the more difficult the job, the more we have to face it when we make mistakes. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Fang Hao couldn’t help but say, “Director Yan, you’ve never tried to be in the controller’s seat, so you don’t know what it feels like.”
The words were too irritating to hear, and Yan Xiong’s face darkened. With forced politeness, he continued, “Fang Hao, I’m saying this for your own good. Otherwise, the higher-ups would be discussing this with you directly.”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
That was Yan Xiong’s typical approach, always claiming to do things “for your own good” but never actually considering things from your perspective.
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—
Chu Yirou noticed he was feeling down and decided to take him out for a lunch break to cheer him up with some gossip. Her relationship with Zheng Xiaoxu was progressing well. Not only had they met up for a meal at the airport, but they had also attended a small music performance together. As Chu Yirou shared her experiences, Fang Hao’s mood brighten a bit.
When Chu Yirou got up to grab some food, Fang Hao pulled out his phone, suddenly struck by a thought. He typed “Beijing, Hong Kong, Air China” into the search engine. The top result was Air China 3701 from Beijing to Hong Kong. Clicking on FlightRadar, he saw it had taken off an hour ago. If he remembered correctly, this should be Chen Jiayu’s first flight to Hong Kong. The thought made his palms sweat, so he quickly locked the screen again.
“Is Shengjie leaving again? Didn’t he just come back on Friday?” Chu Yirou asked, noticing his reactions.
She knew Fang Hao had a habit of tracking flights on FlightRadar, but only for his family members, or more specifically, for Fang Shengjie, who often flew on international flights.
Fang Hao hastily put away his phone. “No, he’s not. ”
The flight Fang Hao was tracking clearly stated “Beijing to Hong Kong,” and Chu Yirou was certain she hadn’t misread it. “Isn’t it Shengjie’s flight?”
Fang Hao could only bite the bullet and say: “Well, last Friday, when we had dinner, Chen Jiayu told me he was flying to Hong Kong again for the first time today.”
Chu Yirou glanced at him with a hint of curiosity, but didn’t address it directly. “Will there be any media coverage?”
“I don’t think so. Only if the flight goes badly would there be news.”
Chu Yirou nodded, “If I were the Hong Kong tower, I’d definitely give Brother Jia a warm welcome.”
Fang Hao softly added, “To Hong Kong airport, he might be a lucky charm. But for him, Hong Kong isn’t.”
Chu Yirou was surprised by his change of perspective, “You seem to be thinking about him.”
Fang Hao smiled and calmly responded this time, “We are friends. He’s not exactly as I imagined.”
—-
After three years, Chen Jiayu found himself landing at Hong Kong Airport once again, with mix emotions.
It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies, white fluffy clouds, and the shimmering waves of the sea below. Flying alongside him was Xu Hengchuan. This week, Xu Hengchuan had a schedule with four domestic flights: from Baiyun to Beijing, Beijing to Hong Kong, from Hong Kong back to Beijing, and then from Beijing back to Baiyun, repeating twice.
On that day, outside the hotpot restaurant, Chen Jiayu received a call from the company’s coordination team. He was arranged to fly from Beijing to Hong Kong for two days. Their schedule will only be overlapped on the first day. Xu Hengchuan was an experienced first officer and was someone Chen Jiayu trusted, which gave him a sense of reassurance.
Xu Hengchuan offered to take the captain’s seat for the flight to Hong Kong. Chen Jiayu almost agreed but then changed his mind. “It’s okay, I’ll take it.”
Respecting Chen Jiayu’s choice, Xu Hengchuan simply handed over the controls without questions.
Guiding the 737, Chen Jiayu was getting ready for the final approach. He checked the airport information, altitude, radio frequency, fuel levels, and the balance between the left and right fuel tanks. Made sure that the landing gear and flaps were retracted and checked the weather.
Reminding himself that he was piloting a Boeing, not an Airbus, and landing on the shorter 10L runway was not the same as the longest 26R and the end of 10L was not the sea.
His airspeed was at the standard 180 knots, not the terrifying 246 knots. Experienced pilots could feel even the smallest changes in the aircraft’s attitude, and speed was no exception. The difference between approaching 150 and 250 knots was vast, similar to the difference between a commercial airliner and a space shuttle. At that moment, he was in control, nothing like his previous experiences in terms of speed, position, glide path, or the runway he was about to select.
Chen Jiayu held his breath, eyes fixed firmly on the instruments. He double-checked the altimeter, airspeed indicator, engine thrust, and attitude indicator. Each time, everything looked normal.
It wasn’t until Xu Hengchuan’s voice broke the silence and asked if they should begin the landing checklist that he noticed his palms were slightly sweaty as he gripped the control column.
“Maintaining runway heading.”
“Maintaining runway heading.”
“Seat belt light indicator.”
“Seat belt light indicator.”
—
Xu Chengchuan didn’t see the moment the plane’s wheels touched the ground, but Chen Jiayu quietly let out a breath as the plane landed safely at the Hong Kong International Airport. Then, reflexively taxing to the parking spot, he casually checked the tire pressure and temperature.
On the flight back to Beijing, Xu Hengchuan was the pilot-in-command, and Chen Jiayu was happy to be on the side, assisting with the checklist and radio communications. When they tuned in to the approach frequency at Daxing, Chen Jiayu briefly hoped to hear Fang Hao’s voice, but hearing an unfamiliar one, he realized he wasn’t so lucky to coincide with Fang Hao every time. Although he didn’t recognize the approach controller, Chu Yirou was on duty at the tower.
After landing, Chen Jiayu asked her, “Is Fang Hao on duty today?” He didn’t know why he asked, but at that moment, he had this sudden urge, and the words just came out.
“No, he’s on the night shift tonight. Is there anything you need?”
Chen Jiayu thought, did he need anything? There wasn’t anything urgent, but he had hoped to chat with Fang Hao, perhaps finding some solace and comfort like last time with the radar incident. But he wasn’t that lucky. Fang Hao was off-duty, and it wasn’t realistic to wait two hours for him to start his shift just to have a casual chat. Besides, that would be too obvious.
He could only tell Chu Yirou, “No, it’s okay. I just remembered something. I’ll tell him privately. Thanks, Xiao Chu.” Then he disconnected from the tower frequency.
Flying to Hong Kong wasn’t physically exhausting; it was similar to flying to Guangzhou, but for him, it was mentally draining. He felt tense from start to finish, allowing no room for error. Thankfully, Chen Jiayu thought he was flying with Xu Hengchuan.
Pilots are trained to trust the aircraft, trust the machine, and the instruments. They may repeat the process of takeoff and landing thousands of times, but a small malfunction could overturn all their training, ingrained habits, and understanding of flying.
Many captains and first officers accumulate five to six thousand hours of flying experience, but all of those hours are safe hours. Training for accidents is relatively scarce in comparison. Therefore, simulating various accidents in the training simulator is particularly important. Even so, when a real accident occurs, the cockpit is often in chaos—the aircraft shakes so violently that the instruments become unreadable, or the plane momentarily loses control, flipping wildly, requiring the captain to exert force on the controls to correct it. Multiple alarms could sound simultaneously, and the cockpit and cabin could be filled with smoke. On top of that, the pilots need to figure out what went wrong and then go through the checklist to address the malfunction.
The most terrifying aspect of this entire process isn’t the procedures themselves but the psychological pressure of knowing that over a hundred lives depend on every move they make.
Chen Jiayu never considered himself particularly outstanding. He was a good pilot, ranking at the top in various assessments, from technical skills to interpersonal relations. He rarely made mistakes, holding many “youngest” titles in the company. He became the youngest first officer upon promotion and, later, the youngest captain. However, there were hundreds of pilots with qualifications similar to his within the company, if not more. For instance, Xu Hengchuan, who successfully landed Flight 416 in an emergency, was one such pilot. He never felt he did anything special; he just haven’t done anything wrong. He considered himself fortunate.
That night, Chen Jiayu had a dream. He was still in Hong Kong, landing at over 200 knots. As the plane touched down, the front landing gear suddenly snapped, and the nose slammed heavily onto the ground, sparking all the way until it plunged into the sea. Water flooded into the cockpit. He wanted to get out, to open the cabin door, but his arms felt like lead, and he couldn’t do anything except watch the water engulf him.
He jolted awake from his bed, almost shocked by the suffocating feeling. He sat on the bed, gasping for air for a while before calming his breath.
There is only one way to succeed in flying, but there are countless ways to crash. This wasn’t the first time he had nightmares about the Hong Kong landing, but it was the first time in a long while.
He vividly remembered waking up from a nightmare at 3 am. several weeks after the landing, unable to fall back asleep. Beside him, Yan Yu snapped on the light, groggily complaining, “Chen Jiayu, can you stop tossing and turning? You’re making too much noise. I have an early shift tomorrow.”
He didn’t say anything then, just got up and slept on the couch for the night. He couldn’t argue with Yan Yu, nor did he want to.
Translator notes : Alright! Happy Easter everyone! There will be 2 more chapters in the coming days. 🙂
Edit. Fixed the mistakes! Thanks for letting me know. 🙂
Being a pilot or ATC is indeed a very tough and responsible job.
Happy Easter to you as well and thank you for the chapter!
I feel like being ATC is more exhausting than a pilot. XD But that just might be Fang Hao. 😀
I wonder if the author works in the aviation industry, they’re writing in great detail.
She researched well. I think I saw a page with links to all the researched stuff. She’s a gem!
Thank You for the new chapter ♡⃛(꒡ε ꒡ღ) Very happy and pleasant Easter! ❤
Fang Hao started tracking CY’s flight already. 😏
They are both cooking 😏