Finishing up his night shift, Fang Hao strolled to the parking lot to meet Chen Jiayu as planned. It had been forty minutes since Chen Jiayu contacted him after landing, and the long wait suggested Chen Jiayu was genuinely interested in talking. This eased Fang Hao’s nerves slightly, though finding the right words still felt like a struggle. He believed it was better to dive in rather than delay. Sooner was better than later.
Among the luxurious cars owned by the pilots, Chen Jiayu’s Porsche Macan didn’t stand out the most. Pilots earning annual salaries in the millions meant there were no cars worth less than five or six hundred thousand. Nevertheless, the clean white color caught Fang Hao’s eye. Glancing at it from outside the window, he confirmed Chen Jiayu was in the driver’s seat, appearing to be either resting with his eyes closed or asleep.
After hesitating for a moment, Fang Hao raised his hand and tapped on the car window.
Chen Jiayu immediately opened his eyes and unlocked the car door, showing he hadn’t been asleep. “You’re here?” he greeted Fang Hao, gesturing for him to get in.
Instead of getting in, Fang Hao leaned in and greeted him, “Jia ge.” Chen Jiayu leaned closer to listen and found that Fang Hao’s voice on the radio hadn’t been deceiving—it was completely hoarse, with a heavy nasal tone, sounding like a different person
“I drove here myself for the night shift today. Why don’t you pick a place, and I’ll drive over to meet you?” Fang Hao usually took the shuttle during day shifts to save energy and effort, but for night shifts, he had to drive himself. His car wasn’t parked with the other pilots’ luxury cars but in a different parking lot.
Chen Jiayu frowned. “You have a fever. You shouldn’t be driving. I’ll take you home. Next time, take the shuttle and then come back for your car,” he said thoughtfully. Fang Hao, feeling dizzy from lack of sleep, illness, and work fatigue, was relieved at the idea of not having to drive. Without further comment, he opened the door and sat in the passenger seat.
“Is your fever bad? Have you taken any medicine?” Chen Jiayu asked, his tone gentle and filled with concern. This was a stark contrast to his previous, more indifferent attitude, and Fang Hao found the change a bit disconcerting.
“It’s manageable,” Fang Hao replied. “I didn’t take any medicine because I was afraid of getting drowsy on duty. I’ll take some when I get home.”
Chen Jiayu started the car, eased it out of the parking space, and asked, “Do you want to grab something to eat? Maybe some noodles, or some Cantonese food? You mentioned wanting to try that new Taishan restaurant last time.”
Fang Hao smiled. “I’m not really hungry; I just wanted to talk with you.”
“Then I’ll take you straight home,” Chen Jiayu said. “We can talk on the way. What do you want to talk about?”
As the car started moving, Fang Hao felt a wave of dizziness. He wasn’t sure if it was because Chen Jiayu was driving too fast or if his fever was making his head hurt. Leaning his head against the cool window on the right side provided some relief.
Chen Jiayu stole a quick glance at him, noticing his sickly, exhausted appearance. Normally, Fang Hao was always sharp and energetic, unfazed by challenges like radar failures or directing flights in heavy rain. He seemed to handle any crisis without even blinking, merely furrowing his brow in concentration. Chen Jiayu had never seen him like this before. With just one look, his heart softened. He said gently, “Your throat is hurting. Why don’t you rest your voice? I’ll do the talking.”
“Mm.” Fang Hao turned his face toward him, nodding slightly in agreement.
Chen Jiayu bit his lip before continuing, “On the day the landing lights failed, I had been flying back and forth from Beijing to Hong Kong for two days straight. That was the last trip of the day, and I hoped for a smooth finish so I could clock out early and go home. When I found out we had to go to the tower because the landing lights weren’t on, I was in a bad mood. I imagine that day was stressful for you too—probably still feeling the effects of the radar issue.”
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.
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Fang Hao listened carefully, and when Chen Jiayu finished speaking, he stated matter-of-factly, “But you were angry with me.”
Chen Jiayu initially wanted to explain, but he realized that a full explanation might reveal too much.
Instead, he subtly shifted the conversation, asking Fang Hao, “You didn’t have the best first impression of me, did you?”
Almost reflexively, Fang Hao denied, “Not really.”
By now, Chen Jiayu had decided to throw caution to the wind, smiling as he said, “Let’s be honest here.”
“It wasn’t terrible,” Fang Hao admitted, his tone softened, perhaps because it was late at night or he was simply too exhausted to keep up appearances. “It’s just… well, it’s not really your fault. The company is keen on promoting and getting exposure.” Now that the heat of their earlier disputes had cooled, he spoke softly, without the sharpness he had shown a few days earlier.
Chen Jiayu felt a sense of heaviness, and his heart sank. Even if the sarcastic comments about his celebrity status were spoken in frustration, they were based on some truth. In Fang Hao’s eyes, he truly seemed like someone who took advantage and acted coy.
“I figured as much,” Chen Jiayu acknowledged. Since today was about honest conversation, he didn’t want to hide anything. Sincerity was the basis of equal dialogue.
Fang Hao felt compelled to explain further, “I didn’t mean anything personal. It’s just that managing a captain like you can be very challenging. I apologize for any oversights on my part.” He remembered Lu Yan’s instructions before she left. He wasn’t naturally adept at managing work relationships, but he was trying, like now.
Accustomed to Fang Hao’s authoritative command over the radio, Chen Jiayu found his humble approach hard to accept and even felt a bit of sympathy. He quickly responded, “No, you’re doing fine as you are. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”
“What…?” Fang Hao was a bit bewildered by his sudden softening attitude. He had braced himself for a confrontation, preparing for the other party to hold him accountable. After all, he had been the one to speak harshly first. Unexpectedly, Chen Jiayu took a step back on his own, and Fang Hao found himself at a loss.
Chen Jiayu gently suggested, “Let’s not argue, okay?” His tone didn’t resemble colleagues hashing out work conflicts but more like a couple having a disagreement. Fang Hao suddenly recalled his brother Fang Shengjie’s speculations but then timely restrained himself.
“Alright,” he said, but then added, not quite satisfied, “I didn’t mean it like that. I tend to speak too bluntly. Next time, if something like this happens again, can you just tell me clearly on the spot?”
Chen Jiayu knew that, in Fang Hao’s eyes, his cold attitude over the past two weeks was still a mystery. So, he could only respond, “Hmm. There won’t be a next time.”
A brief silence filled the compartment, but for Fang Hao, it felt like they had finally sat down and calmly talked through their issues. The silence actually made him feel comfortable and at ease. He suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to input his home address into the GPS, but surprisingly, Chen Jiayu didn’t need to ask for directions or check the map—probably after that farewell party for Lu Yan when he first drove him home, he had remembered Fang Hao’s address and drove there smoothly. It seemed that recognizing roads and having a good sense of direction were additional skills for a captain.
Taking advantage of the night, Fang Hao broached the topic, “So, can you tell me how the flight to Hong Kong went?”
Chen Jiayu sighed. This was something he had always felt he didn’t want Fang Hao or any other friend to inquire about in detail, but when someone actually asked, he felt a weight lifted off his chest.
“The two flights were quite normal. Except for not having the landing lights on, they went smoothly. But with that incident in mind, this route weighs differently in my mind,” he said.
Fang Hao silently watched him and listened attentively, giving Chen Jiayu the space and time to express himself.
Chen Jiayu continued, “The emergency landing in Hong Kong… I never want to experience something like that again in my life. It was like a nightmare. While outsiders only witnessed the fifty-second emergency landing, broadcasted repeatedly on TV stations, the most torturous part was not those fifty seconds. It was the two and a half hours from discovering the problem to flying over the Hong Kong airport.”
Fang Hao nodded, encouraging him to continue. Despite noticing that the scenery outside was already familiar, Chen Jiayu had already driven into his neighborhood. But since he was still talking, Fang Hao didn’t want to interrupt him.
“During those two and a half hours, half the time, I thought the plane would definitely crash into the sea. Both engines were at zero thrust, basically in a gliding state. It was only a matter of time before we hit the water. I spent quite some time calculating how long we could fly at the current altitude and speed. Meanwhile, Chang Bin—my co-pilot—was going through the checklist for an oceanic ditching. The wind was strong that day, and the waves were high. We knew that once we hit the water, survival would be unlikely. Later, I attempted to gradually push the controls and found that the thrust of the left engine could be partially restored, allowing us to avoid a water landing. During that hour, our hopes of survival were the highest. But when we began the approach, I found that the engine thrust wouldn’t decrease.”
Fang Hao suddenly interrupted, “Jia Ge, care you allowed to tell me these things?” A year after the emergency landing of Flight 416, Indonesia, China, and the United States released accident investigation reports. As an aviation professional, Fang Hao had actually read these reports, focusing on the sections about China Airlines Flight 416 and air traffic control communications. However, many of the things Chen Jiayu was sharing were very personal and weren’t included in the reports.
Chen Jiayu looked at him deeply, “I want to talk about it.” Seeing Fang Hao nod, he continued, “After circling in the air for half an hour until we almost ran out of fuel, I knew I had only one chance to land, one chance to decide life or death.”
He thought of something and suddenly asked Fang Hao, “Have you ever flown in a simulator?”
“I’ve flown in a 737 simulator,” Fang Hao replied. To better understand and coordinate air traffic control work, Fang Hao had spent his own money to learn to fly a 737 simulator two years ago and successfully passed the test.
Chen Jiayu said, “A simulator can simulate the feeling of landing at normal approach speeds. But at 246 knots…” From Fang Hao’s perspective, he saw Chen Jiayu’s handsome profile, his eyebrows furrowed with a restrained expression.
“Too fast,” Fang Hao agreed.
Chen Jiayu didn’t look at him again, but his face was serious and gloomy, with a hint of pain in it. His voice lowered, “Do you know what it feels like to manually operate the plane to land while receiving terrain warning alerts telling you to pull up?”
“Terrain, terrain! Pull up! Pull up!” Accompanied by the deafening alarm inside the cockpit.
This is the kind of thing most pilots pray they’ll never hear in their entire lives — a terrifying warning akin to a death sentence blaring out from the plane. It sounded during the emergency landing of Air China Flight 416 at Hong Kong International Airport. Because the approach speed was too fast, the aircraft’s advanced flight computer system couldn’t recognize it as an emergency landing. Instead, they interpreted it as if the aircraft was about to collide with the ground, triggering the terrain warning alert. All the machines and systems, all the training you’ve received, and all your senses telling you — this is wrong, this won’t work, but there’s no other choice except to grit your teeth and carry on, believing that you’ve made the most the best decision for everyone on board, for all the crew and passengers. There is no other way.
Just listening to him, Fang Hao broke out in a cold sweat.
For the moment, Chen Jiayu didn’t say much more, perhaps because the memory was too haunting, leaving Fang Hao to fill in the blanks.
He continued, “The plane was out of control. Over ten thousand hours of safe flying, and then this happened. After Hong Kong, my tolerance for flying mistakes became extremely low. I couldn’t tolerate others making mistakes, let alone myself. On the day when the landing lights weren’t turned on, it was Duan Jingchu who was the primary pilot, and I was doing the checklist. I read out the items, he repeated them but didn’t execute them. Still, I felt responsible for not double-checking. Before takeoff that day, while waiting on the taxiway, he actually harassed a crew member, which was a violation. If I had decided not to fly then, we could have just taxied back, and I could have requested a replacement co-pilot from the company. But I wanted to get back quickly. I believed that as a senior first officer with three stripes and a thousand hours of flight time, he surely knew how to fly a plane. I was banking on luck. So, that day, I had many reasons I couldn’t forgive myself. That it affected you, it’s really… it wasn’t my intention.”
When Fang Hao turned to look at Chen Jiayu again, he could hardly believe his eyes. Because at this moment, Chen Jiayu looked nothing like his usual self, nor did he resemble the confident and articulate figure often seen on TV or in interviews. Tortured by the so-called heroics of three years ago and haunted by his own mistakes, it was as if someone had suddenly toppled him from his pedestal, making his expressions vivid and painfully human.
Fang Hao felt a pang in his heart but spoke calmly and reassured him, “I don’t mind. Procedurally, you did nothing wrong regarding the landing lights incident. If we hadn’t allowed Duan Jingchu to fly at that time and had to taxi back from the runway, explaining it to the passengers, crew, and the company would have been difficult. Of course—” Fang Hao paused, recalling their previous dispute, and added, “You don’t need me to tell you this. The company should have informed you after reviewing the reports.”
Chen Jiayu sighed, “I actually don’t care how the company sees it. What matters is how I see myself, and I still find it hard to accept the landing lights incident.” Fang Hao thought about whether his own instructions during the radar failure were perfect. In this regard, they were actually quite similar.
Not knowing how to comfort Chen Jiayu, Fang Hao knew he wasn’t skilled at consoling others with words— he simply listened. When Chen Jiayu finished talking and opened the car door for him, Fang Hao had already started to step out when a sudden impulse pulled him back. Without thinking, he turned around and gave Chen Jiayu, who was in the driver’s seat, a hug.
In the tight space of the car, their head were pressed together, and their chests touched slightly. Fang Hao’s hand reached over his shoulder to pat his back. The hug was brief, lasting only two seconds before he quickly pulled away. But as he pulled away, he briefly held Chen Jiayu’s forearm and hand, patting them in a comforting and gentle manner, brief yet meaningful.
Chen Jiayu was stunned, unsure how to react in the moment. He had always been a strong and determined person, never seeking hugs or comfort from anyone, not even his closest family. The embrace from Cao Hui during breakfast had shattered his tightly wound emotions in an instant, releasing a flood of sadness, regret, guilt, and unresolved remorse, like opening Pandora’s box. Now, the hug from Fang Hao was different. It was firm and strong, lacking softness or tenderness, yet it struck at the most vulnerable part of his heart. He very slowly tried to grasp something, but by the time he reacted, Fang Hao’s hand was already withdrawn.
“Everything will be alright.” Fang Hao looked into his eyes and said firmly, his voice still hoarse. By the time Fang Hao had stepped back, a second had passed, and Chen Jiayu had missed the fleeting softening in his eyes.
Chen Jiayu could only smile, his gaze gentle, as he said to Fang Hao, “Thank you.” His hand returned to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly out of sight.
In fact, the aftermath of the Hong Kong emergency landing had a lasting impact on him. He had realized it even before dining with Changbin. Unfortunately, his pilot father only cared about his flight data, and most of the company’s executives only cared about the monetary value he brought. His worries and fears went unaddressed, as if he had been sentenced to solitary confinement, isolating and torturing him alone. When Fang Hao came over and knocked on his car window, it felt like he had served his time and was finally released.
At that moment, he had an impulse to move closer, to grab the person in front of him and kiss them, to physically test whether Fang Hao felt anything for him. But in the few seconds he hesitated, Fang Hao had already disappeared from sight.
Translator notes: Sorry for the delay. 🙂 Updates will be postponed for 2 weeks until after my exams, and then they will resume with 3 chapters in the first week. 🙂 Thank you for your patience! 
They finally had a conversation! It was much needed and hopefully their relationship grows from now on.
Thank you for the chapter and good luck with your exams!
omg MAJOR developments in this chapter!
“let’s no argue, okay?”
I’m giggling, kicking my feet
Thank you for the update and good luck with your exams! 🍀✨
It’s such a BF answer. hahahah
They talked! (=^w^=)/
Thank You for the chapter (•‾⌣‾•)و ̑̑♡ Wishing You the best marks! 💜