Chapter One: Nightmare

In August of the year 2116, on the polar ice field, a China 99A amphibious main battle tank painted in snow camouflage rumbled steadily across the frozen wasteland. Its wide treads left long trails behind, soon to be erased by the falling snow.

Five young people, their faces etched with exhaustion, rode atop the tank. Half a month earlier, during a mission, their unit had been ambushed by an unidentified armed force. In the chaos, Hua Feng’s armored company—ten tanks strong—had scattered, each machine breaking out on its own. Now, of all that formidable formation, only this single tank remained with Hua Feng.

"Xiaomeng, it looks like our radio won’t be fixed anytime soon. You haven’t slept in over a day—go and get some rest. Once we reach Hurricane Town, our rendezvous point with the others, we’ll decide our next move," Hua Feng said, setting the tank to automatic mode and rising to gently urge Yun Meng to rest.

"I’m alright, I can hold on. We’re almost at Hurricane Town, and when dawn comes, we’ll see if our allies there have replacement parts. Wang Yue and Wu Jing just lay down, and Sister Shuangning said she’d take over for me in a bit. Hua Feng, you’re the acting company commander—you should rest, the team needs you," Yun Meng replied, her voice tinged with concern as she looked at Hua Feng’s bloodshot eyes, knowing he hadn’t slept in two days.

Yun Meng couldn’t bear to see him push himself any further. She knew how anxious he must be, but there was no choice; the nearest base was more than a thousand kilometers away, and with their dwindling supplies, it would be a struggle to get this forty-ton behemoth home again.

At moments like this, helplessness weighed heaviest on their hearts. They all understood: their mission to investigate polar energy reserves must have been compromised, leading to the ambush and devastating losses. Cut off from their homeland, with no reinforcements, even the elite China 99A armored unit had been brought to the brink of annihilation. For Hua Feng, who had just been promoted to acting company commander at the age of twenty-three, the blow to his confidence was immense.

So Hua Feng did not insist. He opened the rest pod beside the driver’s seat and lay down. Soon, he slipped into dreamless sleep.

Night fell, and the snow and wind persisted.

The tank’s headlights cast a meager glow across the vast ice plain. No one knew what the future held; the only conviction that kept them moving was the hope of returning home. Thoughts of elderly parents, familiar barracks—so long as they pressed forward, hope remained, and the possibility of return lingered. Compared to many, they were the fortunate ones; uncertain as the road ahead was, and with fate hanging by a thread.

Not far from Hua Feng’s group, in a small wooden cabin, several heavily armed foreigners of various skin tones interrogated three Chinese soldiers in clumsy Mandarin: "Are you certain you want to die for a secret that may not even matter to you? Think carefully—resistance means death. What in this world is more important than life? Do you wish to end up like your two companions, dying for nothing?"

He gestured at the bodies at their feet, riddled with bullets.

"Tell us your rendezvous with your company commander and hand over the polar energy samples. I am Blackwood—though outsiders call me Jackal, I’ll guarantee your lives if you cooperate. But my patience is limited. Decide quickly. By dawn, your fate—life or death—will be sealed by your choice."

The three remained silent, refusing to answer. Minutes passed. Jackal, out of patience, got up and strode outside, pondering which of his wives’ homes he’d spend the night at.

Inside, the three prisoners—already tortured—held on. The youngest, a female communications officer, had fainted; the two men, a gunner and a loader, shielded her. Throughout the ordeal, none had spoken a word; they would rather die than betray their comrades, despite having already lost their tank commander and observer.

Night deepened as the tank pressed on.

"I’m willing!"

Hua Feng, who had only slept three hours, jerked awake from his nightmare. The same scene—he’d lost count how many times he’d lived through it. For three years, ever since he reached the twentieth level of vitality cultivation, he’d been plagued by this repeating dream—a relentless nightmare.

In the dream, there was endless slaughter: humans killing humans; familiar faces falling one after another, while he watched, powerless. Alien invaders unleashed massacres upon defenseless civilians. Corpses littered the landscape, rivers ran red with blood, famine stretched for miles. Blood-stained earth washed into the rivers, turning the waters crimson. Countless scenes, perhaps from the past or yet to come, played out again and again, tearing Hua Feng’s heart to shreds.

Eyes wide with torment, he could only utter a silent scream. Every time, just as he neared collapse, a strong, ancient voice echoed in his mind:

"All of this—you can stop it, if you are willing. Only you can. So tell me: are you willing?"

And each time, as he answered, the dream ended. He would wake, gasping for breath. The nightmare had haunted him for countless days and nights. Since joining the military, the dreams had lessened, but after the failure of this mission, they returned without mercy. He could never understand—why only he? What could he possibly do?

Hearing his unrest, Yun Meng’s gentle voice drifted over: "Hua Feng, another nightmare?"

"It’s nothing, go to sleep, Xiaomeng. Everything will be alright," Hua Feng replied, taking a deep breath, reassuring her with determination.

This winter seemed interminably long. The snow, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, had fallen for over a month, like a tireless spirit lost in its own world.