NEC Chapter 3: The Extraterrestrial Guest from Xia Country

Changan Prefecture, Changle Palace, Yongning Hall.

The majestic palace complex stood solemnly in the dawn, its golden glazed tiles shimmering with the sunrise’s glow. The vermilion walls, stretching like a dragon’s spine, proclaimed the supreme authority and enduring cultural heritage of East Xia.

A small-scale internal meeting was underway, tackling a weighty issue: how to counter the aggressive posturing of the White-Headed Sea Eagle Federation across the Sea of Tranquility.

Cangming, the overseer of national governance and people’s welfare, was a renowned conservative. Until East Xia held an overwhelming advantage, his stance was to bide time and build strength.

The discussion grew heated when a piercing air raid siren shattered the tranquility above Changle Palace.

“Woo—woo—woo!”

The attendees shot to their feet, staring outside in shock.

Were they mad? This was no ordinary place!

Ten thousand miles of radiant rainbows reflected over Changle, a thousand years of martial glory rising from Weiyang! This was the royal city of six dynasties, the spiritual totem of the Dragon Nation, the heart of a civilization spanning millennia!

The Nine Cauldrons’ inscriptions secured ten thousand miles of eternal rivers and mountains; the eastern winds of great waves resonated through eight thousand years of history. A top-tier superpower, its banners fluttered among the three permanent powers.

Who dared launch an attack here?

The sirens grew shriller with each wail. As the elders hurried out of Linhua Hall, standing beneath the soaring eaves, the loyal Yulin Guard surged from all directions with near-frantic speed.

The young Yulin Guard captain, eyes bloodshot, roared hoarsely: “Unidentified object detected! Plummeting from outer space toward Yongning Hall at high speed!” At the Capital Garrison Command Center, chaos erupted.

Military radar had already tracked the intruder. For over ten minutes, it had circled in outer space above East Xia at a ghostly six Machs.

Its erratic trajectory triggered a top-level alert, locked onto by East Xia’s integrated surveillance platform.

Initial estimates pegged the object at just a few dozen cubic centimeters, slightly easing the command center’s tension.

Too small to be a serious weapon, more like satellite debris or a micrometeorite.

But its suspicious path demanded close monitoring.

Then, in the next second, the tiny blip made a sharp right-angle turn in space, accelerating abruptly and slicing toward the surface from beyond the Kármán line!

Radar supercomputers instantly predicted its trajectory: straight for the capital.

Its unnatural maneuverability and physics-defying resilience prompted the Capital Guard to sound the alarm.

“Emergency authorization! Open fire! Open fire! Saturation intercept!”

As the senior ministers looked skyward, the Capital Guard’s air defense base unleashed a barrage of Torrent missiles, their fiery tails streaking into the heavens.

Under the saturation intercept order, mid- and short-range missiles poured out, weaving a net of arrows across the sky.

Duty aircraft scrambled, accelerating violently, pulling dazzling Mach cones seconds after takeoff.

No lock-on needed; air-to-air missiles launched in sequence, guided by the early-warning radar system toward the target.

Yet, on the radar screen, the tiny blip executed an impossible acute-angle turn, effortlessly dodging the first wave of Torrent missiles’ deadly encirclement.

The earpiece crackled with reports of the “enemy” breaching the intercept. The Yulin Guard captain guarding Yongning Hall, eyes blazing, shouted: “Quick! Evacuate the ministers!”

Donghuang Tianshu, though not fully grasping the situation, pieced it together. Brushing off a guard’s attempt to assist, he stood firm with commanding presence: “Evacuate? If we can’t stop an attack like this, where in all of Xia could we hide?”

“I’ll stand right here. Let’s see what this thing is!”

From the Kármán line to the ground took barely twenty seconds. With its maddening evasive maneuvers, only thirty seconds passed.

In a flash, the object bypassed all intercept attempts and hit the ground.

The Guard commanders watching felt their hearts freeze. Only the loyal Yulin Guard rushed forward, surrounding the ministers, trying to shield them from the unknown impact with their bodies.

A white arc pierced the sun! A fiery streak tore the sky!

The object, now exceeding fifteen Machs, halted midair in the instant before crashing into Weiyang Palace’s golden roof. Under the wide-eyed gazes of the ministers and guards, it defied physics, hovering shakily before drifting to the ground.

Before anyone could react, the small cylinder let out a soft “click.” Slender metal limbs extended like a stick figure’s arms and legs, and it clumsily thudded to the ground, emitting a sharp, urgent cry.

In flawless East Xia speech: “Mom, help!”

“…”

Minutes later, the senior ministers of East Xia’s central dynasty, shedding all decorum, huddled like curious children around the unremarkable device, examining it closely.

It wasn’t for the Yulin Guard’s lack of effort. Despite a dozen burly men chasing it with all their might, they couldn’t touch a single “metal hair.”

The thing dodged and weaved, persistently heading toward the ministers, shouting “Help!” with every move.

“Stand back!” Donghuang Tianshu ordered.

The Yulin Guard, on high alert, formed a circle, weapons trained on the object.

The little thing hopped forward, swiveled left and right, and settled on Donghuang Tianshu. With a click, it opened a round cover on its chest, ejecting a dark yellow sheet of paper.

The paper floated up, unfurling automatically and orienting its text toward Donghuang Tianshu.

The first line, in bold East Xia script, read: “Dear Motherland, I am your child lost in another world!”

The letter was concise. After explaining his predicament, Chen Mo humbly pleaded for any East Xia citizen receiving it to pass it to the government, begging for even the slightest aid.

Even just a handgun would do! The second half detailed the critical use of the “beacon.” The ministers exchanged glances after scanning it.

Twelve seconds later, Changle Palace was sealed, entry allowed but no exits.

One minute and nine seconds later, radar confirmed all errant air missiles landed in uninhabited zones, and the capital lifted the air raid alert. All involved personnel surrendered communication devices and entered temporary isolation.

Three minutes and fifty seconds later, a special advisory team was rushed to Changle Palace to answer random questions from a minister.

The first was a math problem: three-digit multiplication.

The second, a hypothetical: an East Xia citizen lost in the Amazon rainforest needs aid; suggest supplies within a weight limit.

The questions grew stranger, the rules stricter, each answer collected immediately, as if racing an invisible clock.

Twelve minutes and forty seconds later, the military logistics headquarters delivered the first batch of designated supplies to Yongning Hall via a secure line. Transport helicopters were en route to the nearest military airstrip.

Twenty-six minutes later, in Pingan City, Nanjiang Province, three thousand kilometers away, serious-looking agents from the National Security Bureau, accompanied by local police, knocked on a university president’s office door.

“We’re investigating a classified case and need to review some student records. Please cooperate.”

The agents, unaware of their exact mission, meticulously documented every file.

The lead agent randomly pulled records, asking pointed questions.

“How did these former staff perform? Why did they leave?”

“Why were these programs discontinued?”

“Was there bid-rigging in last year’s router tender?”

“Hm? A student went missing while saving someone? Tell me about him.”

---

Forty-four minutes later, the beacon in Yongning Hall emitted a hazy white glow.

Behind a hastily erected bulletproof glass wall, the ministers watched, breathless, as the applesized beacon, amid rising mist, swallowed a medium-sized suitcase.

The stick figure’s arms gently closed, reverting to its silent cylindrical form, motionless.

The heart-pounding crisis finally settled.

The ministers looked up. The stars were hidden in the sun’s radiance, and none knew which faint glimmer connected to the otherworld bearing a lost child’s plea.

“Stop staring!” Cangming clapped, snapping everyone back to reality, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“Let’s figure out how to handle the international fallout from this mess.”

>>> NEXT CHAPTER