Extra Chapter 24
Stellar Calendar 278, September 29, Clear
Baldy’s wings have grown full feathers now, about as big as my palm. So, I decided to teach Baldy how to fly.
However, Baldy can’t fly.
…This really surprised me.
Baldy, despite having grown full feathers and strong wings that can flap hard enough to act like a small electric fan for me, just can’t take off.
This morning, Baldy was nibbling on an apple on the coffee table while He Ruge, Bobo, and I sat on the couch.
The coffee table was just half a meter away from the sofa, so I encouraged Baldy, “Come on, fly over to Dad.”
Baldy set down the half-eaten apple, licked his little paw confidently, took joyful little steps to the edge of the coffee table, flapped his small wings with determination. Then, right in front of all of us, he rose about five centimeters and with a swoosh sound, promptly fell straight down, ending with a thud on the ground…
Perhaps my shock and amusement were too obvious on my face. Baldy, struggling to get up from the ground, angrily avoided me and hesitantly threw himself into He Ruge’s arms, feeling sad and insecure. “Papa, I can’t fly.”
He Ruge quickly patted Baldy’s back, soothing him, “It’s normal to fail the first time flying, Baldy. You’re the best little Baldy.”
But I could tell He Ruge was holding back laughter.
Bobo also went to comfort the injured little Baldy. He said seriously, “Even clumsy birds can learn to fly. Practice every day from now on, and I’ll be with you. Don’t cry, crying won’t make you look good.”
Baldy pouted and sneakily glanced at me. I quickly suppressed the smile on my lips, rubbed Baldy’s little head, and said, “Failure is the mother of success. It’s okay that Baldy fell this time. We fall from where we fall, stand up from where we fall, persevere, and never give up.”
After hearing my comforting words, He Ruge whispered softly in my ear, “You’re quite formal.”
Indeed, I spoke very formally and dryly because I had never comforted anyone before. But Baldy was always easy to please, and even with my dry words, he felt happy.
Baldy snorted and said to me, “I climbed up by myself! None of you helped me!”
I quickly praised Baldy for being amazing and rubbed his sore little butt. Baldy lay in He Ruge’s arms, raised his little head, and asked me, “Papa, when you first learned to fly, did you also fall like me?”
Under Baldy’s expectant gaze, I cruelly replied, “No. Dad flew perfectly the first time.”
Although I didn’t use my own wings but transplanted insect wings.
Baldy lowered his head in disappointment, despondently muttering, “Then what should I do? Papa, do you have any flying tips for me?”
I had planned to say many things, but as those techniques came to mind, I suddenly remembered that when I was as small as Baldy, I didn’t have my own little wings. Therefore, my techniques might not apply to Baldy.
I have a pair of silver, translucent insect wings, as thin as cicada wings, with edges as sharp as blades. Under the sunlight, the veins on the wings emit a faint golden glow.
I used to hate them and also liked them. Now, the emotions of liking and hating have gradually faded away.
Those wings didn’t grow out slowly like buds, bathed in anticipation, like Baldy’s. Instead, they were ruthlessly transplanted into me on a cold operating table, cutting through flesh and skin without any consent.
From the beginning, they symbolized something ominous, gradually devouring the life of the host bit by bit. I witnessed the death of the Golden Python, so I was afraid of following in its footsteps.
But they never really harmed me. Even during that hazy adaptation period, I didn’t suffer much harm. Compared to the fate of those experimental subjects around me who died, these wings might have been kind to me. They not only didn’t take away my life but also gave me strength.
From the moment those wings were transplanted into my body, a continuous stream of power flowed into me. What I needed to do was to manipulate that power.
And unlike me, Baldy…
“I thought it was something serious, but I can’t fly either,” Grandpa Luo said.
“Bobo can’t fly, Jian Rong can’t fly either. Aren’t we all doing fine?”
“You don’t have wings, of course you can’t fly,” Baldy pouted.
Upon hearing this, Grandpa Luo slowly took off his coat, turned around, revealing the wings tucked away on his back. The dense black feathers had beautiful long white plumes, and the fluffy tail feathers hung down elegantly—a beautiful pair of wings, though sadly only half remained.
It turned out Grandpa Luo wasn’t hunched, but rather concealed his wings beneath his clothes.
“I have wings, but no flight feathers, so my wings can’t carry me soaring,” Grandpa Luo said, then put his coat back on.
“Then, what’s the use of these wings?” Baldy asked in amazement.
“They can…”
Save a life.
During the first Star War, there was a mech warrior who turned out to be pregnant. When her mech was breached by the Zerg, her body was dragged out. Luo Shaofeng suspected the child might still be alive, so he and his comrades jumped out of the mech. Before the Zerg could devour the pregnant woman, he attacked the Zerg.
His beast form was an ostrich, the largest bird in the world. When pushed to the brink, his kicks could even kill a strong male lion.
Luo Shaofeng temporarily drove away the Zerg and his comrades successfully performed a cesarean section to save the infant. To allow his comrades to return to the mech sooner with the child, he used his wings to shield against some of the attacks.
In order to save that infant, he paid the lifelong price of being lame, losing his wings, and never being able to retract them again, but he had no regrets.
“They… can protect the ones you want to protect.”
