Chapter 148: Accident

"What is he doing?" Chen Feng held up the telescope, a foreboding feeling rising in his heart.

At eight hundred meters, the plane suddenly shook violently.

"Engine failure!" a sharp-eyed trainee shouted.

We saw the plane begin to descend, not smoothly but at an angle, plunging downward. Lin Guodong was clearly struggling to control it; the aircraft alternated between nose‑up and nose‑down, like a leaf in a gale.

"Forced landing! Let him force land!" Zhao Tianxiang shouted, frantically waving the red flag.

But the altitude dropped too fast. Three hundred meters, two hundred meters, one hundred meters…

The plane tried to level out, but there wasn't enough distance. It struck the sand off the runway at a shallow angle, the nose digging into a dune, the fuselage rolling, the wings breaking, fragments scattering dozens of meters away.

A death‑like silence.

Then everyone rushed toward the crash site.

Chen Feng ran ahead. On the sand, the wreckage was still smoking—not burning, but the engine's heat evaporating moisture in the sand. The cockpit was deformed, Lin Guodong trapped inside, motionless.

"Stretcher! Quickly!"

"Careful! There may be fuel leakage!"

"Fire extinguisher! Bring the extinguisher!"

People were frantic. Ten minutes later, Lin Guodong was lifted out. His flight cap was shattered, his face covered in blood, and a terrible dent in his chest—the result of the deformed control stick piercing him.

The medic rushed up to examine, and a few seconds later lifted his head, his face pale as he shook his head.

"No… no breath left."

By the runway, everyone froze. Zhou Afu's water bottle fell to the ground, spilling water everywhere. Ali knelt down, beginning to pray softly. Several female trainees were already sobbing.

Chen Feng stood where he was, looking at Lin Guodong's youthful face. That face had just yesterday asked a question in class, asking why a plane must press the rudder when turning. The young man was only nineteen this year, with parents at home and a younger sister.

He slowly crouched, gently closing Lin Guodong's eyes.

"Everyone, stop gathering around," Chen Feng's voice was unusually calm, "Wang Bo, arrange people to clear the site. Ma Shifu, lead the technical team to inspect the wreckage and determine the cause. Teacher Zhao, inform all trainees to assemble in the conference room in one hour."

"President…" Wang Bo seemed about to say something.

"Execute the order."

One hour later, the base conference room.

Thirty‑six trainees sat upright—originally there had been thirty‑seven. Lin Guodong's seat was empty. The engineers sat in the back row, each with a weighty expression on their face.

Chen Feng stood at the podium, not looking at anyone, but staring at the flight principle diagram still on the blackboard.

"The preliminary accident investigation results are in," he began, his voice still eerily calm, "Direct cause: the engine cylinder ruptured, causing a sudden power drop. The pilot attempted a forced landing, but altitude was insufficient, and attitude control erred."

He turned, facing the crowd.

"Indirect causes: First, routine inspections were inadequate, missing the cylinder's fine cracks. Second, the pilot lacked experience, handling the emergency improperly. Third, the commander failed to issue clear orders in time."

The conference room was so quiet one could hear breathing.

"The root cause," Chen Feng paused, "was me. I was too hasty, forcing you to fly high and push limits without sufficient experience or safeguards. I thought strict training and harsh standards would prevent accidents; I was wrong."

He took a deep breath.

"Lin Guodong, a Penang Chinese overseas, nineteen years old. His father runs a rubber plantation, his mother is a teacher, his sister is thirteen. He came to Lanfang because he believed it could give him a future. He signed up for the selection because he wanted to fly."

Chen Feng lifted a notebook from the podium—it was Lin Guodong's study notes, the handwriting neat, the charts clear.

"This is the study summary he wrote last night. The final sentence reads: 'Today I flew to three hundred meters, still a bit scared. But Teacher Zhao said, if you're scared you must face it. Tomorrow, I will fly to five hundred meters.'"

The notebook was gently placed on the table.

"He didn't reach five hundred meters. At eight hundred meters, the engine failed and he fell. He died from the fall."

Several trainees began wiping their tears.

"I know many of you are thinking now: Is it worth it? To learn to fly, risking our lives— is it worth it? Should we stop? Should we admit this is too dangerous, that we can't afford it?"

Chen Feng's gaze swept over each face.

"Let me tell you a story. Three years ago, when we built our first submarine, U-1 sank during sea trials, drowning six crew members. At that time people also asked: Is it worth it? Should we abandon submarines?"

He walked to the window, watching the wreckage being cleared on the runway outside.

"I said then: if we give up because people died, those deaths were in vain. If we fear death and refuse to move forward, we'll forever be stuck behind others, living off their leftovers."

He turned and walked back to the podium.

"Today I still hold that thought. Lin Guodong died, that's a fact. We're sad, we blame ourselves, we suffer, all of that is justified. But if we stop because of it, then his death was truly in vain."

Chen Feng placed both hands on the podium, his body leaning forward.

"From now on, training is suspended for three days. In those three days, you must do three things: First, write a letter to Lin Guodong's family—in your own name, saying what you wish to say. Second, relearn the flight manual and safety regulations; everyone must pass the assessment, and those who fail are not allowed to fly again. Third, think clearly: those who fear death may withdraw. Those who stay must be ready for the next person who could be you."

He straightened up.

"After three days, training resumes. But the rules have changed: two‑person flights. No instructor‑led flights, solo flights are prohibited. Flight altitude is limited to below three hundred meters. After each flight, a maintenance check is required. If you can't meet that, don't fly."

"Now, dismiss."

The trainees rose silently and left quietly. No one spoke, only footsteps.

After everyone had left, Chen Feng finally sat down, hands covering his face. Wang Bo entered, handing him a glass of water.

"Young Master, the Lin family's compensation…"

"Three times the highest standard," Chen Feng's voice came from between his fingers, "His parents' retirement, his sister's schooling, the state covers everything. Also… in my name, write a letter to his family. Just say… just say sorry."

"It's not your fault…"

"It's my fault." Chen Feng lifted his head, bloodshot eyes, "I knew exactly how high early aviation accident rates were, I knew exactly how rudimentary our conditions were, yet I still… still clung to a hopeful gamble."

Wang Bo was silent for a moment, then changed the subject: "Ma Shifu's side has the results. The engine cylinder crack was a defect present from casting. The Faguo supplier may have given us a substandard product."

Chen Feng's gaze hardened: "Are you sure?"

"Confirmed. Ma Shifu pieced the fragments together; the crack extends from the inside outward, indicating impurities inside the material."