46: Chapter 46: A Chinese Old Lady Takes a Walk at 10,000 Meters Altitude Without Safety?

After the press conference ended, a bizarre craze for physical martial arts swept the globe.

In major gyms, the sounds of grunting and lifting weights were replaced by groups of muscular men holding physics textbooks, reciting the law of conservation of energy while doing squats.

Tai Chi studios in China were packed to the brim; even when elderly people in the park performed the "Parting the Wild Horse's Mane" move, they were surrounded by groups of foreigners taking notes, trying to analyze whether the fan in the old man's hand complied with fluid mechanics.

But the Eagle obviously couldn't swallow this insult.

Since they couldn't win the war of public opinion, they decided to play dirty.

Three days later.

A Gulfstream G650 private jet with no markings was flying steadily over the Pacific Ocean.

This was the private jet taking Jiang Chen and Elder Qing Rou back home after the press conference.

Inside the cabin, Elder Qing Rou was wearing a facial mask, lying on a leather sofa, enjoying a rare moment of comfort.

"Son-in-law, this thing called a facial mask is really useful," Elder Qing Rou said indistinctly. "It's cool and refreshing, and it feels more hydrating than a youth-retaining pill. Can you wholesale some to me later? I want to take them back as a benefit for the female disciples of our sect, and earn some spirit stones while I'm at it."

"No problem, I'll provide as much as you need," Jiang Chen said, sitting opposite her and peeling an apple. "As long as you're happy, Elder, you can even take the mask factory back with you."

Just as the two were chatting.

"Beep! Beep!"

The red lights inside the cabin suddenly flashed frantically, and a piercing alarm sounded like the shriek of a malicious ghost, instantly shattering the tranquility.

"What's going on?" Jiang Chen dropped the apple, his eyes narrowing as he rushed toward the cockpit.

"Report!"

The pilot was sweating profusely, his face pale as he pointed at the radar screen.

"We've been locked on! At three o'clock, two F-35 stealth fighters! And... and there are six Reaper drones approaching! They've turned off their transponders, their intentions are unclear!"

"Unclear intentions, my ass!"

Jiang Chen looked at the red dots on the radar closing in from an attack formation, his eyes turning cold to the extreme.

"They want to create an air disaster over the high seas! Destroy the evidence and leave no witnesses!"

A static-filled sound came over the public channel in the headset, and a cold, electronic voice spoke: "Aircraft ahead, you have entered... static... an exercise zone... land immediately... otherwise... we will shoot you down..."

"Land?" Jiang Chen sneered. "Below us is the deep ocean; landing here is just feeding the fish."

"Son-in-law, what's wrong?"

Elder Qing Rou peeled off her facial mask, revealing a supple, youthful face, and frowned with some dissatisfaction. "It's so noisy; are the flies here again?"

"Yes, a few big flies. And the kind with poisonous stingers." Jiang Chen looked at the metallic luster looming in the clouds outside the window. "They want to swat us into the sea."

"They really don't let anyone have peace. Is this the poise of a so-called superpower?"

Elder Qing Rou sighed, stood up, and smoothed out her slightly wrinkled plain-colored dress.

She walked to the cabin door and reached out to grab the emergency handle that was strictly forbidden from being opened during flight.

"Elder, what are you doing?" The pilot looked back and was scared out of his wits.

"Don't open the door! We're at 10,000 meters! The outside temperature is tens of degrees below zero! There's severe oxygen deprivation! And supersonic airflow! Opening the cabin door will cause a pressure differential that will instantly suck us out and tear us to shreds!"

"It's fine."

Elder Qing Rou smiled faintly. Her smile contained a domineering air that viewed all living beings as ants, yet also carried a hint of a physics teacher's rigor. "Since they don't understand physics, I'll go teach them what 'relative rest' means."

"This..." The pilot looked at Jiang Chen, his eyes filled with despair.

"Open it."

Jiang Chen took a deep breath, sat back on the sofa, fastened his seatbelt, and even picked up the half-peeled apple again.

"Believe in science... oh no, believe in the Elder."

"Click—Boom!"

The moment the cabin door opened, violent airflow roared into the cabin like a giant dragon.

Various sundries flew around instantly, and all the oxygen masks dropped down.

But a bizarre scene occurred.

Elder Qing Rou just stood at the doorway.

The strong wind blew her hair into a mess, but it couldn't move her slender body even an inch.

There seemed to be a faint layer of golden light around her, forming an invisible barrier (or perhaps a fluid dynamics fairing?), isolating all the airflow outside.

She took a step.

Walking on air.

...

Inside the clouds.

Two of the Eagle's F-35 pilots were chatting casually over an encrypted channel.

"Hey, Jack, who do you think is in that plane? The higher-ups actually ordered us to use live ammunition? This is a top-level assassination order."

"Who cares who it is? Anyway, once they reach this sea area, even God would have to crash. This is our airspace—actually, the whole world's sky is ours. Prepare to lock on, send them to meet... FUCK! What is that?!"

Jack's scream went out of tune, like a rooster with its neck being strangled.

Through the expensive diffraction HUD canopy, he saw in horror that above the clouds at 10,000 meters, an Oriental woman dressed in white was walking towards them step by step, as if she were strolling in her own backyard.

No thrusters.

No wings.

No protective suit.

The clouds beneath her feet seemed to have turned into solid steps.

Every step she took caused a visible ripple in the air.

"Oh God... am I hallucinating? Is that an angel? Or a ghost? Why is the radar not reacting?!"

"Quick! Evasive maneuvers! It's that Chinese woman! That devil! Pull up! Pull up!!"

But it was already too late.

Elder Qing Rou appeared to be walking slowly, but in reality, that was the "Shortening the Earth into an Inch" divine ability from the cultivation world.

In the blink of an eye, she was already standing on the wing of an F-35.

The supersonic airflow at 1.5 Mach speed was as docile as a breeze beside her.

Through the bulletproof glass, Elder Qing Rou smiled slightly at the pilot inside who was scared out of his wits, and even politely waved, her lips seeming to say, "Hello there."

Then.

She raised that fair, delicate hand that had just been wearing a facial mask, and gave the missile pylon on the wing a light pat.

"Slap."

It was just like swatting a fly resting on a table.

But this light pat contained thousands of years of cultivation.

"Boom!!!"

That was a true "physical strike."

The hard titanium alloy pylon turned directly into a twisted mess under this slap, with metal fatigue instantly reaching its limit.

The mounted AIM-120 air-to-air missile was subjected to violent vibration; although the fuse didn't detonate, the propellant leaked and caught fire directly.

The fighter jet instantly lost balance, like a kite with a broken string, and plummeted toward the sea, trailing black smoke.

"Is this a supersonic fighter jet?"

Elder Qing Rou stood on the back of the falling fighter, shaking her head with some disappointment. "Too fragile. The material strength is insufficient, and the structural design is unreasonable. It's not even as sturdy as the Iron-Winged Birds in our sect."

She tapped her toes, her figure like lightning, and rushed towards the group of drones behind that were trying to scatter.

The following scene became a nightmare for all the generals in the Pentagon's monitoring room.

That woman performed a "tearing apart a Gundam by hand" scene at 10,000 meters in the air.

She either flicked her fingers to release wind or grabbed them with her bare hands.

Those "Reaper" drones, which cost tens of millions of dollars and claimed to possess the most advanced AI obstacle avoidance systems, were like clumsy plastic toys in front of her.

Grab one, crush the engine.

Kick one, the wing disintegrates.

There was even one that she grabbed by the tail fin and threw like a javelin, smashing another one.

In less than a minute.

Six Reaper drones and two F-35s had all turned into burning wreckage floating on the sea surface.

After doing all this, Elder Qing Rou straightened her collar, which had been messed up by the wind, and returned to the cabin door of the private jet.

She stepped in.

Closed the door.

The cabin returned to calm.

The air pressure rose back up, and the temperature warmed.

Elder Qing Rou sat back on the sofa, picked up the half-cup of hot tea she hadn't finished, blew away the foam, and took an elegant sip.

"Now it's quiet."

She looked at the already petrified pilot and Jiang Chen, revealing a gentle smile.

"Son-in-law, where were we? Oh right, the agency rights for the facial masks..."

That evening.

A blurry high-altitude video (filmed by a military satellite) circulated to the desks of the top heads of intelligence agencies of various countries.

In the video, that figure fluttering in white, walking in the clouds, dismantling planes with bare hands, was like a god descending to the world.

The US Secretary of Defense was silent for a full ten minutes after watching the video.

He didn't even notice that the cigar in his hand had burned down to his fingers.

Then, he silently fed the documents in his hand regarding "sanctioning China" into the shredder, one by one.

"From now on..."

The Secretary's voice was a bit hoarse, as if he had aged ten years. "Any flight path where this woman appears, our planes will take a detour. A detour of five hundred kilometers! No, one thousand kilometers!"

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