Landlord in the Arctic-Chapter 43: Returning Home

The sky was a vast expanse of blue.

Piloting the Carnation, Feng Shan’s mood was as open and boundless as the endless sky.

The bustling city receded behind them, its skyscrapers shrinking into tiny building blocks and its noisy streets fading into thin lines.

The plane climbed to an altitude of 3,000 meters.

Feng Shan followed the procedures, setting the Crown Territory’s coordinates in the avionics system and activating cruise control and autopilot.

For the next while, he wouldn’t need to fly manually. The Carnation would fly itself back to the Crown Territory, leaving Feng Shan free to quietly enjoy the beautiful scenery along the way.

They passed over the Alaska Hills in late autumn, and snow-capped mountains came into view, their pristine white peaks glinting with a cold, captivating light in the autumn sun.

The Carnation, like a white butterfly, fluttered its wings and flew gracefully over the Brooks Range.

The scenery changed abruptly.

Lead-gray clouds pressed down heavily, making the world feel exceptionally oppressive.

A vast, desolate expanse of the Far North Tundra, covered in white snow, unfolded before his eyes.

Most of the vegetation on the ground was buried under the snow, with only a few withered, yellow tips exposed, trembling in the cold wind.

’Looks like it snowed again on the Tundra in the few days I was gone,’ he thought.

For safety, Feng Shan disengaged the autopilot, took manual control of the Carnation to lower its altitude, and followed the navigation toward the Crown Territory.

Soon, three snow-covered peaks appeared in his line of sight.

"We’re home."

Feng Shan called out to the airsick Nash in the back seat as he lowered the plane’s altitude again. He flew low along the edge of the Moonlight Forest, the airflow kicking up snow from the treetops and startling the animals hiding within.

Although the runway was covered in snow, the withered willow thickets on either side served as the best markers.

He raised the flaps, slowly eased off the throttle, pulled back on the yoke, and increased the angle of attack.

The main gear and tailwheel touched down simultaneously. The rate of descent was zero at the moment of contact, making the Carnation drop onto the runway as if it had stalled.

This was an advanced landing technique Tom had taught Feng Shan called a high-angle-of-attack landing. Bush planes typically used a slip landing, and only experienced pilots would attempt a high-angle-of-attack one. If you couldn’t find the right angle, the plane would stall and crash.

Once the Carnation was settled smoothly on the runway, Feng Shan unbuckled his seatbelt with a sigh of relief. Even with autopilot, being cooped up in such a narrow space for over four hours was uncomfortable.

"Nash, you okay?"

Feng Shan looked back to check on the Indian, only to find Nash’s reddish-brown face had turned a bit green. His throat seemed to be making swallowing motions, as if he was struggling to hold something back.

’This guy’s going to puke,’ Feng Shan thought.

He hurriedly pushed open the cabin door.

Nash set down the slumbering Prince and Coca-Cola, jumped out of the cabin, and staggered over to the willow thicket.

There was a loud GAG.

The spreading odor was... quite moving.

After emptying his stomach, a haggard-looking Nash turned to Feng Shan.

"Khilla."

"It’s fine. Prince gets airsick too," Feng Shan said, waving a dismissive hand.

Hearing his name from inside the cabin, Prince groggily opened his eyes. The moment he saw the familiar surroundings, he perked up, leaped out of the plane, and began frolicking in the snow, his little tail wagging as joyfully as the Carnation’s propeller.

"You rest for a bit. I’ll go back to camp and bring the sled."

With that, Feng Shan turned and walked toward the camp.

Back at the camp, the antler fence was intact. The snow in the open area was dotted with animal tracks of all sizes, the most concentrated collection of which was around the workshop.

’Looks like the meat stored in the workshop attracted quite a few uninvited guests,’ he mused.

Feng Shan didn’t have time to deal with it for now. Tom had probably already arranged for a plane with supplies to be on its way. After moving the guns and ammunition, he had to clear the runway quickly.

He found the sled, a snow shovel, and a scraper, then hurried back to the runway without stopping.

He and Nash loaded the guns and ammunition onto the sled. Then Feng Shan taxied the Carnation off the runway and covered it with a waterproof tarp.

Seeing the Carnation left out in the open, Feng Shan’s heart ached. He decided that as soon as he was done with his work, he would build a hangar for the Carnation.

"Khilla!" Nash called out, walking over while pulling the heavy sled.

"Let’s go. Back to camp first. Tom should be trying to contact us on the radio soon." Feng Shan took one of the ropes, and the two men trudged back to camp, pulling the sled through the snow one step at a time.

The new guns and ammunition couldn’t get damp, so storing them in the bus was the only option.

The two busied themselves again, moving the gun cases and ammunition into the bedroom. Feng Shan emptied the clothes from a wardrobe and neatly organized his new "toys" inside.

Feng Shan picked up a Beretta 92, removed the magazine to confirm it was fully loaded, then slid it into a holster on his person. He then took a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle from a case and attached a sling.

His great-uncle’s rifle was now officially and honorably retired.

He unloaded the bullets from the rifle’s magazine and placed the weapon on a pair of antlers mounted on a bookshelf.

As time went on, Feng Shan gradually acclimated to the climate of the Far North Tundra. Aided by the Soul Power from the Witchcraft Bone Ring, he was basically unafraid of the current temperatures. The heavy fur coat was no longer suitable for wearing while working.

He took off the fur coat, changing into a down jacket and an outer shell. With the pistol holster now on his belt, he felt much lighter.

"Nash, what gun are you using?"

Nash grinned and patted the bow and arrows on his back.

Just then, the crackle and hiss of static came from the radio in the living room.

"Crown Territory, Crown Territory, come in, over."

Feng Shan hurried out of the bedroom and picked up the handset. "This is Crown Territory, I read you."

"Feng, I’ve crossed the Brooks Range with the first batch of supplies and equipment. ETA at Crown Territory is about an hour and a half. Remember to clear the snow off the runway, and you’d better have a bottle of hard liquor ready."

"Drinking and flying, doesn’t that count as a DUI? I’ll call the aviation authority and report you so you can kiss your pilot’s license goodbye for the rest of your life."

"Like I’m scared of those sons of bitches at the aviation authority. Feng, you’re no fun!"

"Just fly your plane properly. I’ve got to go clear the runway."

Turning off the radio, Feng Shan shook his head, speechless. ’Drinking and flying... sooner or later, there’s going to be an accident, and when it happens, it’s going to be a fatal one.’

He took Nash back to the runway, and the two of them used their tools to clear the snow to the sides.

Prince played by himself in the snow. Every now and then, a grayish-white rabbit would dart out from the willow thicket. When one appeared, he would try to chase it but couldn’t catch up, leaving him to bark out angry, frustrated yaps.

"Is that all you’ve got?" Feng Shan said, drawing the Beretta 92 from its holster. "Prince, flush a rabbit out."

WOOF WOOF!

Hearing the command, Prince excitedly charged into the willow thicket. A moment later, a plump, gray-furred hare shot out.

BANG!

After the gunshot echoed, the hare was shot dead.

"Keep flushing them out!" The hares of the polar tundra lived in groups and reproduced quickly. Their destructive impact on the tundra was on par with that of rats.

WOOF WOOF!!

Prince grabbed the dead hare and practiced tearing at it with his teeth. Hearing his master’s command, he turned his head and charged back into the willows.

This time, he flushed out three or four hares at once.

BANG! BANG!!

SWOOSH!

Feng Shan raised his pistol and fired twice. Two of the fleeing hares instantly froze in place before tumbling onto the snow.

At the same time, Nash raised his bow and loosed an arrow, just as accurately hitting another hare.

Compared to shooting a gun, archery required more exquisite skill, control over one’s strength, intense focus, and physical coordination.

Feng Shan had inherited the marksmanship talent of his ancestor, Feng Meng, while Nash relied on constant practice.

"Nice shot!!" Feng Shan gave him a thumbs-up.

Receiving praise from the Tribal Elf, Khilla, Nash broke into a simple, honest smile.

...