Zheng Rong commanded, “Disperse.”

Lance, speaking in broken Chinese, shouted, "Let him go!"

Hundreds of soldiers emerged, surrounding the open area outside the sterile room. The sound of guns cocking filled the air, and a line of black barrels pointed at the general holding Zheng Rong hostage.

The man furrowed his brow, sensing the danger. He asked in a deep voice, “What are those iron tubes?”

Zheng Rong raised a hand, signaling everyone to calm down.

Lance, confused, asked, “What are you trying to do?”

Zheng Rong raised an eyebrow and mocked, “Lance, you’re an idiot. Do you really think an ancient person recognizes firearms? Get that man out of here.” His gaze shifted upward.

Lance issued orders, and a sniper who had been positioned near a ventilation duct disappeared after stowing his rifle. Lance gave another command in French, and the soldiers lowered their guns and fixed bayonets. Bright white lights flashed around them as red alarms continued to blare, and the ground shook violently again.

Zheng Rong instructed, “Go handle your business, Lance. Give me a dagger and your military hat.”

Lance, still struggling with the language, said clumsily in Chinese, “Do you want freedom? We can talk.”

Zheng Rong chuckled at the absurdity. “Quickly, Lance.”

The ancient man kept his arm tightly around Zheng Rong, pulling him back slightly. Lance retrieved a Swiss army knife from his waist, crouched, and placed it on the ground, spinning it towards them.

Zheng Rong stomped his boot, flipping the knife up into the air. The ancient man reached out and caught it.

The man’s expression was one of confusion.

Zheng Rong whispered a few words, leaving the man perplexed as he gripped the Swiss knife’s handle.

Zheng Rong carefully reached out, gripping the knife’s edge, pulling out its sharp blade.

The man understood and pressed the blade against Zheng Rong’s neck.

Lance stood silently.

In English, Zheng Rong ordered, “Remove the perimeter. Send a few men to follow us. Go take care of your responsibilities and meet us at the hangar in thirty minutes.” He then whispered to the man holding him, “Let’s go.”

Switching to a clumsy form of ancient dialect, Zheng Rong added, "There is no need for the great king to panic. Please, let me go."

The man, speaking with a strong Hubei accent, narrowed his eyes and asked, “What? Speak slowly and clearly so I can understand.”

Zheng Rong replied, “If the great king kills me, no one else in this world will be like you. The men who just surrounded us were all blue-eyed and blonde. Have you seen anyone like you and me since you woke up?"

The man was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on Zheng Rong.

“You’re from Jing?” the man asked.

Zheng Rong nodded, his expression somewhat playful.

After a moment of contemplation, the man released Zheng Rong in an empty corner, though he kept the knife at his throat. There was a hint of approval in his eyes as he asked, “Why did those men chasing us retreat? Is there some trick at play? You have black hair and black eyes, but what if you’re a demon in disguise?”

Zheng Rong took off his coat and offered it to the man, who remained wary and did not accept it.

Zheng Rong spoke again, “At the Battle of Wujiang, the great king was defeated.”

The man, taking a deep breath, grew solemn as the memory returned.

“At the Battle of Gaixia, the great king’s body perished, but his soul remained. If you trust me, come with me. The past is irreversible, but the future can still be pursued. I swear on my life that I will protect you. Please, follow me.”

Zheng Rong’s eyes were filled with a complex mix of emotions—pity and a pleading sincerity. The man, who was none other than Xiang Yu, locked eyes with him for a long moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity in Zheng Rong’s gaze.

Finally, Xiang Yu accepted the coat. Zheng Rong helped him put it on, the long black coat hanging just to Xiang Yu’s knees. On Zheng Rong, the coat had reached below the knee, but Xiang Yu’s tall frame made it fit differently. The buttons fastened tightly, and the sleeves only reached his forearms, giving it a somewhat constricted appearance.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I’ll find you some boots,” Zheng Rong offered.

“There’s no time for that, is there?” Xiang Yu replied.

The harsh red light continued to flash, and the shrill alarms echoed through the base. Zheng Rong nodded. “There’s no time.”

“How do we escape?” Xiang Yu asked.

“This way,” Zheng Rong replied.

Following the flashing red emergency lights, Zheng Rong led Xiang Yu down a series of corridors into a safe passage. He adjusted the oversized military cap on his head, which kept slipping down. Frustrated, he eventually placed it on Xiang Yu’s head instead.

Xiang Yu didn’t protest. Clad only in the long woolen black coat and now wearing the military cap, he cut a strange figure. They walked in silence for nearly an hour until they reached the end of the fire escape tunnel. Zheng Rong turned the handle on a heavy iron door, and blinding sunlight poured in.

The Siberian snowfields stretched out endlessly, the blinding white nearly painful to the eyes. Xiang Yu shielded his face with his arm as the deafening roar of explosions echoed in the sky.

“Please follow me, my king,” Zheng Rong said, stepping outside.

Xiang Yu’s bare feet crunched into the freezing snow as he looked up, his confused eyes reflecting the countless massive fireballs overhead.

Mechs and ships streaked across the sky, their hulls painted with the emblems of the Human Alliance. Hovering crafts launched from the platform below, racing toward the Mayan ships to buy time for the human forces to retreat.

On the ground, countless armored vehicles and missile trucks rumbled past, and the sound of machine gunfire was relentless.

The entire snowfield had become a giant killing field. Everywhere, machines clashed and exploded in fiery bursts, with debris flying in all directions. Each aircraft that fell to the ground erupted into massive, earth-shaking blasts.

Zheng Rong knew that this scene would do more to convince Xiang Yu than any words could.

Xiang Yu stood stunned by the battlefield before him, his expression one of disbelief, as if he were caught in a dream.

“This is the 2,200th year since your defeat at Wujiang, my king,” Zheng Rong said quietly.

“And those… iron beasts?” Xiang Yu asked, drawing a sharp breath.

“They are inhabited by beings from another world, unlike the people of our homeland,” Zheng Rong replied. He pointed upward. “The iron birds, the crawling iron beasts—they’re all filled with our people. You can think of them as advanced machines.”

Xiang Yu shook his head. “I fear they are destined to lose.”

Zheng Rong blinked in surprise. Xiang Yu had barely glanced at the battlefield before reaching his conclusion. He continued, “The iron birds should form a formation for an all-out charge. What’s the use of this scattered fighting? The iron beasts are retreating across the field—why not unite them for a single decisive battle? Their morale has already collapsed. No matter how many mechanical troops they have, they are doomed.”

Suddenly, Zheng Rong shouted, “Watch out!”

A massive mechanical killing machine, nearly three meters tall, landed with a crash, aiming its cannon at the two of them. In an instant, Zheng Rong realized the danger and dove, pushing Xiang Yu several meters away before rolling toward the deadly machine.

Xiang Yu let out an enraged roar and charged at the machine from the side, but it swung its steel arm, sending him flying.

Zheng Rong pulled out his handgun and fired several shots at the machine’s vulnerable points, while Xiang Yu, in midair, performed a backward somersault and landed nimbly on the bare rock. Despite the freezing cold, he sprang back like a leopard.

“What’s its weak spot?!” Xiang Yu shouted.

“The chest! That’s where the energy core is!” Zheng Rong called back.

Xiang Yu climbed onto the machine’s back, and as he reached the glowing cannon, the heat seared his skin, forcing him to cry out in pain.

“Be careful!” Zheng Rong warned.

With veins bulging on his arms, Xiang Yu gritted his teeth and bellowed:

“Hah—!”

The sound was so loud it made Zheng Rong’s ears ring. To his astonishment, Xiang Yu ripped one of the machine’s shoulder cannons clean off!

A loud rumble echoed across the battlefield as several other mechanical killing machines sensed the threat and turned their turrets toward them.

“How do I use this?” Xiang Yu roared, gripping the half-destroyed cannon.

Zheng Rong was momentarily speechless.

The machines pivoted toward Xiang Yu, who dodged quickly. “It’s useless! It’s broken!” Zheng Rong shouted.

Realizing this, Xiang Yu discarded the broken cannon, watching as the machines ignored Zheng Rong and instead charged toward him. Gathering his strength, Xiang Yu swung the steel pipe like a weapon and hurled it.

It was a perfect throw—an artful display of control and power. Zheng Rong’s pupils dilated as he momentarily glimpsed the legendary Xiang Yu of two millennia ago, throwing his weapon in battle, spearing through ten enemies with one strike.

The makeshift weapon, now a blackened alloy cannon barrel, spun through the air and struck the approaching mechanical killer in the chest, piercing it straight through. Blue energy burst from the impact, scattering in a brilliant flash.

“Run!” Zheng Rong rushed forward, grabbing Xiang Yu by the waist and rolling them both down the slope.

Just as they reached the bottom, a massive explosion erupted at the top of the hill, sending them flying as the shockwave ripped through the air.

Xiang Yu let out a grunt as he sprang to his feet and, in one swift motion, hauled Zheng Rong upright.

Zheng Rong groaned in pain. He wasn’t used to this level of physical exertion, having spent most of his time in research labs. His body felt like it was falling apart.

“I… I…”

Xiang Yu smirked. Zheng Rong managed to stand, only to see four more mechanical killers closing in on them.

He quickly reloaded his handgun and said in a low voice, “I’ll hold them off. You run back through the tunnel…”

Xiang Yu snapped angrily, “Do you take me for a coward?!”

Zheng Rong replied flatly, “Your life was bought with my brother’s. You can’t die. When I count to three, three, two…”

Before he could finish, the rapid mechanical clatter of gunfire echoed in the distance. A giant helicopter unleashed a barrage of bullets, shredding the machines to pieces.

“Attention! Ten seconds until we drop the rope ladder! Prepare for extraction!” A familiar voice came through the helicopter’s loudspeaker—Lance’s reinforcements had arrived.

More and more Alliance aircraft fell from the sky as the mechanical killers converged on the small hill where the two stood.

“Let’s go!” Xiang Yu urged.

Xiang Yu shielded Zheng Rong as they scrambled up the rope ladder. The long black coat billowed behind him as the massive military helicopter jolted and fired infrared-guided missiles, creating a safe zone for their escape.

The charred ice fields receded into the distance as they flew away. The once expansive landscape was now littered with the wreckage of machines, slowly being buried under the relentless wind and snow.

In just a few days, everything would be buried beneath the ice, and the East Siberian stronghold would become yet another chapter in the history of humanity.