Ch3: Xiaoji

The space inside the model was incredibly small, making it tough for me to move around. To ensure the internal weight remained balanced during flight, I decided to increase the overall weight while keeping the front, rear, left, and right proportions unchanged.

Of course, this was just an aeromodel—no matter how high-end, it was still just a toy. If this were a real airplane, and I made changes so casually, aviation experts would probably line up to tear me apart.

I removed the shell of the aeromodel, exposing all the components inside.

I had seen it countless times and knew the structure like the back of my hand. Other than the two fuel engines, which I couldn't modify, I cleared out as much space as possible for the stabilizer.

Melting the polyethylene material I had bought, I carefully applied a protective layer to the designated area, almost like performing surgery. Once the polyethylene cooled, I added a rubber layer in the same way, then used a hot melt pen to evenly spread the irregular rubber coating.

"Man, my craftsmanship is still top-tier!" I grinned and praised myself. But now came the tricky part—building the balance stabilizer.

"Xiaoji , get me a bottle of Coke. And remember, Coke, not fruit juice."

Ah yes, Xiaoji was the name I gave this little guy.

Xiaoji still had some shortcomings—at least when it came to understanding Chinese characters. Honestly, I felt like Chinese was the most artistic language in the world.

Still, Xiaoji had strong learning abilities. Compared to those stiff, programmed robots that just replied, "Sorry, I don't understand. Please rephrase," he was way better.

I waited a while but realized Xiaoji hadn't brought my drink. Feeling puzzled, I got up and headed to the kitchen—only to freeze in my tracks.

What the hell was Xiaoji doing?

His hands were fiddling with a metal tube I had set aside for polishing. That part wasn't surprising—Xiaoji limb control was ridiculously flexible—but what happened next was something else.

In his hand, five pieces of emery paper seemed to dance. Each of his fingers had a small, 3 cm strip attached to it. Without hesitation, he inserted them into the metal pipe, effortlessly sanding the interior.

Shhh—shhh—shhh. The sound of rapid, even polishing filled the air.

Then, his fingers retracted, and—get this—he licked each one to pick up new emery paper strips, sticking them back in place.

"Xiaoji?" My jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Squeak?" Xiaoji stopped what he was doing, tilting his head at me in confusion, as if asking, Did I do something wrong?

I chuckled, tossed the piston rod into a drawer, and said, "Nah, you're doing great. Keep going."

Xiaoji was exactly what the system had described—my most powerful and reliable helper. With him around, all the tedious, time-consuming work was handled effortlessly.

Eventually, I even let him install the balance stabilizer while I sat back and watched, enjoying the view as if admiring the world's most beautiful woman.

"Oh yeah, this is gonna be good." I grinned.

And then, a thought struck me—why not start a company?

Yeah! I clenched my fist. I'd start a company, make a ton of money, and live the life of a filthy rich man!

Three Days Later

On the outside, the model plane looked the same as before. But inside? It had been reinforced with a stabilizer I had installed myself.

Just as I was about to take it out for a test flight, my phone rang.

"One cigarette at a time, one drink at a time..."

"Hey, Ben Yuan, where are you? Is my model ready?" Mo Yichen's voice came through. He was pretty famous in Mingzhou, though not like those spoiled rich kids in novels. He wasn't just there to throw money around or get slapped by the protagonist.

In fact, he was a decent guy. The only thing he spent money on was model planes.

And unlike most rich second-generation kids, he actually had his own business. Rumor had it that his company was doing well, pulling in close to a hundred million in revenue annually.

"Brother Yichen, I was just about to find a place to test it. I added a—"

"The usual spot. I'm on my way." He cut me off. "Oh, and grab lunch for three."

I shook my head, chuckling. What else could I say? I was already thinking about squeezing more money out of him, so I couldn't complain about his demands.

I went to a high-end Chinese fast food place, didn't even check the prices, and packed everything that looked delicious. Of course, before leaving, I made sure to get an invoice. Mo Yichen was covering the bill, after all.

Spending other people's money without guilt? Now that was the life.

At the Provincial Road

The taxi stopped on a quiet provincial road, surrounded by a small village. Hardly any cars passed by, and the view was wide open. To the left, a vast rice field stretched under the spring sky, freshly planted by the hardworking farmers.

This place was known as the gathering spot for Mingzhou model plane enthusiasts. The rice fields even served as a makeshift crash zone, softening the damage when models lost control.

"Hey, it's Ben Yuan! And he brought food! What a generous man!"

"Yuan, can you take a look at my model later? I crashed it yesterday, but I want to get it flying again today."

I greeted people along the way and headed to a small supermarket run by the villagers. I grabbed a bottle of ice-cold Coke from the freezer.

"Guo Zhen, how's business today? Doesn't seem too crowded."

"Hey, Brother Yuan!" Guo Zhen grinned and flashed five fingers. "Made this much today!"

Guo Zhen was the supermarket owner's son, three years younger than me. He never went to college after high school, and I had actually suggested opening this supermarket. I used to eat at his house often, so we were close.

Of course, my influence went beyond just him. Thanks to me, no one else in the village could successfully open a competing store.

"Only 500 this morning? You're making more than me!" I plopped down in a chair. "Where's everyone? Behind the village?"

"Yeah, they just left. See? I haven't even cleaned up the table yet." He ripped open a pack of sunflower seeds and placed them in front of me before clearing the table.

"Still, it's good to be earning. Hardworking people always find a way." I glanced at him, noticing how he kept looking back at the village. My expression turned serious. "But remember—don't get involved in whatever they're doing. That's not our scene."

Guo Zhen's smile faded, and he nodded solemnly. "I know, big bro. I just watch. I'd never gamble."

"Good. Stay away from that stuff. Once you start, you can't stop."

Gambling was human nature, and China had a long history of it. People would bet on anything—even something as ridiculous as who could pee the farthest.

In the model plane world, betting was just as crazy. It wasn't just about speed or who would win—it was about time trials, obstacle navigation, even mid-air flips. The bets ran from thousands to millions.

Just as I finished talking, a sleek Maserati pulled up in front of the supermarket. Behind it, a black Mercedes-Benz van parked smoothly.

I immediately stood up and headed for the door.