In a mountain range not even clearly marked on maps, there was a cliff so inaccessible that even apes could scarcely climb it. Though it was called a cliff, it was merely a small protrusion from an almost vertical mountainside.
It was midnight, with a bright moon and sparse stars, and this place happened to lie in shadow, so almost no one would notice it. Yet at that moment, a shrill roar suddenly tore through the night sky.
It sounded somewhat like an airplane engine, and it was very close. Yet even someone with the sharpest eyesight could only barely make out an outline. Clearly, this suddenly arriving craft possessed an extremely advanced optical cloaking system.
The aircraft circled the area several times. It was just as the poem described: circling the tree three times, with no branch to perch upon.
Faint traces of man-made construction could be seen atop the cliff. There should once have been a secret base carved into the mountain here, but now the entire base had collapsed, buried beneath tens of thousands of tons of boulders.
There should originally have been a platform here for aircraft to take off and land, but it was now piled full of rocks. Only a tiny patch remained, far too small to ensure the landing of this unexpected craft.
In the end, the aircraft slowly descended. Once it reached the same height as the cliff, it hovered steadily in midair. Its hatch slowly opened, like the drawbridge of an ancient castle, connecting to the cliff.
At that moment, two squads of well-trained soldiers quickly rushed down from the aircraft in fan-shaped formations, bent low. They wore black trench coats, steel helmets, and masks equipped with multiple visual functions. After confirming there were no threats, they swiftly changed formation and