Wang Helin remained silent for a few seconds before the anger and disbelief on his face gradually yielded to a heavy sense of agreement.
He glanced outside at the mist-shrouded far shore closing in, then looked back at the bloodstained knife in Chen Yexun’s hand and his unwavering eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he said nothing.
He quietly picked up the slightly bent metal selfie stick and walked over to the glass window facing the interior side of the car.
*Bang!
Bang!
Bang!* He began hammering against the window, his hesitance giving way to resolute force.
Clearly, he had accepted Chen Yexun’s logic: in all things, one must prepare for the worst.
Just then, the woman who had been curled up weeping seemed jolted alert by the smashing noise—or perhaps some primal survival instinct overcame her emotional collapse.
She slowly raised her head, revealing a tear-streaked face whose eyes were no longer entirely hollow.
Looking at Chen Yexun, her voice was raspy but carried a strained composure.
“…Is there…
anything else I can use?
I…
I want to help too.” Chen Yexun glanced at her without speaking.
Keeping the knife in one hand, he used the other to toss his lightweight backpack in front of her.
The woman unzipped the bag, searched briefly, and pulled out a heavy tin of preserved yellow peaches.
Grasping both ends of the tin tightly, she joined Wang Helin, slamming the sharp metal rim of the tin into the spiderwebbing glass.
*Bang!
Crack!* With an extra set of hands, the glass yielded faster.
Li Chengyu watched them, gritted his teeth, and stepped up with a chair leg to scrape away the jagged shards remaining around the frame so they wouldn’t get cut when climbing out later.
Chen Yexun kept his eyes primarily locked on the woman.
Her wide movements exposed her arms, neck, and glimpses of her midriff—there were no bandages or suspicious marks anywhere.
Combined with the fact that neither she nor Wang Helin had shown any symptoms after all this time, Chen Yexun felt slightly relieved.
The odds that they were safe for now had increased significantly.
Before long, as the web of cracks reached its limit, the entire window shattered into pieces with a loud crash.
Freezing mountain wind laden with rain and mist flooded into the cabin, making everyone shudder.
A hole large enough for an adult to climb through had been cleared.
Chen Yexun pulled his gaze back from the broken window and turned to Wang Helin, who was wiping sweat from his forehead and inspecting minor scratches on his hands.
“Hey, man.
You’ve worked here for two years—do these cable cars have emergency brake controls inside the cabin?” Wang Helin paused, seemingly recalling his training, before answering promptly: “There are emergency stops, but control over those buttons belongs entirely to the control rooms at the start and end stations.
Nothing like that is installed inside the car itself.” Refusing to give up, Chen Yexun pointed out the window at the thick steel cable continually sliding by, pulling the car forward.
“Is there any way to get the cable car to stop on its own?
If we actually have to climb, a moving cable is our biggest obstacle.” Wang Helin knit his brows in deep thought.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up.
“Yes!
The doors have safety sensors on the locks!
If the system detects that a door is improperly open or that the lock has failed, it automatically triggers an emergency brake for safety, bringing the car to a halt!” Chen Yexun immediately stepped over to the door to inspect it closely.
The door fit tightly against its frame, its electronic lock indicator light showing normal.
He tried jamming the tip of his fruit knife into the gap to pry it open, but the blade bent alarmingly fast while the door didn’t budge an inch.
“Any way you can get this door open?” Chen Yexun asked, looking back at Wang Helin.
Wang Helin shook his head.
“These safety doors are easy to open from the outside, but prying them open from the inside requires professional tools like a crowbar.
With bare hands or that little knife…
it’s practically impossible.” “And we don’t have a crowbar.” Chen Yexun’s voice sank.
His eyes drifted back out the window, following the cable toward the support tower looming in the mist ahead.
On the tower, giant drive sheaves spun rapidly under the pull of the cable.
A wild, extremely dangerous thought flashed through his mind: *What if something could jam that pulley…?* Just then, Li Chengyu, who had been leaning out the broken window nervously watching the opposite cliff, cried out, “Hey!
Look over there!
Listen closely!” The three gathered at the window at once, straining their eyes in the direction Li Chengyu was pointing.
The mist seemed to thin slightly, revealing a clearer outline of the cliff opposite them.
And there, on the viewing platform, dense crowds of figures were vaguely visible…
reveling?
They appeared to be holding round objects that looked like lanterns, while others waved stick-like implements.
Moments later, the mountain wind carried faint sounds toward them.
Chen Yexun finally made out what it was—a chaotic, frenzied chorus of collective, hysterical laughter!
Identical to what they had heard down at the base!
“Fuck!” Chen Yexun’s face changed drastically, alarm bells blaring wildly in his mind.
The far side had fallen too!
And judging by the numbers, there were far more of them than at the bottom!
He whipped his head around, firing questions at Wang Helin at breakneck speed.
“If we jam the cable or that pulley on the support tower, will that trigger an emergency stop too?!” Unsettled by the scene and laughter across the gap, Wang Helin nodded instinctively.
“Y-yes!
In theory, any major obstruction to the main cable’s normal operation will trigger an emergency stop!
But that pulley is on the tower, we can’t possibly…” Before he could finish, Chen Yexun reached out like lightning to snatch the selfie stick from his hands—it was the only long implement they had to try jamming anything.
However, Wang Helin instinctively tightened his grip on the stick and flinched back slightly.
Chen Yexun’s eyes narrowed, assuming the man was chickening out.
Yet a flicker of conflict passed across Wang Helin’s face before he seemed to reach a firm decision.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke up on his own: “I’ll…
I’ll do it.” He looked at Chen Yexun with a complex yet unwavering gaze.
“I’m a security guard here.
I reviewed the mechanical structures and emergency manuals during training, so I’m a bit more familiar with it than you guys.
I know which gap is best to jam so we have a higher chance of succeeding.” Inwardly, Chen Yexun sneered: *Does a gatekeeper really know this stuff?* But he showed no suspicion on the surface.
At a time like this, any internal friction would be fatal.
He gave Wang Helin a long look, pulled his hand back, and even patted him lightly on the shoulder, his tone softening with rare gentleness.
“Sorry, man.
Earlier…
circumstances forced my hand, so I came off harsh.” Wang Helin cracked a stiff yet genuine smile and shook his head.
“I understand.
Truly, I understand why you did it.
If I were in your shoes, I might’ve done the same.” He cast a glance out the window at the approaching frenzy on the far shore and the huge, rapidly spinning sheave wheel.
His voice dropped low.
“I’m a security guard.
My job is…
to keep people safe.” He tightened his grip on the selfie stick, his eyes sweeping over everyone in the car.
“Let me…
do my duty one last time.” Without further hesitation, he leaned out, shoving the upper half of his body through the shattered window.
The icy mountain wind immediately whipped his hair and clothes into a frenzy.
The cable car roared on, carrying them toward the madness of the far shore.
Outside the car, Wang Helin’s figure appeared impossibly small—yet resolutely brave.