The whistling wind is the music Wang Yue is most familiar with.
At this moment, he was standing on the edge of the door of a small plane, with twelve thousand meters of void beneath his feet. The clouds spread below like an endless white ocean, and the sunlight poured down without any obstruction, making his skydiving suit and helmet shine brightly. Through the oxygen mask, he took a deep breath of thin and cold air, and felt a familiar stimulation in his lungs. This feeling made him awake and excited him even more.
"Wang Yue! Wang Yue! Wang Yue!" The cheers from the ground through the earphones were vague and distant, as if they came from another world. He knew that at this moment, in the designated viewing area below, countless telescopes and telephoto lenses were pointed at him, waiting for the moment he jumped.
