Landlord in the Arctic-Chapter 39: Learning to Fly

The base price for a top-of-the-line Top Cub was 140,000 US dollars, with additional custom options available.

For the fuselage color and paint job, Feng Shan specifically chose a custom design.

He opted for oversized tundra tires suitable for the Far North Tundra, along with accessories like amphibious floats for water landings and skis for snow, which could be swapped out depending on the landing environment.

The interior material was carbon fiber, and he selected the Top Cub sport seats, an external cargo/fuel pod, and three years of official maintenance and service.

To prevent fatigue on long flights, Feng Shan also ordered an additional basic EFI avionics suite.

The new avionics suite was centered around a Garmin G3X 10.6-inch flight display. The system had a multi-screen mode and included features like terrain and obstacle alerts, navigation, engine monitoring, cruise control, a digital autopilot, and more.

Fully loaded with all the top-tier options, the plane’s total price came to 270,000 US dollars. The Garmin system alone accounted for the bulk of that, costing 90,000 US dollars.

A thick stack of contracts was placed in his hands. Feng Shan couldn’t be bothered to read the terms and conditions—he wouldn’t understand them anyway. ’Best to leave the professional stuff to the professionals.’

So, Frank took the beautiful saleswoman to the lounge area to discuss the contract details.

He saw the two of them sitting pressed tightly together on the sofa, just short of having their arms around each other.

To be fair, Frank was undoubtedly a professional lawyer, and he had proven his considerable skills over the past two days. There was just one thing about him that left Feng Shan speechless.

His personal life was an absolute mess.

He had the same vigor as a boar in heat, never missing a single moment to hit on women.

’Can’t he just find a wife and settle down?’

’Fuck, in the short time they’ve been talking, that shameless pair already have their feet hooked together under the table.’

’Look at how well-behaved Nash is. He’s holding Prince and the Coca-Cola, following me without a peep, all honest and proper.’

Nash was the name Feng Shan had given the Indian.

He figured "Nash" sounded close enough.

AHEM, AHEM, AHEM!!

Unable to watch any longer, Feng Shan deliberately cleared his throat a few times. If they kept talking, that pair of dogs in heat were going to start going at it right there.

Frank reluctantly let go of the saleswoman and nonchalantly wiped the lipstick print from his face.

"Buddy, the contract’s fine. Time to pay up."

’Of course I know the contract is fine. You’re the one with the problem.’

’I knew I shouldn’t have given you that Spell Beast Hide.’

Taking the contract, Feng Shan pulled out his checkbook, wrote down the amount, and handed it to the saleswoman along with his green card.

"Sir, I’ll also need your pilot’s license. According to Federal Aviation Administration regulations, I need to upload and register it," the saleswoman said softly.

Huh?

A pilot’s license??

’I don’t even have a driver’s license, how could I have a pilot’s license?’

An embarrassed expression crept onto Feng Shan’s face as he looked at Frank.

He shot him a look, signaling for him to handle his new fling.

Frank noticed the problem as well. You couldn’t fly a plane without a pilot’s license. After a moment’s thought, he asked.

"My dear, my friend here is in the process of getting his pilot’s license. He’ll have it soon. Is there any way to get around this for now?"

The saleswoman’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

’Why buy a plane without a pilot’s license? Is he going to stick it in a garage as a collector’s item?’

But before her was a signed check from a major client purchasing a 270,000-dollar aircraft. Naturally, the Cubcrafters Company had ways to handle unexpected problems.

’Why turn down good money?’

She stood to make a huge commission from this order alone.

"Mr. Feng, we can do this: for now, we won’t register it with the Federal Aviation Administration. You will still be the owner of the aircraft, but it must be flown by a licensed pilot. Before you obtain your own license, please do not fly it yourself."

"Sure, no problem!" Feng Shan readily agreed.

Inwardly, however, he swore that no one but himself would ever touch his new plane.

A sweet smile returned to the saleswoman’s face.

...

Since the new plane was a custom order, the factory needed extra time for the design, paint job, and avionics installation. The five-hour pickup time was extended to twenty-four hours.

Feng Shan said it didn’t matter. Good things come to those who wait.

He wasn’t in a hurry, but that old geezer Frank, on the other hand, was getting antsy.

Just as they walked out of the sales center, they saw a beat-up pickup truck parked out front. Tom was leaning over the steering wheel, waving at them.

"Hey, Feng, long time no see."

Feng Shan turned his head to look at Frank, who said with a straight face, "Buddy, would you really let a foul-smelling man take the controls of such a beautiful plane for its maiden flight? That would be a disaster. Not even God would allow it."

"So, I took the liberty of hiring Fairbanks’ best flight instructor, Mr. Tom, to give you private lessons. I guarantee he’ll teach you how to fly a STOL aircraft in the fastest time possible, turning you into a great sky knight soaring through the Alaskan heavens."

’You son of a bitch!’

’You make it sound so noble.’

’If I hadn’t just seen that saleswoman climb into your car, I might actually have been moved to tears.’

"Hope your kidneys hold up."

Feng Shan curled his lip, expressionlessly pulled open the pickup truck’s door, and climbed in with Nash.

Tom chuckled, gave Frank a standard international gesture, and started the truck, driving away from the aircraft sales center.

They drove down the street, and the scenery on both sides of the road grew more and more desolate.

Soon, they arrived at a shabby flight training field. A crooked sign reading "Lao Mu’s Flying School" hung over a lopsided gate.

"Lao Mu’s Flying School?" Feng Shan muttered. The name sounded suspiciously like an insult.

Tom, who was driving, heard him and waved his hand in frustration. "Buddy, a character fell off the sign. It’s Old Tom’s Flying School."

Feng Shan was speechless.

He continued to look around.

The school’s chain-link fence was not only broken but also covered in rust. Weeds and potholes coexisted on the runway. The so-called "classroom building" was just a temporary work shed, and Tom’s dilapidated second-hand plane was parked at the far end of the runway.

He felt the pickup truck bouncing up and down on the bumpy road.

’This is a flying school?’

Feng Shan silently reached for the rifle inside his beast-hide coat.

"Buddy, you’re in luck! When I heard you were coming to learn to fly a STOL plane, I cleared my entire schedule. I’m focusing just on teaching you. See? This whole flying school is at your personal service," Tom introduced enthusiastically, oblivious to the fact that his life was hanging by a thread.

’Cleared his entire schedule?’

’Who would sign up for a shithole like this?’

’Blind students, maybe?’

Feng Shan struggled to keep his hand from grabbing the gun. Just as the truck stopped in front of the classroom building, a few dogs appeared from nowhere and started barking at the pickup.

Prince, who had been dozing in Nash’s arms, groggily heard the barking. He instantly perked up, scrambled to the window, and started yapping back. His barks were especially shrill and unpleasant.

"If you’ve got the guts, then go for it. Don’t just make noise like Frank," Feng Shan sneered. "Nash, toss him out. Let him fight like a man."

Nash obeyed Feng Shan’s words to the letter, grabbing Prince and tossing him out the window.

Once on the ground, Prince saw that his backup was gone. Faced with several large, adult dogs, he immediately tucked his tail between his legs, turned, and ran whining to the side of the pickup truck.

"Get lost! All of you, scram!" Tom got out of the truck and shooed the dogs away. "Feng, don’t be scared. They’re strays I’ve taken in. They protect the flying school. They’re good boys."

’He takes in stray dogs!’

’Fine.’

’Since you’re a kind-hearted person, I’ll spare your worthless life.’

Feng Shan retracted his hand, pushed open the car door, and stepped out, surveying the dilapidated surroundings.

"Tom, how long will it take for you to teach me how to fly?"

"God as my witness, I’d love to say I can have you mastering this in an hour, but I can’t. I hope you understand that flying is different from driving."

"For a private pilot’s license, you need a minimum of 40 hours of study. That includes 20 hours of dual instruction with an instructor, 10 hours of solo flight, 5 hours of solo cross-country, 3 hours of night flying, 3 hours of instrument training, and 10 full-stop takeoffs and landings."

Tom explained with a sincere expression.

’Forty hours.’

’That’s only a day and a half. I can live with that.’

Feng Shan nodded in agreement.

"Time is tight and the mission is heavy, so let’s start with instrument training right now!" Tom said, rubbing his hands together as he walked toward the plane parked on the runway.

"The electronic flight instrument system, which displays the horizon, airspeed, attitude, altitude, vertical speed, heading, and course deviation information."

"The heading indicator, also called the electric gyro..."

"The attitude indicator, also known as the electric artificial horizon..."

"The altimeter, vertical speed indicator, airspeed indicator, magnetic compass..."

"The tachometer, fuel pressure gauge..."

"Fuck, you understood all of that? Buddy, you’re a real genius!"

"You should be called Einstein Feng! If I had a brain as smart as yours, I definitely could’ve gotten into Harvard."

...