Chapter 100: Descending the Mountain in Secret

The moment sunlight pierced through the clouds, Wu Lei wept, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.

He wept for his career, for the dying Cao Jinmin, and above all, for this damned fate.

Standing at Camp C1, the mist gradually cleared and the snowstorm subsided; a faintly swaying figure hung suspended in midair, occasionally slamming against the ice wall. Seeing this, the three men suddenly felt a wave of nausea, their heads stabbing with pain in an instant.

“C…Captain…is there really no way?”

Xia Cuo felt as if an axe had split his skull; he sucked hard on his oxygen, only then realizing his hands were trembling.

Wu Lei wiped his tears and tore his gaze away from Cao Jinmin.

After so much time had passed without any response from Cao Jinmin, the meaning was already obvious—even if he was still alive, he was likely moments from death.

He lowered his head and said nothing.

Another half-hour passed before Wu Lei finally spoke.

“Let’s go!”

He finished speaking and began preparing, but moments later noticed both men beside him staring upward, motionless.

Following their gaze upward, Wu Lei slowly opened his mouth.

…

Standing atop Yaomei Peak, Qin Yun remained still for a long while, until his mind settled completely and he had taken in the entire view; then he prepared to descend.

It must be said that the Sherpas’ adaptability is formidable: in this low-oxygen environment, his blood oxygen level, which had dropped to 95%, now rose to 96% on the monitor.

No one would believe it if told.

The faint drowsiness he’d felt earlier had vanished entirely.

The descent route is normally more dangerous, but Qin Yun had ascended without any protection—what could be harder than that?

His speed was rapid: from 6,250 meters to 6,100, then 5,900, then 5,600. He descended swiftly and steadily, avoiding ice avalanches and bypassing crevasses.

But when he reached Camp C2, his gaze sharpened instantly—he spotted a figure in his line of sight.

“That’s…”

The anchor points on the ice wall, the ropes, the clothing, and the slightly familiar silhouette all told Qin Yun the person was likely a climber from the Mountaineers’ Alliance.

Judging by the current situation, the expected had become unexpected.

His gaze passed over the motionless figure and landed on the direction of Camp C1—three figures stood utterly still.

After a brief pause, Qin Yun took out his drone again and launched it; the livestream reopened.

Fans who received the livestream notification were stunned.

“What’s going on? Why is Brother Qin going live again? Has he had a change of heart?”

“Did Brother Qin run into trouble descending?”

“Great…”

“What the hell? What is that?”

Qin Yun directed the drone’s camera toward Cao Jinmin, and his voice echoed through the livestream.

“Friends, I just came down from the mountain—I’m now at roughly 5,200 meters altitude, and I’ve just witnessed this. The man is likely a climber from the Mountaineers’ Alliance; he appears to be in danger.”

Seeing the livestream footage light up again, Han Wei in the base camp also froze—then her expression subtly changed as she took in the scene.

She immediately posted a comment: “Brother Qin, you cannot attempt a rescue in this situation—come down quickly.”

After posting, she immediately sent ten Carnival gifts, followed by several more messages.

Some netizens, seeing Han Wei’s comment, replied: “What does Miss Han mean? Is she letting him die?”

“So selfish? Brother Qin, you misjudged her.”

“That’s a human life—what kind of thing is that for Miss Han to say?”

Soon, a flood of comments attacking Han Wei appeared.

But quickly, other netizens sided with Han Wei.

“There’s an unwritten rule in mountaineering: at this altitude, rescue is absolutely impossible—you simply can’t do it.”

“Think of Everest’s famous Green Boots.”

“Those who are criticizing probably don’t even understand why. Just imagine carrying a 180-pound, 6-foot-tall person on flat ground.”

Qin Yun also saw the netizens’ comments and said calmly: “This stretch of Yaomei Peak is extremely dangerous and difficult. If the man were conscious, rescue might still be possible—but if he’s completely unconscious, you’re essentially trying to move a nearly 180-pound weight here, which is normally impossible.”

“But saving a life surpasses building seven-tiered pagodas—I can’t stand by and let him die, especially since he’s most likely unconscious from hypoxia.”

Qin Yun did not hesitate further—he moved.

He descended swiftly and soon stood beside Cao Jinmin.

The man was suspended by his safety rope, face-down, his body curled like a shrimp.

His chest rose faintly, but his face was blue, his consciousness long gone; a large swelling marred his forehead, oozing blood.

But…

The air here was extremely thin—oxygen even more so.

A person from sea level would feel unbearable within minutes; worse still, hypoxia-induced headaches drilled into the brain like drills, vision blurred, and even orientation became difficult.

Qin Yun immediately checked his blood oxygen with a monitor; moments later, the reading made his heart sink—his blood oxygen had dropped to 44%.

This number was already at the edge of life and death.

Normal blood oxygen is above 95%; at high altitudes, anything below 95% triggers immediate bodily reactions.

Of course, a reading below 95% doesn’t necessarily mean hypoxia.

For people who live long-term at low altitudes, blood oxygen saturation drops rapidly upon arrival at high altitude, but gradually adapts over time—though it never returns to low-altitude levels.

The human body’s self-regulation is incredibly powerful.

Qin Yun maintained high blood oxygen purely because of his external advantage.

Even Sherpas at high altitude could never maintain such levels—they typically hovered above 80%.

But regardless, a blood oxygen level around 40% was already at the human body’s death threshold—its self-regulation had limits.

Without rescue, this man would die for certain.

“Friends, you all just saw the situation—blood oxygen near 40% is a dying state. If we delay further, he will die without doubt.”

Qin Yun reached under the man’s chest and leaned him against the ice wall. He opened the backpack and found two high-pressure oxygen bottles.

As the oxygen mask was secured over Cao Jinmin’s face, his chest began rising more noticeably.

Qin Yun kept watching the blood oxygen monitor; when the numbers began to climb, he finally exhaled slowly.

“Lucky—he still has internal function. Oxygen is reactivating his bodily systems.”

As he spoke, the walkie-talkie clipped to the man’s chest suddenly crackled to life.

“Qin…Qin Brother…is that you?”

Qin Yun picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the talk button: “Xia Cuo? It’s me.”

“It really is you, Qin Brother? Is Brother Jinmin…still alive?” Xia Cuo’s voice cracked, thick with sobs.

Qin Yun nodded: “Yes, he’s alive. He’s breathing oxygen now. If the head wound isn’t too severe, he should regain consciousness within about an hour.”

Hearing this, the three men at Camp C1 suddenly paled; Xia Cuo and Song Bin’s gazes instantly locked onto Wu Lei.

Wu Lei’s face turned deathly white; his lips trembled, his hands clutched his head tightly, and a stifled, guttural scream burst from his throat.

Seeing him like this, Xia Cuo’s mouth tasted bitter.

Why had they only realized now that Brother Jinmin was still alive? Why had they panicked, re-anchored, rigged ropes, and scrambled down the mountain in haste?

They had oxygen bottles.

How could they have overlooked such a simple thing?

Qin Yun watched the blood oxygen monitor; as the number climbed to 55%, he tapped the man’s face every few minutes, trying to rouse him.

If he could wake the man, the rest would be much easier.

After all, moving a frozen corpse is nothing like moving a living person. His physical condition was extraordinary—but why make things harder than necessary?

Through communication with Xia Cuo, Qin Yun learned the man’s name.

“Cao Jinmin, Cao Jinmin, wake up.”

Cao Jinmin seemed to hear someone calling him, but he couldn’t muster any response—he felt frozen, as if time had stopped.

“Cao Jinmin, Cao Jinmin.”

After what felt like an eternity, the voice finally became clearer.

In the livestream, the camera focused on Cao Jinmin; when he slowly opened his eyes, everyone erupted in cheers.

“Haha, he’s awake, he’s awake!”

“This kid’s lucky—he made it just in time for Brother Qin.”

“Good fortune—he’s got Brother Qin. Look at his teammates—they abandoned him long ago.”

“Yeah, who’d come rescue you in this hellhole?”

Seeing Cao Jinmin’s eyes open, Qin Yun also exhaled in relief—his constant slaps had not been in vain.

“Cao Jinmin!” Qin Yun studied his pupils. “Do you know who you are?”

Cao Jinmin was still confused, gazing blankly at Qin Yun; it took a long while before his awareness slowly returned.

Seeing him reach to remove his oxygen mask, Qin Yun quickly stopped him: “Don’t rush—keep breathing. We’ll talk later. Do you have any strength now?”

Cao Jinmin shook his head—he felt utterly drained, powerless, his head throbbing with unbearable pain.

Qin Yun wasn’t surprised: “Rest a little longer. We’ll descend after that.”

Cao Jinmin nodded. Moments later, as his blood oxygen slowly rose, his thoughts gradually stirred, and he finally understood his situation.

Surviving against all odds, having narrowly snatched back his life—this truth brought tears to his eyes.

“Brother Jinmin, Brother Jinmin, are you awake?”

Qin Yun shoved the walkie-talkie into the other’s hand.

“Xia Cuo, Captain, Abin, I’m fine. Let’s talk about the rest when we get back.”

Soon, another half-hour passed; the cold had left frostbite marks on Cao Jinmin’s face. Qin Yun asked again, but the answer was still the same—no strength at all.

He silently shook his head, knowing he couldn’t wait any longer.

The other’s body had clearly been damaged by oxygen deprivation; he’d likely need to stay in the hospital for a long time after descending.

“We have to go down. I’ll tie you to my back. Bear with it.”

Cao Jinmin: “Mm, mm, thanks, Brother Qin.”

Qin Yun moved swiftly, unfastening the safety rope from the other’s body, removing the backpack’s weight, then lifting him and securing him to his back. He immediately wrapped the safety rope around them both to prevent slipping.

After finishing, Qin Yun gave the drone a thumbs-up and began climbing down the mountain.

“Brother Qin’s got real divine strength—this is possible?”

“Insane. This guy’s at least 150 jin, and Brother Qin doesn’t look strained at all.”

“That’s why he’s Brother Qin. This guy hit the jackpot.”

After more than half an hour, Qin Yun reached Camp C1. Cao Jinmin looked at Wu Lei, Xia Cuo, and Song Bin with a complex expression. He wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what had happened when he’d had his accident.

But he didn’t blame them; he simply understood their relationship was over.

Qin Yun looked at Xia Cuo and the others: “I’m going down first. You follow after. The snowstorm’s likely coming back.”

With that, he left Camp C1 first, entering the mixed zone of scree and glaciers. This stretch was riddled with crevasses—some hidden, some open—where one misstep could send you plunging straight into the abyss.

Before and after a single step, Wu Lei and the others lost sight of Qin Yun and Cao Jinmin.

Watching Qin Yun’s movements, Cao Jinmin felt his entire life had been wasted. Was this even human? Carrying him, Qin Yun still moved like a deer, effortlessly identifying safe footholds. What was deadly difficult for others was as flat as ground to Qin Yun.

He covered nearly a thousand meters in just one hour.

Carefully crossing the ice avalanche fan, Qin Yun immediately spotted several figures at base camp—no one but Han Wei and the Storm Mountaineering Team.

“Yes! Brother Qin is awesome.”

“If Han the Beauty’s sister had had Brother Qin as a teammate, she wouldn’t have died.”

“Exactly. Brother Qin is a true god—he carries a full-grown man like he’s weightless. What kind of stamina is this? Han the Beauty’s lucky.”

“Damn it, can you just stop talking?”

“Just tell me—isn’t what I said right? That kind of stamina would kill anyone.”

“Fucking hell~”