Chapter 104: Departure, Heading to the Desert

Comrade Qin Yun, thank you so much; without you, those poachers would have succeeded in taking the forest’s musk deer again.

The police officer leading the team was a middle-aged man around fifty, weathered and worn, named Ju Eben; after handling the matter, he gripped Qin Yun’s hand in heartfelt gratitude, though his awkward Mandarin sounded strange.

Qin Yun smiled: “Just luck—I happened to be there. These men are desperate and likely have blood on their hands; you must interrogate them thoroughly.”

Ju Eben understood Qin Yun’s implication and assured him repeatedly that they would conduct a strict interrogation.

Under the escort of several officers, as Qin Yun stepped out of the police station, he saw an elderly man, tall but gaunt and exhausted, rushing in from outside.

Qin Yun felt he looked familiar, and glanced at him again.

The young officer beside him, Dong Zhou Jiacuo, whispered: “Comrade Qin, he’s Dong Ele, the forest ranger from the area where you encountered the poachers—and he’s also the grandfather of the young man among the four poachers.”

Qin Yun suddenly understood; no wonder the poachers headed straight for their target—they knew the musk deer’s habitat. There was a traitor inside.

…

The next day, Qin Yun continued driving, not rushing straight to his destination despite the system’s check-in task.

Today was November 3rd; twelve days remained until November 15th. Excluding the five days required to complete the system’s check-in task, he still had seven days left.

Seven days to tour Qinghai Lake and the Qilian Mountains grassland was more than enough.

In fact, he estimated he’d reach the Qaidam Desert even earlier than planned.

Yesterday, he carefully analyzed this check-in task: travel to the Qaidam Basin desert and survive five days in the wilderness; success means the check-in is complete (no equipment allowed except a drone, a dagger, a backpack, and a set of clothing).

The Qaidam Desert is a high-altitude desert, extremely arid, cold, with shifting sands; food and water are the greatest obstacles to survival. The system requires surviving five days in the desert, and succeeding at the end of those five days.

It seemed simple, but the difficulty was maxed out.

The danger level might even exceed summiting Yaomei Peak. Because of his own abilities, the main danger of summiting Yaomei Peak came from sudden severe weather; the actual difficulty was still within his capacity.

But surviving in the desert was different.

For ordinary people, the Qaidam Desert’s high altitude first brings altitude sickness, extreme day-night temperature differences—carelessness leads to headaches, vomiting, hypothermia, frostbite.

Second, the Qaidam Desert receives less than 50mm of annual rainfall but loses 3,000mm to evaporation; surface water is nearly nonexistent. Though salt lakes are everywhere, their high salinity and toxins make the water undrinkable; without water for 24 hours, death is a real risk.

There’s also complex terrain: soft sand zones, where stepping in instantly traps you—the more you struggle, the deeper you sink; single-person self-rescue is nearly impossible; salt crusts, hard and sharp as blades, easily cut through shoe soles and slash limbs; the entire desert is riddled with gullies and ravines, making navigation extremely easy to lose, and ordinary people cannot determine direction.

Beyond that, there are countless other lethal dangers, all impossible to ignore.

For Qin Yun, the system imposed further restrictions: apart from the drone, dagger, backpack, and one water bottle, he could carry nothing else—the difficulty was pushed to the extreme.

He glanced at the map’s navigation: from his current location to the Qinghai Lake scenic area, nearly seven hundred kilometers, nine full hours on the highway.

He planned to drive to Qinghai Lake today, stay overnight, and tour tomorrow.

Around noon, Qin Yun received a call from Han Wei.

“Comrade Qin, is now a good time for a call?”

“Yeah, I’m on the highway, speakerphone on—go ahead.”

“So, yesterday I contacted Douyin—they also had this idea and are willing to buy out the playback rights for the Yaomei Peak episode in a co-creation format, total price one point five million.”

“That high?” Qin Yun was startled. “That price seems excessive.”

Han Wei smiled: “They won’t make a losing deal. After studying it, they’ll re-edit the two days of footage into ten episodes for broadcast. This one point five million is the buyout fee—any further profits are none of your concern.”

“Still, it’s unexpected wealth—thank you,” Qin Yun said happily. “When I get to Shanghai, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“I’ll hold you to that. I’ve already sent you their contact—add them and sign the contract to finalize the process.”

“Got it.”

The next service area wasn’t far; after ending the call with Han Wei, Qin Yun exited the highway.

At the service area, after adding Douyin’s official contact, he signed the contract and handed the matter over to Su Huan.

“Thanks for this—there’ll likely be more follow-up work.”

“No trouble at all—if a little trouble earns me one point five million, I’d welcome more of your problems.”

“Haha, true enough.” Qin Yun ate his burger. “How’ve you been? Still busy with work?”

“Uh… fine, just the usual.”

As soon as he finished speaking, his phone vibrated—he looked down and saw a WeChat message from Fang Nan, the content making his pupils contract slightly.

[Big Brother Yun, Sister Huan quit Alibaba—did you know?]

He didn’t reply to Fang Nan, only took a deep breath while gripping his phone: “Su Huan, Fang Nan just sent me a WeChat message.”

The other end fell silent instantly.

Su Huan’s expression froze, then she smiled bitterly: “That blabbermouth, Xiao Nan.”

“I quit voluntarily—it’s nothing major. With my experience, finding another job is a breeze. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”

Listening to the confident voice on the phone, Qin Yun laughed: “Of course it is—but now, finding someone who can spare time to help me is uncertain. Why don’t you just work for me full-time?”

“...”

Seeing she didn’t respond, Qin Yun continued: “My income keeps rising, and your role is so crucial—I can’t trust anyone else with it.”

“You could hire someone more professional...”

She hadn’t finished when Qin Yun interrupted: “Will anyone you hire care about me as much as you do? You’re the only person I trust besides my mother. Of course, if you truly don’t want to, I won’t force you.”

“Who said I didn’t want to?” Su Huan’s heart warmed, but her tone remained stiff. “Since you’re begging me so hard, refusing would be unkind. Besides, you’re right—nobody else will care for you like your old class monitor.”

“Then I, your chairman, entrust myself to you, CEO.”

“Smooth talker—we’re just two people in a studio, still calling yourself chairman and CEO.”

Qin Yun thought: “How about adding a few more people? Don’t outsource finance anymore, and hire your own assistant—figure out the rest yourself.”

“You don’t need to worry about that—I’ll handle it.” Now that she’d dropped her reserve, Su Huan didn’t hold back. “I’ll rent a new office. My salary? Twenty thousand a month—okay?”

“No.”

Su Huan froze, about to speak, when the phone continued: “Twenty thousand won’t cover anything. Whatever you made at Alibaba stays the same—year-end bonus separate. Don’t save money for me.”

“Fifty thousand is too much!”

“Not enough,” Qin Yun chuckled. “You’re the CEO—I think fifty thousand is too little. If I weren’t broke, I’d pay you five hundred thousand a month.”

“You’re full of it.”

Su Huan didn’t pretend modesty—she’d carefully calculated Qin Yun’s income; paying her this was a drop in the ocean.

They quickly settled the matter.

After hanging up, Qin Yun replied to Fang Nan and got back on the road.

At seven p.m., he finally arrived at the hotel he’d booked in advance—Yunmei Scenic Hotel. It was only one kilometer from the main entrance of the Qinghai Lake scenic area, extremely convenient.

…

In November, Qinghai Lake had shed the bustle of summer and autumn; stretching before him was nothing but an utterly silent blue.

The water was deeper than ever, like a vast blue gemstone, stretching from shore to horizon, merging with the snow line of distant mountains, indistinguishable where lake ended and sky began.

The lake was beautiful, but the grassland was yellow and withered, not green.

This season was Qinghai Lake’s off-season: no crowds, no noise—only wind, the gentle lapping of waves, and the vast, desolate expanse of the lake.

That desolation emptied Qin Yun’s mind instantly.

Clean, crisp, lonely—but beautiful to the point of suffocation.

He had never experienced such beauty; upon encountering it, he was utterly captivated. He walked along the shore, gazing at the endless lake, occasionally spotting a few waterfowl unwilling to migrate south, skimming the surface like a delicate oil painting.

Originally planning to visit the Chaka Salt Lake in the afternoon, he spent the entire day immersed in Qinghai Lake’s chill, unable to tear himself away.

Only when the horizon darkened and the stars emerged did he exhale deeply and gather his thoughts.

In the following days, he rode the little train at Chaka Salt Lake, explored the Qilian Mountains grassland to experience Tibetan culture and pastoral life, and even climbed Gangshika Snow Peak for an impromptu extreme ski descent.

Finally, on November 8th, his figure quietly appeared at a local helicopter rental company, preparing to rent a helicopter to enter the desert’s interior.

Because the Qaidam Desert was vast, crossing it on foot would take too long; but entering from the edge meant the first dozens of kilometers were highways and villages—too low-class. That was nothing like wilderness survival in Daxinganling.

So he had to enter the uninhabited zone of the Qaidam Desert from the very beginning—not just simulate being stranded.

After brief conversation with staff, Qin Yun rented a Bell 408GX helicopter, priced at 17,000 per hour, with skydiving gear extra.

After negotiating the price and paying, Qin Yun returned to the hotel.

This helicopter wasn’t like a car—you couldn’t just grab it anytime. Flight routes had to be approved; otherwise, flying randomly risked being shot down as an intruder.

That night, he received a message from the rental company at the hotel: approval granted. Takeoff scheduled for 4 p.m. tomorrow.

The timing was late, but he didn’t mind; he immediately informed Su Huan and set a live-streaming announcement on his backend.

[November 9, 4 p.m., coordinates: Qaidam Desert—continuing the legend of wilderness survival. See you there.]

As soon as the announcement went out, countless fans of Qin Yun spread the word; within an hour, his live-stream reservation exceeded one million—a ceiling-level number for an ordinary person.

Even many top celebrities couldn’t match his level of popularity.

Tieba: [Big Brother Qin]

“Big Brother Qin doesn’t even have a Weibo—so annoying, no place to chat.”

“Big Brother Qin’s heading to the desert—anyone know the Qaidam Desert? I only know the Qaidam Basin.”

“Looking forward to it. One day without Big Brother Qin’s stream and I feel miserable.”

“Damn!”

“Big Brother Qin’s a real man—emergency wilderness survival expert is coming online.”

“Hahahaha.”

Lying in his hotel bed, Qin Yun looked at the message from Su Huan, thought for a moment, then downloaded Weibo, registered, and verified his identity.

Unfortunately, verification would take two or three days.

He registered under the name “Multitalented Qin Yun”—he’d wanted to use just “Qin Yun,” but Weibo wouldn’t allow it; the name was taken. Douyin didn’t care about duplicates.

After registering, he also posted the announcement there.

Netizens were resourceful; no promotion from Qin Yun was needed—soon, people came knocking.

“Real Big Brother Qin?”

"Fake, right?"

"Let me check in first!"