Chapter 105

Due to system restrictions, this sponsorship grants Qin Yun only one DJI drone. Things like Casio, which the system doesn’t permit, are out of the question.

If not for the system allowing live streaming, he might not even be allowed to bring a drone.

The next afternoon, Qin Yun arrived punctually at the rental company’s helipad and saw his rented Bell 408GX—completely black, exuding a formidable presence. Besides the two front pilot seats, there were four facing seats in the rear.

The pilot was a young man in his early thirties named Sha Liang. Qin Yun greeted him and exchanged a few words, discovering the man had five years of flight experience.

After donning his parachute pack and preparing, Qin Yun signaled Sha Liang to take off.

Along the way, Sha Liang learned Qin Yun was a streamer and asked curiously, “Bro, renting a plane and a drone—this trip must cost tens of thousands. Can you even make it back?”

Qin Yun smiled. “I’ve got quite a few fans. I think I can cover it.”

The straight-line distance from the airfield to the destination was about 250 km. With the helicopter’s cruising speed around 200 km/h, the flight took a little over an hour.

The core area of the destination was a true no-man's-land—no roads, no signal, no trace of human presence.

An hour later, the helicopter appeared above the destination.

“Sha Liang, climb to about two thousand meters.”

Sha Liang gave an OK gesture. The helicopter rapidly ascended and soon hovered steadily at two thousand meters.

Qin Yun took out the AI director’s main drone from his backpack and put on his action camera.

The drone couldn’t be left to fly freely—this altitude, combined with the helicopter’s influence, made it impossible to withstand the high-altitude winds.

But he had no choice—he needed the main drone to start the livestream, then switch to the action camera.

At 4 p.m., the livestream began on schedule.

Simultaneously, every fan who followed Qin Yun’s livestream on Douyin rushed into the room immediately.

The viewer count in the top-right corner of the livestream surged visibly.

Ten thousand, twenty thousand… fifty thousand, eighty thousand, over one hundred thousand.

Liu Wei, who monitored Qin Yun’s livestream for Douyin’s official team, instantly pulled up the backend. Watching the viewer count skyrocket, he felt even more certain about his decision.

Inside the helicopter, Qin Yun held the drone, smiled into the lens, and said: “Hello everyone. I’m Qin Yun, a temporary wilderness survival enthusiast. I’ve climbed Shanzi Cliff barehanded, scaled Dongya’s sheer cliff face, ventured into the primeval forests of Daxinganling, and summited Yaomei Peak without protection.”

“This time, as a temporary wilderness survival enthusiast, I’m currently airborne above the Qaidam Desert no-man's-land.”

He turned the camera downward, revealing the environment below to every viewer.

A desolate landscape filled every screen—desert, gobi, danxia formations…

“The Qaidam Desert is China’s fifth-largest desert, located in the heart of the Qaidam Basin in northeastern Tibet. At around 3,000 meters elevation, it’s China’s highest desert. Its dunes are scattered, intermixed with gobi, dominated by wind-eroded landforms. Vegetation cover is sparse—only drought-resistant plants like saxaul, tamarisk, and white thorn survive.”

“This no-man's-land, due to its complex terrain, extreme climate, and lack of signal, sees many tourists go missing every year. Today, as a temporary wilderness survival enthusiast, besides the drone for livestreaming, I carry only a knife, a backpack, and a water bottle filled with water—to survive here for five days.”

“Haha, Brother Qin is awesome! I love watching his survival streams. Last time in Daxinganling wasn’t enough!”

“666, Brother Qin’s showing off again. Everyone, grab your chairs and get ready.”

“Holy shit, desert! Brother Qin always surprises us with every livestream.”

“Brother Qin’s on a helicopter—he’s rich now.”

“2333.”

“Is Brother Qin planning to skydive soon?”

“Temporary worker Qin is back online—unbelievable.”

In just a few minutes, Qin Yun’s livestream reached a level no other streamer could touch.

If Sha Liang could see it, he’d be terrified.

Reading the comments, Qin Yun patted the backpack behind him and smiled: “Someone guessed right—I’ll be skydiving straight into the desert’s heart. But I’ve never trained in parachuting, so it’s risky for me. Guys, it’s 5:08 p.m. Beijing time, altitude two thousand meters—I’m ready to jump anytime.”

As soon as he finished, the comment section exploded again, flooded with hearts and gifts.

“Streamer’s gonna die—I’m ready.”

“Brother Qin, jump already! I can’t wait!”

“Streamer’s definitely joking—no training? You’re asking for death!”

“You’re talking about others. For Brother Qin, it’s normal.”

Qin Yun looked at Sha Liang, nodded, unfastened his seatbelt, walked to the cabin door, secured the drone, and leapt out.

‘Whoosh!’

Qin Yun immediately spread his limbs, forming a ‘big’ shape. Though he had no skydiving experience, his boldness and exceptional physical conditioning let him control his body effortlessly mid-air.

He alternated between face-down and back-down positions. The drone’s lens bobbed up and down, capturing the blue sky and endless yellow sands.

Sha Liang didn’t immediately fly away. Though his job was only to deliver Qin Yun, he was too curious—he kept watching after the jump.

“Holy shit, Brother Qin’s flying—stop spinning, I’m dizzy!”

“So beautiful. I want to skydive too.”

“I envy Brother Qin’s life—so cool.”

“Brother Qin, take me with you.”

“Windflow Sister gifted 10 Carnival Gifts—Brother Qin, take me next time.”

“Chen He gifted 10 Carnival Gifts—I’ve done it, but never alone. Envious.”

“Zhao Liying gifted 10 Carnival Gifts—so cool.”

“Polishing Brother gifted 10 Carnival Gifts—Brother Qin, let’s go together when I’m free.”

A string of Carnival Gifts flashed by, making countless fans’ eyes blur.

“Damn, Brother Qin’s made it.”

“Wow, I’m going to become a streamer—this money’s too easy.”

“666.”

“Will the streamer land and die?”

Qin Yun glanced at the drone in his arms, glanced at the comments, and smiled: “Skydiving’s thrilling, but dangerous. Someone asked if I’ll land and die—it depends on whether I open the parachute smoothly.”

Under gravitational acceleration, Qin Yun’s descent sped up. Two thousand meters vanished in an instant—only a thousand remained.

Through the lens, everyone could see the yellow desert and red gobi growing clearer.

Gradually, everyone’s hearts tightened.

At roughly five hundred meters, Qin Yun judged the distance sufficient and the ground clear of obstacles—he immediately pulled the ripcord.

‘Boom!’

The parachute deployment sound rang out. Instantly, his backpack ejected a massive canopy. The upward air current instantly canceled his downward momentum. The next second, his body bounced upward slightly before resuming its descent.

As his speed stabilized, Qin Yun released the drone. The camera showed his figure shrinking into a tiny dot.

“Smooth. No issues. As long as there’s no strong wind, this skydive is perfect.”

No sooner had he spoken than a powerful gust surged from above. His canopy shook violently, veering off course and drifting sideways.

He stared, speechless.

“Hahaha, jinxed yourself!”

“Good things don’t work, bad things do—Brother Qin, stay calm.”

“I’m dying laughing.”

Now his lack of skydiving experience showed—he had no idea how to adjust his center of gravity, so he could only let the parachute drift freely.

Then a massive rock appeared in his line of sight. The camera, following his downward gaze, automatically switched focus—everyone saw it.

“Shit, Brother Qin’s gonna crash!”

“Holy crap, is he gonna crash right at the start?”

“Brother Qin, don’t worry—I’m already dialing 114 for you.”

“Why dial 114? Shouldn’t you call an ambulance?”

“I don’t know 120’s number—I need to call 114 first to ask.”

“666.”

Qin Yun stared at the approaching boulder, calm as ever. He smiled faintly: “Don’t panic. For you, this might mean death. For me? Just a minor thing.”

“Damn, showing off again.”

“Brother Qin can’t be comfortable unless he’s showing off.”

“666. Qin Yun’s show-off was perfectly executed.”

Qin Yun fixed his gaze on the ground. As he neared the rock, he bent his knees. At the moment of impact, he curled his body forward and rolled.

‘Thud!’

His right foot slammed into the ground, absorbing the forward momentum. But the parachute’s pull remained—he was dragged forward a hundred meters before stopping.

Yet the entire process showed no mishaps. Qin Yun landed successfully.

He unfastened his parachute pack. The drone hovered directly ahead.

He gave a thumbs-up: “Friends, I’ve landed safely.”

He waved toward the helicopter above. The helicopter circled twice and swiftly departed.

He then took out the secondary drone from his backpack and released it.

Instantly, vast stretches of yellow desert, crimson gobi, and black wind-eroded terrain filled the lens.

Qin Yun raised a hand to shield his eyes and took a few steps forward.

“Thankfully it’s November. If I came in summer, I’d be roasted alive. My current body temperature feels comfortable—around 7–8°C. But nighttime temperatures often drop to -15°C. The day-night difference exceeds 20°C.”

“Anyone with basic sense knows dehydration is the greatest danger in deserts. But with today’s weather and my water bottle as backup, dehydration won’t happen yet. If you get lost in the desert, your best bet is to find shade and wait for rescue—assuming someone comes to save you.”

“Haha, Brother Qin, that’s obvious.”

“Bug: Shit, Brother Qin’s coming to eat me.”

“Is the jungle hunter logging in?”

Qin Yun looked around; he was currently in a region of wind-eroded landforms, with crimson desert plains far off in one direction and endless dunes stretching out in another.

“Based on geographical descriptions, I’m now in the Ebo Liang Yardang. ‘Yardang’ comes from the Uyghur language and means ‘small hills beside the desert’—a unique type of wind-eroded terrain. The massive rocks and cliff faces here were carved over countless days and nights by relentless winds.”

“Five hundred million years ago, the Qaidam Desert was a shallow sea. Later, tectonic movements gradually formed today’s basin, which eventually dried up into a desert.”

He continued forward, the drone’s camera occasionally capturing creatures hidden among the desert’s rocky terrain.

“When I was surviving in the wilds of Daxinganling last time, I said this: if you’re stranded, the first thing you must determine is your direction. Only after establishing your orientation can you formulate a proper survival plan.”

Qin Yun pointed to the sun on the horizon: “During the day, we can easily determine our direction by the sun’s position. It’s currently afternoon, so the sun lies in the southwest.”

“Once we’ve confirmed direction, the next step is finding water.” Qin Yun pulled out his water bottle and took a small sip. “I have one bottle of water, but an adult typically needs about 1.5 liters per day. My bottle holds only five hundred milliliters when full, so I must solve my water problem quickly—or I’ll succumb to dehydration in no time.”

“In the no-man's-land of Ebo Liang Yardang, there are sulfur lakes—seasonal saline depressions that can provide me with ample water. Though the water is toxic and undrinkable raw, it’s safe after simple filtration. So now it’s clear—”

Qin Yun raised his finger, pointing from the sun’s direction toward the northeast: “In five days, the only place I can reach is the Cold Lake Town to the northeast—and I must not deviate from this heading.”

“666, Master Qin’s geography knowledge is insane.”

“Master Qin is awesome—he knows everything.”

“Impressive. You talk a lot, you’re right, I’ll follow you.”