Chapter 106: Shelter

After briefly wandering around to show the livestream audience the harsh environment he was in, Qin Yun turned and walked to the location of the parachute.

As he cut with his dagger, he explained to the drone: “In desert regions, the temperature difference between day and night is extreme. I must plan for shelter tonight, so adapting to local conditions and repurposing waste is essential. If I can find a suitable shelter, these materials can keep me warm.”

In a short while, he collected pieces of parachute material.

“Parachute material is primarily nylon. Though not a high-insulation fiber, its windproof, waterproof, air-trapping, and lightweight properties make it highly effective for passive warmth and cold resistance outdoors.”

“Damn, Qin Ye knows so much—he seems to know everything.”

“Who’d dare wander around if they didn’t know anything?”

“Only someone like Qin Ye can conquer nature.”

Qin Yun glanced at the comments and smiled faintly: “It’s about five-thirty now. Based on the sun’s position, I estimate sunset around seven—we have an hour and a half left.”

“In extreme environments, the top priority is always shelter,” Qin Yun said solemnly to the camera. “So I must build a shelter before dark that can resist wind, cold, and danger.”

After packing all the parachute material into his backpack, Qin Yun took a sip of water into his mouth but didn’t swallow immediately—he waited until his mouth was sufficiently moistened before swallowing.

He didn’t wander aimlessly; his eyes quickly scanned for targets.

“Erboliang seems lifeless, but it hides dangers—the depressions in the yardangs may harbor desert lizards, venomous snakes, even desert wolves,” Qin Yun waved his dagger, smiling bitterly. “Though I have a weapon, I still need a ranged one.”

“Haha, is Qin Ye going to make a bow and arrow again?”

“Qin Ye will once again demonstrate his flawless accuracy.”

“666, what materials can you use to make a bow in the desert? This isn’t a primeval forest with materials everywhere.”

Qin Yun replied to the comments: “Heh, though materials are scarce in the desert, plants that survive here are perfect for makeshift bows—like saxaul wood. Hard and drought-resistant.”

“There are many materials for bow staves, but for the bowstring, I must turn to living creatures—there are no suitable vines here.”

As he spoke, a gray-black shadow suddenly shot out from a crevice to his left, moving at high speed toward Qin Yun’s arm.

The live chat exploded instantly.

“!!! What was that?”

“Snake—it’s a desert viper, highly venomous.”

“We’re done. Getting one-shot right at the start.”

At the last possible moment, Qin Yun’s expression didn’t change; his body sidestepped as if he’d predicted it, while his right hand lifted the dagger lightly upward.

“Ssshh—!”

The dagger struck precisely under the viper’s jaw. Qin Yun pushed hard—the force pierced through its body, impaling it completely. Then he flicked his wrist, flinging the dagger to the ground, taking the viper with it.

The entire sequence—sidestepping, dagger thrust, lethal strike—took less than a second, fluid and seamless.

“!!!!!!”

“I’m stunned—what reaction speed is that?”

“Does Qin Ye know martial arts?”

“Too fast—he killed it instantly.”

“Qin Ye definitely knows martial arts—holy shit, that’s insane.”

“Qin Ye: In my presence, ambushes don’t exist.”

“Viper: I just reincarnated from Daxinganling—why am I dying again in this guy’s hands? I’ll come back.”

Qin Yun stepped forward slowly; the camera focused on the still-twitching viper. Actually, the viper was already dead—its muscles were just spasming from residual nerve activity.

He crouched down and said: “Desert viper—a common venomous snake in Qaidam. It has extreme heat sensitivity and actively attacks heat sources. Look: its head is triangular, body patterned. Don’t panic if you see one—keep distance and strike the vital points accurately. Also, after removing skin and organs, its meat is edible—a high-quality protein source in the wild.”

He grinned: “But most importantly, we now have our bowstring.”

“Viper: Damn, I should’ve checked the almanac today—I ran into the ancestral master.”

“666, Qin Ye can have a late-night snack.”

“Did you hear that? Don’t panic—just strike the vital points. Learn it?”

“Can’t learn it. Can’t learn it.”

Confirming the viper was motionless, Qin Yun made a shallow cut about one centimeter below its neck—only through the skin, not into the flesh. Then, like pulling off a sock, he peeled off the entire skin intact.

Next, he cut the snake’s belly skin into strips about one centimeter wide, making three in total.

“In ancient China, there are records of using snake skin for bowstrings, so don’t be surprised,” Qin Yun said, tossing the strips onto the sand beside him and rubbing them repeatedly. “Rubbing removes oil and moisture, making the already tough strips more flexible and less likely to snap.”

After repeated rubbing, Qin Yun looked up at the sun: “Still sunlight. Still time.”

He placed a stone on one end, pulled the other end taut, and secured it under the sun.

“November sunlight isn’t strong, but the air here is dry—half an hour should be enough to set the strips into strong, resilient cords.”

He looked toward the distance, where several saxaul trees stood resiliently.

“I need to hurry,” Qin Yun said, running toward them with his dagger. “When the sun sets, the temperature will drop fast. My clothes are thin—I must find shelter quickly.”

“In desert areas, building shelter has three core requirements: wind-sheltered, sun-shielded, and collapse-proof. Erboliang’s yardangs are sedimentary rock—loose in texture, prone to rockfalls in strong winds. Never choose shelter beneath tall rocks.”

He quickly reached the saxaul trees, measured with his palm, and selected a piece one and a half meters long. In seconds, he stripped the bark, straightened it, preserving its thick middle and tapered ends. Then he carved seven or eight arrows, sharpening one end but doing no further work.

With bow, arrows, and string ready, the rest was simple.

Once the snake skin was sufficiently dried and set, he quickly twisted all strips into a single cord, twisting and tightening them.

After finishing, he packed everything into his backpack, walked a few hundred meters forward, and stopped at a partially recessed, wind-sheltered yardang. Three sides were surrounded by earth walls; only one faced northeast, perfectly avoiding the northwest gales. The top was flat, free of loose rocks; the ground was dry and hard.

“This is it,” Qin Yun said, satisfied. “A natural semi-enclosed space—maximizes wind resistance. The ideal shelter site in the wild.”

He unslung his backpack and pulled out the cut parachute fabric: “Now I need to secure the fabric.”

He anchored the four corners of the parachute fabric with heavy salt-alkali stones, erecting a simple windbreak. The shelter was spacious enough to even fit a small fire.

After enclosing the shelter with the fabric, Qin Yun crawled out and began gathering fuel for the fire.

“The bow stave, arrows, and string all need to be roasted. At night, fire will keep me warm—and most importantly, I can eat the viper.”

Though barren, this area still had combustibles like camel thorn and red willow roots.

Without much effort, using his expert botany knowledge, he quickly found several clumps of dried camel thorn.

“Camel thorn—the most resilient plant in the Qaidam Basin. Its roots reach over ten meters deep. Once dried, its branches are hard and burn long—perfect tinder. Look: the branches are spiky—be careful not to cut yourself when collecting.”

As he explained, he swiftly gathered the dry branches—efficient, precise, no wasted motion.

After collecting, he returned to the shelter and used stones to outline a shallow trench around it.

“What’s Qin Ye doing?”

“Practicing the art of drawing a prison?”

“Copying Monkey King.”

Seeing these comments, Qin Yun chuckled: “In wilderness survival, details mean life or death. This trench blocks nocturnal crawling venomous insects, traps a little heat, and prevents the shelter from being buried.”

“666, Qin Ye knows so much.”

“It feels like Qin Ye knows everything. Honestly, what does Qin Ye do for a living?”

“So far, everything Qin Ye shows seems to be something he can do.”

Time passed slowly. The sun neared the horizon, painting the yardangs in brilliant gold and crimson. Temperature plummeted rapidly; the wind turned biting, slicing across the face like knives.

Qin Yun pulled his neck in and opened several ventilation gaps to avoid poisoning himself when lighting the fire.

Though the bow and arrows weren’t finished, having the stave and string made fire-by-friction simple.

Soon, he easily ignited the fire.

After lighting it, he didn’t immediately process the viper meat—he began the final roasting of the bow and arrows, the last step in shaping them.

Though the conditions were crude and the result predictable, he didn’t need a masterpiece—just something functional and lethal.

As he roasted the arrows, a sudden change occurred.

“Oooh—hrrr!”

From deep within the desert came a low, guttural growl—hoarse and ferocious, echoing across the empty wasteland, sending chills down the spine.

The live chat fell silent, then flooded with frantic comments.

“That sounds like a wolf.”

“Are there wolf packs in Erboliang? Does Qin Ye have a grudge with wolves—he runs into them even in the desert?”

“Holy shit, Qin Ye, run! It’s dark—wolves are hunting now.”

“We’re done. First night, wolf pack encounter—this is too intense.”

“Pfft, obviously scripted. What are the odds? You’ll see—it’s just a sound effect.”

“Sorry, my schizophrenic son let loose again. Ignore him—I’ll take him back. Apologies.”

“No problem. Lock him up tighter—don’t let him annoy people.”

“Don’t worry—we won’t waste time on idiots.”

“Fucking…”

The user soon realized he couldn’t comment anymore—he’d been muted.

Su Huan sneered: “Trash.”

Qin Yun’s breathing slowed. He pulled back the parachute fabric and peered outside.

Nothing visible—only darkness, save for a faint silver glow of the Milky Way, chillingly cold.

He rushed back to the fire trench, glanced at the bow stave drying nearby, then swiftly attached the bowstring.

“Desert wolf—the apex predator of the Qaidam wilderness. Usually hunts in packs, with acute smell—they can detect human scent from kilometers away.”

Qin Yun’s voice remained calm, utterly composed.

“They’ve definitely spotted me. Three or five wolves? I’m not afraid. But I don’t want a direct fight—wisdom, not force, is the true art of survival.”

“Qin Ye is so calm—true man.”

“So manly, I love him. Qin Ye, I’m waiting for you in Chengdu.”

“Dead faggot, get lost.”

"What should Master Qin do?"