Chapter 115: Mirage

At 2 p. ., it was the hottest time of the day.

Yet even so, Qin Yun's perceived temperature was only five degrees—colder than yesterday.

Under the drone's lens, he walked ahead with a backpack on his back, a rope tied to his arm, the other end looped around a bharal's neck, trailing far behind.

This harmonious scene of man and sheep had lasted for two or three hours already.

Only now had he realigned himself with the northeast direction, stepping back onto the path of survival.

Along the way, he encountered no danger—only endless emptiness and occasional gusts of wind whipping up sandstorms.

Though only three days had passed, the environment had already altered Qin Yun's appearance somewhat; his hair and skin had dried out under the sand and wind.

He trudged on, stopping intermittently, until just after six in the evening, when he reached a low stretch of badlands.

Pointing at the badlands ahead, Qin Yun pulled down the sunshade cloth from his face and smiled: "This place is sheltered from the wind and offers open visibility—we'll camp here tonight."

He began gathering fuel and starting a fire.

The moment the flames ignited, the bharal startled—bleating frantically, its powerful tug nearly dragged Qin Yun down.

Only after a solid beating did it quiet down.

Over this journey, the bharal had lost count of how many times it had been punched; whenever it disturbed Qin Yun, it got beaten.

"Hahaha, still got no sense—you got punched again."

"Master Qin's learned a thing or two from beating this thing."

"This sheep is truly stupid."

"Laughed my ass off—just watching Master Qin beat the bharal is the whole entertainment."

"Officials are taking notes right now; as soon as Master Qin arrives, they'll settle the score. Guys, what's the penalty for assaulting a Class II protected animal?"

"Relevant authorities: …"

After lighting the fire, Qin Yun built a shelter, using local materials to construct a windbreak leaning against the rock wall.

Once the shelter was done, he began roasting meat for dinner.

As for the bharal…

Qin Yun simply filled a piece of sunshade cloth with water, hung it nearby for it to drink, and left its dinner to its own damn business.

The meat was wolf meat—tasteless—but on a freezing night, having something hot to eat and a sip of warm water felt incredibly comforting.

Humans are like that: desires are endless, but once stripped bare, even the smallest things satisfy deeply.

"I know it tastes awful, but watching Master Qin eat still makes me hungry."

"Master Qin should consider switching to food streaming—could be a promising career."

"Before, he ate insects to survive; now he eats wolf meat."

Qin Yun bit into a piece of wolf meat and said calmly to the camera: "Don't envy me. Stay home, enjoy your air conditioning and takeout, watch my livestream. Survival? Leave it to me—you just hit like."

"Fuck, how do you know I'm eating takeout? (ಥ﹏ಥ) Damn it."

"Wilderness survival isn't for everyone. Just the dangers Master Qin faced these past few days—any one of us would be dead by now, probably already torn apart by wolf packs."

"As Master Qin says, leave this to the professionals—we just shout '666.'"

Qin Yun ate until he was seven-tenths full; the remaining wolf meat would last him through tomorrow. He added more firewood and prepared to rest.

As he packed up, night fell, the cold wind grew fiercer, and the temperature plummeted sharply.

Qin Yun huddled inside the windbreak, leaning against the earthen wall, while the fire crackled outside.

"Friends, I'm Qin Yun, a temporary wilderness survival enthusiast. It's currently 7: 0 p. ., November 11th. The sun has set—I believe tonight will be a quiet night."

"Damn, the moment Master Qin says that, I'm staying up in his livestream tonight."

"Hahaha, no surprises expected—surprises always show up anyway."

"Master Qin doesn't even need to stage drama—it always finds him."

"I also think something will happen tonight—we're all staying up."

Reading these comments, Qin Yun couldn't help but laugh and sigh.

"Can't you guys wish me some good luck?"

"We can't wish you luck—you're eating wolf meat in the desert while I'm eating takeout at home."

"Just survive properly. Don't worry about us."

Watching Qin Yun's flickering face in the firelight, Su Huan paused, then posted a comment.

It was the first comment Su Huan had ever posted since Qin Yun started livestreaming.

"Xiao Huanhuan: Qin Yun, stay safe."

Qin Yun's eyes had been fixed on the comment section—he froze at this message, his heart skipping a beat, as if he'd seen the familiar face on the other side of the screen.

"I got it. Go to sleep early. Goodnight."

He immediately ended the livestream.

Viewers assumed his words were meant for them—but only Su Huan knew that, in that moment, their gazes had met across the void.

After charging the battery, Qin Yun draped the wolf pelt over himself, his thoughts slightly tangled.

He'd only been divorced for two months—he'd never considered starting a new relationship.

Even now, despite all Su Huan had shown over these two months, it hadn't moved him to respond in any way.

His years with Song Ya—from courtship to marriage to its end—weren't erased so easily. Even if his feelings for her were gone, the memories remained stubbornly intact.

He didn't reject the idea of a new relationship, but in his plan, two or three years from now would be the right time.

Now?

He shook his head, dismissed excessive hesitation. He didn't reject Su Huan—and deep down, he was a little selfish. So let it be…

Before sleeping, he checked on the pregnant bharal.

Whether from lack of hunger or indifference, it lay still, seemingly unfazed by the cold, occasionally lifting its head to shake it and scan the surroundings with alert eyes.

Satisfied it was unharmed, Qin Yun added more firewood, then wrapped himself in the wolf pelt and slept.

Night deepened; the night in Qaidam was bone-chilling. Wind howled, hurling grit against the rocks of the windbreak. Qin Yun drifted into drowsiness only after a long while.

If the starry sky above were filmed in slow motion, the beauty of the Milky Way would be clearly visible.

Beneath this stunning night sky, a sleek black shadow darted out from behind a dune like a ghost—slender yet explosively swift.

The bharal sensed something. Its head, previously lowered with closed eyes, snapped up. Ears stiffened, eyes glowed faintly in the dark, nostrils flared, emitting a low, wary bleat.

*Thud—!

A muffled landing sound, almost inaudible, struck the bharal's ears like thunder.

The bharal smelled the predator. The scent made it shudder instantly. It tried to bolt—but forgot its neck was still tethered to a rock on the other end.

*Bang—!

The sudden yank didn't snap the sunshade cloth—it yanked the bharal's entire body to the ground with a heavy thump.

"Baa—! Baa—!"

A piercing, trembling cry ripped through the night. Qin Yun's eyelid twitched—he jolted awake from light sleep.

He shot upright, muscles tensed, flinging off the wolf pelt in one motion, icy air clinging to him as he charged out.

At first glance, the night was pitch black.

The fire had burned out completely, leaving only faint red embers—no light remained.

But moments later, the Milky Way illuminated the sky; his vision adjusted.

Qin Yun's pupils narrowed—he spotted the black shadow lunging from the darkness straight at the bharal—faster than sight.

He snatched his waist knife without pausing to restart the livestream, growling low: "Beast, get lost!"

The shadow clearly startled—it mid-air twisted, landing lightly beside the edge of the badlands, limbs crouched, eyes locked on Qin Yun.

Only then did Qin Yun see its form clearly.

Pale gray fur speckled with dark spots, eyes glowing cold, emerald-green—menacing as a hunter risen from hell.

"Lynx!"

Qin Yun's heart tightened—but he didn't stop. He charged forward.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, the knife sliced through the air—a flash of cold light aimed straight at the lynx's face!

The lynx reacted instantly, sidestepping gracefully—the knife *thwip* embedded itself in the sand behind it, blade buried except for the hilt.

Almost simultaneously, Qin Yun closed the distance.

The lynx, fully enraged, leapt into the air, claws slicing toward his arm, eyes blazing with ferocity.

Qin Yun had anticipated it—he sidestepped, then drove his right leg forward, kicking hard into the lynx's soft belly.

He held back his strength.

Both were Class II protected animals. The lynx was merely following instinct. Killing it would be a nightmare.

Even with restraint, the lynx shrieked in pain, launched airborne by the kick, and crashed heavily onto the sand.

It curled for an instant, then sprang up again—eyes fiercer, panting, lunging once more.

Qin Yun knew this beast well—clever, agile, but unable to sustain prolonged combat.

He avoided direct clashes, using the night, dunes, and windbreak to weave and dodge, striking only in gaps—never killing, never wounding, yet relentlessly pressuring.

After several rounds, the lynx's breathing grew ragged, its movements noticeably slower.

After another kick sent it reeling, it finally recognized this man was not to be trifled with. It glared at him fiercely, then turned and vanished into the dark dunes, gone in moments.

Qin Yun exhaled slowly, then turned to check on the bharal.

He scanned it top to bottom—not a single hair lost.

He burst out laughing, then slapped the creature's face—firm but not hard.

"Fuck you, you piece of shit—you cause trouble every damn day! Screaming like you're being gutted—I thought you were dead!"

The bharal took a slap but showed no anger; instead, it rubbed its head against his pant leg, looking like it was begging, "I'm scared—protect me!"

Qin Yun: "..."

The night wind swept sand grains across, and cold instantly pierced through his clothes.

He was too lazy to argue further with the bharal, turned around, and quickly slipped back into the wind shelter, wrapping himself tightly in the thick wolf pelt again.

But after that commotion, falling back asleep was no longer easy.

The next morning, Qin Yun still felt tired, but daylight had come and sleep was gone. He rubbed his swollen temples, pushed aside the wolf pelt, and stepped out—just as he stretched his stiff body, his gaze accidentally fell on the distant horizon, and he froze solid.

His breath halted.

At the edge of the Qaidam Desert, where sky met earth, a hazy, radiant mist slowly unfurled.

Not sand. Not steppe. Not barren rock formations.

But a vast expanse of rolling green mountains, wreathed in clouds and layered with lush emerald peaks, as if lightly brushed onto the horizon with ink. Beneath the green hills lay a shimmering lake, mist rising from its surface, reflecting the sky, and along its banks stood dense forests, vibrant and teeming with life.

"A mirage!"

Qin Yun snapped to attention, scrambled back into the windbreak, inserted the battery into the drone, and immediately started streaming.

When netizens who joined the stream saw the drone's footage, they were stunned.

"Holy shit, did Brother Qin leave the desert?"

"Damn, a mirage—Brother Qin actually saw a mirage."

"666, pavilions and towers, white walls and black tiles, faintly visible, like a fairyland."

"Thank you, Brother Qin, for this gift."

Qin Yun said nothing. In all his years, he had never seen a mirage so clear, so magnificent.

"Green mountains and clear water? You're telling me this is Qaidam?"

"Holy crap, where is this? Did Brother Qin get transported?"

"So beautiful—this isn't a desert, it's a projection from heaven!"

Qin Yun silently gazed at the distant, illusory yet breathtaking scene. All the fatigue from days of hardship seemed smoothed away by this rare, celestial spectacle.

After a long while, Qin Yun exhaled slowly, his voice hoarse: "They say the great desert is barren—but sometimes, it lets you glimpse the gentlest dream."

As the sun rose higher, golden light spilled over the dunes. The mirage faded slowly in the morning glow, blurred, then vanished entirely, leaving only an empty, boundless steppe.

This author has never seen a mirage in real life—only in videos.