Chapter 154

Qin Yun glanced at the cut on his palm, shook it hard, and blood droplets flew far away.

Upon closer inspection, the cut was five centimeters long, but not deep—it hadn't reached the interior.

"Don't worry." Qin Yun looked up at the drone's lens and smiled. "Minor injury. At least my head didn't hit the ground—just a little blood from my palm. No big deal."

Qin Yun spoke calmly, but the drone had fully recorded the previous moment—he'd been flung eight or seven meters away. Even with the snow's cushioning, the mid-air body twist and directional control still left viewers stunned.

Fuck, this isn't wuxia, it isn't a movie—it's reality.

Qin Yun reacted in time under such unexpected circumstances, avoiding the worst injury—his mastery over his body was incredible.

One netizen commented: Compared to the "flat sand landing goose" style of landing on his butt, Qin Ye's timely control of his body to avoid looking so disheveled perfectly aligns with Yi Shu's principle that "the most important thing in life is to maintain a graceful posture."

"Isn't Yi Shu a romance novelist? Why is she called 'Grandma'?"

"Born in 1946—do you think she's not a grandma?"

"Damn, I've been reading her 'If Love Had a Feeling' recently—I had no idea she was that old."

Watching the comments drift off-topic, Qin Yun quickly treated his wound, stopped the bleeding, then returned to the collision site—only to see that the object he'd hit was a large rock. What incredible luck.

He checked the snowboard—only the front had some scratches, but it was still fully usable.

He looked at the drone's screen—the comments had drifted to topics like: Yi Shu liked writing about girls who attended top universities, yet she herself only went to a mediocre British university at age 27, something he couldn't imagine in ten lifetimes.

And mentioning Yi Shu wasn't enough—other netizens began fabricating stories about other celebrities.

They claimed Lao She was terrible at cards and always lost badly; that Lu Xun had bad teeth but loved sweets; that Hu Shi had thirty-five doctorates, but only one he earned himself; that Gu Long was stabbed, hospitalized, nearly died, then took his attacker as a bodyguard because the attacker said he loved reading Gu Long's novels.

Qin Yun stared in disbelief—he had no idea where they'd gotten all this.

He shook his head, didn't interrupt their chatter, picked up his snowboard, and kept going.

At noon, the snowstorm intensified.

The livestream viewer count had surpassed two million; more and more people flooded in, filling the screen with comments and gifts of all kinds.

Meanwhile, Douyin had just officially announced the two Chinese spots for its collaboration with "Surviving the Wild."

Though announced a bit late—after all, everyone who needed to know already did.

But this official announcement still sparked a storm. As China's—and the world's—largest short-video platform, Douyin's announcement was simultaneously released on TikTok abroad as well.

After Douyin's announcement, the "Surviving the Wild" production team officially published the profiles of all fifty contestants on their official website for public viewing.

The promotion for this season had officially begun.

Su Huan turned her gaze away, opened the official "Surviving the Wild" website, and quickly found the list of fifty contestants.

Most were white Westerners, about ten Black people, and barely any Asians—besides Qin Yun and Guo Yao, only two or three others.

White contestants held an absolute numerical advantage.

Su Huan examined each profile closely—every one was clearly polished: ex-SEAL, professional hunter, extreme sports enthusiast, wilderness survival expert—titles piled up endlessly, dazzling the eye, making each person seem incredibly formidable.

She quickly found Qin Yun—his profile read: "Extreme survivalist from snow mountains to deserts, China's undisputed number-one outdoor expert." Nothing else.

Though it sounded impressive, it held no appeal for viewers—everyone knew these profiles were just fluff; no matter how well written, they couldn't match the allure of a real, verified identity.

For example, an American: "Former U. S. SEAL officer, current British SAS instructor, expert in tactical decision-making, wilderness navigation, and extreme-environment survival."

Two instantly impressive titles upfront boosted credibility—viewers immediately understood his strength.

Qin Yun's profile was like this; Guo Yao's was even more ordinary.

But "Surviving the Wild" had so many seasons—many viewers understood that sometimes both luck and skill are needed; bad luck could eliminate you even if you were the strongest. It wasn't impossible—it happened every season.

She closed the webpage and turned her gaze back to her phone.

"If you're going to be in the snow for a long time, always wear goggles. If you don't have goggles, sunglasses will do. Don't be fooled by how beautiful the snowy landscape looks—it's extremely harmful to your eyes. You've probably all heard of this condition."

"Snow blindness? I've heard of it, Qin Ye."

"I know too—it's because snow reflects light so strongly, it can seriously damage your eyes."

Qin Yun didn't look at the lens—he moved forward carefully. Prolonged skiing placed a heavy burden on his calf muscles.

"In snow, if you don't protect your eyes, you're very likely to get snow blindness. That's because snow reflects nearly 100% of sunlight—after prolonged exposure, your eyes can go temporarily blind, which is extremely dangerous in the wild."

Around the bend ahead, a series of towering rock mountains appeared in view—these low, snow-covered hills had no steep cliffs, only gentle, snow-laden slopes.

At that moment, his gaze shifted—he spotted something alarming on one of the rock mountains.

He swiftly side-slid to a stop, turned the camera, and zoomed in.

At first, livestream viewers were confused, then quickly realized what Qin Yun had seen.

On the surface of a rock mountain, a black Himalayan tahr stood on a rock ledge, calmly chewing on vegetation in the crevices, completely unaware that thirty meters behind it, a silver-gray shadow—nearly merged with the snow—was silently closing in.

On camera, Qin Yun held his breath. Only two hundred meters separated them—he feared disturbing this natural scene of predator and prey.

"Holy shit, is that a snow leopard? Right? It's a snow leopard, isn't it?"

"Qin Ye, what kind of eyes do you have? You can see that far?"

"Oh no, this goat's done for. Do you think the leopard will succeed?"

"Obviously—it'll be snow leopard food unless Qin Ye intervenes."

"Won't Qin Ye save this goat?"

Qin Yun whispered: "What you're seeing is a snow leopard hunting a Himalayan tahr. As a top predator in high-altitude regions, the snow leopard primarily feeds on various goats, deer, pikas, hares, and snow partridges. It typically uses stealth and ambush, launching a sprint within thirty meters."

"As for saving it—don't joke. The snow leopard is a Class One protected species in our country, more precious than I am. Interfering with its meal would be a grave sin. As for the tahr—hah!"

On camera, the snow leopard continued creeping forward, patient as ever.

When the distance narrowed to just twenty meters, the snow leopard suddenly moved. Its speed was so fast it seemed to teleport over ten meters in an instant, then leapt off the rock face, lunging straight for the tahr's back.

Only then did the tahr sense the danger—it instinctively jumped sideways. The leopard's claws grazed its ribs, sending a spray of blood droplets flying.

"Baa—baa—"

The tahr's cry shattered the peace. Overwhelmed by pain, it kicked its legs hard and bolted recklessly along the rocky terrain.

You could see its hooves precisely landing on every protruding rock—its speed wasn't slow. But compared to the snow leopard's full-speed charge, the tahr stood no chance.

In just a few breaths, the leopard caught up again.

A claw swatted down on its hind leg, and the searing pain tore a shrill scream from the bighorn sheep. It lurched forward violently, ripping a huge strip of flesh from its hind leg, exposing the white bone beneath.

Then its body lost its balance and tumbled down off the rocky ridge.

The viewers in the livestream watched the scene unfold: the bighorn sheep rolled down the rock face, crashing into jut after jut of protruding stone with dull thuds. By the time it finally came to rest, it had tumbled onto a gentle slope of loose scree, its four legs twitching, unable to stand no matter what.

The snow leopard leapt lightly down from the cliff face and landed steadily in front of the bighorn sheep.

It first sniffed at the bighorn sheep's wound, then suddenly opened its jaws wide and bit down on the bighorn sheep's throat.

Qin Yun quickly pulled the camera back, to avoid the stream being banned for overly bloody footage.

"This snow leopard, if nothing unexpected, should have just become…"

Before the words were finished, Qin Yun's eyes went wide and his tone shifted: "Holy crap, why is this snow leopard charging at me?"

The drone quickly climbed higher. In the livestream footage, on the scree slope below the distant rocky mountain, the snow leopard, gripping the bighorn sheep's neck in its jaws, was dragging the carcass and running toward Qin Yun's direction.

"Haha, is Master Qin going to solo the snow leopard again?"

"Master Qin's head is buzzing — give him ten guts and he still wouldn't dare kill the snow leopard."

"On the snow leopard's head sits a gleaming 'Class A Nationally Protected Animal' tag. Even if it stuck its neck right in front of Master Qin, he wouldn't dare swing the blade."

"Snow leopard: Yo, come hit me."

A distance of two hundred meters, for a snow leopard, was nothing more than In the blink of an eye.

When the snow leopard spotted Qin Yun, it froze on the spot. Its wary gaze made it clear this wasn't its first encounter with humans.

It didn't charge over. Standing on the steep slope to the side, the bighorn sheep's carcass clamped in its jaws, it simply stared at him unblinkingly.

Something stirred in Qin Yun's heart. He turned around, then the drone flew forward a short distance, and he struck a peace sign, a faint smile showing on his face.

The moment the camera locked in, the snow leopard vanished in a flash — 'whoosh' — gone without a trace.

"Hehe, did you get the screenshot?" Qin Yun said smugly. "A photo with the snow leopard, fifty-one shots — everyone who screenshotted, remember to send me 50."

"What the hell, you black-hearted bastard."

"Capitalists aren't even as black-hearted as you."

"It's the rogue software that auto-redirected, what does that have to do with me."

"That said, Master Qin's photo with it is actually pretty nice."

Qin Yun burst out laughing. After this little interlude, he continued onward toward Tian Shuihai.

By now it was nearly noon, and he still had 30 km left to reach the Tian Shuihai Station.

The snow kept falling, the wind kept howling, and the biting cold made this place a forbidden zone for life — there was no way to spot a single human figure.

Even when the drone pulled back several hundred meters, it could only barely make out a tiny speck that was him.

Compared to the heavens and earth, to nature itself, he was incomprehensibly small.

Accompanied by a rhythmic BGM, over two million people watched Qin Yun push forward through the no-man's-land — a level of buzz that left Luo Jiahai seething with envy. But if you asked him to actually do the same, he wouldn't dare.

He could only resentfully send money to hired trolls to go stir up trouble in Qin Yun's livestream.

Unfortunately, there were only a handful of trolls. No matter how much they posted, they were easily crushed by the actual audience of over two million, unable to stir up even a ripple.

After advancing nearly another twenty kilometers, Qin Yun suddenly stopped.

He leaned in close to the snow. A trail of footprints appeared in the frame, streaked with blood. He reached out and touched them, lowering his voice: "Judging by these footprints and how much the snow has sunk, this should be a bird. The kinds of birds that can appear on high-altitude snowfields — there are only a handful. Putting it all together, this should be a Himalayan snowcock."

"This Himalayan snowcock, despite having 'cock' in its name, is actually a bird — it can fly, just not very well. Its flight distance is very short, mostly gliding. It's a Class B nationally protected animal. I need to go check it out. If there are no predators around, I have to rescue it, or it'll freeze to death in the snow."

With that, he moved with silent, stealthy steps, snowboards in hand, following the footprints and blood trail, and veered off in pursuit.