Chapter 157: A Song of the Sea and Heaven

When Qin Yun arrived at the Shuiquan Lake Level-One Public Security Checkpoint, commonly known as Death Gully, it was already 6:30 p. m.

But the high-altitude sun set late, and the checkpoint was still brightly lit; had the weather been clear, it would have been a breathtaking scene of endless sunset glow.

Standing on the highway outside the checkpoint, Qin Yun smiled and said: "Friends, this is China's highest-altitude national highway public security checkpoint, known as the 'Forbidden Zone Within the Forbidden Zone.' Public security officers, special police, and border defense soldiers have been stationed here year-round, guarding the 'Northern Gateway' into Tibet from Xinjiang."

"Many might wonder why it's called Death Gully. In the 1950s, our PLA's vanguard force advancing into Tibet camped here. Due to the extreme altitude, freezing climate, and thin oxygen, many soldiers tragically perished from altitude sickness and extreme cold—this name carries profound tragedy."

After Qin Yun's explanation, many viewers in the livestream instantly fell silent with respect.

They had merely thought it was just a name, unaware it concealed such a heavy history.

Qin Yun continued: "The altitude here is extreme—not just in winter, but year-round. Winter temperatures can plunge to minus forty-five degrees Celsius. Just imagine. And yet, in this barren land where no grass grows and no birds fly, our public security officers and soldiers remain stationed here, always."

As he spoke, a group of seven or eight people rushed out from inside the checkpoint.

Two of them were Meng Hai and Li Shang, whom he had seen earlier.

The others ranged from young to old, each face weathered by wind and frost, deeply moving to behold.

The raw, harshness radiating from them made even just looking at them feel like witnessing the extremity of the environment.

Several of the older ones had lips nearly purple-black—environmental conditions had severely damaged their bodies.

"Brother Qin!"

Meng Hai called out. Qin Yun waved, and immediately walked forward to meet them.

After meeting, shaking hands, and exchanging introductions, the checkpoint's chief gripped Qin Yun's hand tightly, unwilling to let go, deeply moved: "Young Brother Qin, I don't even know how to thank you enough. If not for you, that boy Kangba Pingcuo wouldn't have made it."

"Chief Jiang, this is my duty—within my ability, I cannot refuse. Compared to your constant vigil here, mine means nothing." Qin Yun looked at the middle-aged man before him—forty-something but appearing over fifty—and felt a flood of emotion.

Jiang Ping said: "This time, thanks to your livestream along the Xinjiang-Tibet route, the medicine arrived in time. If not, Kangba Pingcuo's injuries would have worsened long before delivery. This is real, tangible gratitude, Young Brother Qin—you deserve it."

Qin Yun disliked formalities. He laughed: "It means he was never meant to die, hahaha."

"Hahaha, true enough." Jiang Ping pointed inside. "Come on, the mess hall has food ready—waiting just for you. Let's eat well today."

Qin Yun quickly said: "Chief Jiang, I haven't even gone through routine inspection yet. We can't break the rules—everything must follow procedure."

Meng Hai added: "I'd have forgotten too, if you hadn't mentioned it. Come on, I'll check you, Brother Qin."

"Look at me, getting old and forgetful." Jiang Ping patted his head, laughing. The group surrounded Qin Yun and escorted him inside for inspection.

Normally, those entering Tibet arrive by vehicle with countless goods—inspection takes forever. But Qin Yun's belongings were instantly visible; they only verified his identity and glanced at his backpack before letting him pass.

After inspection, Qin Yun pulled the camera back, including the checkpoint personnel in the frame.

"Hello everyone, I'm Qin Yun. This is my first day on the Xinjiang-Tibet route. I've crossed thick snow, witnessed snow leopards hunting bharal, picked up a dark-bellied snowcock, taken a few spills, and safely reached Tian Shuihai Military Station."

"I was tasked with delivering medicine to Shuiquan Lake Checkpoint—and I've arrived safely. The entire journey was 140 kilometers: dangerous, but without incident. Now, it's time to say goodbye. See these people behind me? They're the public security officers at this checkpoint. It's because they serve the people, combat crime, and safeguard our safety that our borders remain stable."

"Alright, friends, see you tomorrow at eight. Don't be late."

The comment section flooded instantly, gifts raining across the screen.

"I remembered when I traveled the Xinjiang-Tibet route last time—I suffered severe altitude sickness. A public security officer gave me an oxygen bottle and brewed me ginger tea. I'll never forget it."

"The most lovable people."

"Hard work, police uncles at the checkpoint."

"The Xinjiang-Tibet route is beautiful, but behind it lie countless soldiers like those stationed at Shuiquan Lake, silently guarding."

Qin Yun ended the livestream, retracted the drone, and followed the group to the mess hall. As Jiang Ping had said, food was already prepared. As the man everyone thanked, Qin Yun was forcibly seated in the center position.

"Hahaha, Young Brother Qin—if we weren't strictly forbidden alcohol here, I'd drink you under the table today. Come on, everyone, raise your water glasses—we toast to Brother Qin, wishing his career ever upward!"

"Come on, come on, Brother Qin..."

The group gathered around, raising their glasses to Qin Yun—loud, lively, full of warmth.

After eating and drinking, everyone dispersed, returning to their posts.

Jiang Ping and Meng Hai took Qin Yun on a tour of the checkpoint.

"Our checkpoint oversees over ten thousand square kilometers—equivalent to one-tenth of Zhejiang Province. Most of this area is uninhabited, with no communication, no rescue access—every patrol is a test of life and death."

Jiang Ping spoke calmly, but Qin Yun was deeply shaken.

Ten thousand square kilometers—staffed by fewer than thirty men. Patrols must last for months on end, with constant risk of extreme weather and vehicle breakdowns.

They reached the duty building. Meng Hai grinned: "It was worse before. Now conditions are better. We used to eat frozen meals and drink melted snowwater. Now at least every meal is hot. But the environment still causes tooth loss, hair loss, and other high-altitude illnesses."

He touched his bald head, helpless.

"Our supplies arrive only once every one or two months. Transportation is too difficult—delivering supplies is itself a challenge."

After wandering the checkpoint with Qin Yun, they entered another room and met the medicine recipient—Kangba Pingcuo.

He remained unconscious, pale, but breathing steadily—his vital signs had stabilized.

"Kangba Pingcuo is still an intern—just twenty-three." Jiang Ping looked at the young man on the bed. "He's so young. If he hadn't made it, I wouldn't know how to tell his parents."

Qin Yun said nothing. This place was already hard enough. This old station chief, acting as both father and mother, must be utterly exhausted.

For others passing through, resting was allowed—but sleeping on a bed? A dream.

But tonight, Qin Yun not only slept on a bed—his room had oxygen and heating. As soon as he lay down, the abundant oxygen intoxicated him. He slept soundly until dawn, refreshed and clear-headed.

Early next morning, he washed up.

After enjoying the checkpoint's breakfast, Qin Yun stood before a red stone stele, asking Meng Hai to take his photo.

The stele bore the inscription: "Challenge Death Gully—Only Shuiquan Lake."

Then he stood with the checkpoint soldiers for a group photo. He even went specifically to Kangba Pingcuo's bedside and took a photo with him, then sent all the pictures to Meng Hai.

The checkpoint had signal—weak, intermittent—but better than nothing.

Saying goodbye to the group, Qin Yun, Jiang Ping, and Meng Hai walked to the highway before the checkpoint.

"Young Brother Qin, safe travels."

"Yes, Brother Qin, if I get signal, I'll watch your livestream."

Qin Yun waved and smiled: "Chief Jiang, Brother Meng, I'm off. When you next rotate posts, let me know—I'll come visit you."

Watching Qin Yun launch his drone, speaking his opening lines as he moved forward.

Jiang Ping sighed: "Today's youth are truly impressive—daring to trek across the New Tibet Line on foot."

"Nobody else could do it," Meng Hai rubbed his bald head, feeling the bone-chilling cold, and grinned. "Only Qin Yun could."

……

From the Quanshui Lake checkpoint, the next must-visit spot is the second-highest point on the New Tibet Line—Jieshan Daban, at an altitude of 5347m.

The entire stretch is a continuous uphill slope, paved with asphalt, so for Qin Yun, who is hiking, it presents zero difficulty—just as easy and carefree as a leisurely outdoor stroll.

"Looking at Qin Ye, anyone unaware would think he's out for a spring outing."

"666—spring outing at minus thirty degrees."

"I've been there. Though the road is asphalt-paved, over fifteen kilometers it climbs directly from 5,000 meters to 5347 meters—the oxygen content plummets to less than 35% of sea level. Without proper preparation, altitude sickness is guaranteed."

"Look at Qin Ye—he shows no signs of altitude sickness. He even seems a bit oxygen-drunk."

"Hahaha, cracked up."

Qin Yun glanced at the comments and said calmly: "Don't think my pace is easy—this stretch is all steep, continuous slopes. It's a severe test of vehicle power and driver endurance. Gasoline vehicles here will inevitably suffer power loss. For you, these are minor issues; the real challenge is altitude sickness—headaches, breathlessness, nausea. Whether you come from Shiquan River or Xinjiang, always acclimatize first."

"Huh… Qin Ye, what's that stuck beside your backpack? Looks like a bamboo flute."

Qin Yun reached behind his back, pulled out the bamboo flute, and waved it in front of the camera: "It's a bamboo flute."

He'd bought this bamboo flute in Urumqi, played it once, then shoved it into his backpack.

"Play a tune—we've seen Qin Ye play the erhu, never the flute."

"2333, Qin Ye knows music too?"

"Damn, so multi-talented."

"Quick, play us a tune, old man's got a reward."

"Feng Liu Jie sent the streamer ten Carnival gifts—Qin Ye, play a tune."

"Deng Chao sent the streamer one Carnival gift—allocated some budget, Qin Ye, play a tune."

"Chen He sent the streamer ten Carnival gifts—Big Brother, you're embarrassing yourself."

"…"

Seeing the bamboo flute in Qin Yun's hand seemed to ignite the audience's enthusiasm—gifts rained down like a storm.

Qin Yun chuckled: "Thank you, Feng Liu Jie, Big Brother Deng, Big Brother Chen…"

After thanking everyone, Qin Yun didn't pretend to be modest.

"Since you insist, I'll play 'A Laugh in the Vast Sea' for you. My playing's poor—please forgive me."

He placed his fingertips on the flute's holes, held it horizontally to his lips.

Then he drew a deep breath—and a clear note leapt from the flute, like a pebble dropped into water, sending ripples outward. Immediately, a cascade of notes poured forth, like a river rushing, mountains stretching endlessly.

The sound didn't feel like it came from the flute—it seemed to rise from the horizon, from the ocean depths, from the ethereal void itself.

In an instant, it stunned every viewer in the livestream.

"Holy shit, Qin Ye really knows how."

"Amazing—this is over five thousand meters high. Qin Ye, you sure you're okay? Don't pass out from oxygen lack mid-play."

Qin Yun's focus was entirely on the bamboo flute.

When he received this reward, he already knew he was among the few who could rival him in flute mastery—those online performances on Douyin were instantly recognizable for their flaws.

That was the level of a master—technique transcending into Dao, though he had not yet reached Dao.

As the melody shifted, the increasingly lyrical tune spread through the freezing wind. The flute's tone was clear, vast, and rugged—no ornate embellishments, each note pure and resonant.

An ultimate sense of freedom subtly radiated outward.

The flute's sound was pure and clean, echoing across the boundless sky and earth, opening the heart, as if worldly troubles and grudges dissolved into the heavens, leaving only grace and openness.

The final note faded, yet its resonance lingered in the wind—unfulfilled, the spirit of boldness undimmed.

The livestream exploded:

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—amazing, my crown flew off."

"666, dead of 6—Qin Ye is too good."

"This is the best version of 'A Laugh in the Vast Sea' I've ever heard."

"I got goosebumps all over. Playing this here, in this endless expanse—it's perfect."

"Play it again—I demand you play it again."

"Damn, what can't Qin Ye do?"

Song Ya, far away in Beijing, stared dumbfounded at the man on screen, then felt a deep pang of resentment.

Thus, in Qin Yun's journey—pausing to play, chatting as he played—he saw the metal boundary marker: blue background, white characters.

"Jieshan Daban, altitude 5347m, fresh air, easy breathing, hahaha."

At this moment, the time was 11:13 a. m.