Chapter 197: Free America, Gunfight Every Day

Qin Yun and Emily and the others stepped down from the helicopter, returning to the training camp, where everyone would get two days of rest.

The medical team would conduct a full physical examination and adjustment for everyone.

After over a month of wilderness living, nearly everyone's body showed abnormal indicators—this was unavoidable. In the wild, once nutritional intake fell short, deficiencies in trace elements directly manifested as abnormal blood markers.

So, almost everyone's health status was negative.

Except Qin Yun.

Every member of the medical team stared at their physical examination reports, exchanging bewildered glances.

Fuck, is this even human?

His heart and lung function was as strong as a bull's, blood pressure and lipids showed zero fluctuation, liver and kidney function was flawless—let alone the blood routine, which was perfectly normal in every single parameter.

From head to toe, every organ was perfectly calibrated, astonishingly so.

Of course, they'd watched his livestreams and knew he ate balanced meals consistently, adapting to the wilderness far better than anyone else—so this result, upon reflection, wasn't surprising at all.

"Boss Qin, are we heading straight back the way we came?"

After two days of rest, Guo Yao's complexion had finally regained some color, but she still looked exhausted—there'd be plenty of rest once they got back.

Qin Yun shook his head: "I still need to go to the U. S. with the production team to claim my prize, shoot promotional posters, and possibly meet with two advertisers—I want to see what they've got."

Guo Yao looked at him enviously. In this wilderness survival show, Qin Yun had reaped enormous rewards.

Not just the prize money—advertisers had actually come knocking.

"What advertisers?"

"Casio and Red Bull."

Guo Yao understood. These were precisely the partners Qin Yun had worked with on the show—looks like both companies were placing heavy bets on him.

The reality was much the same.

Casio and Red Bull had recognized Qin Yun's greater commercial value in this wilderness survival show. Though not a celebrity, his current fame even surpassed that of some actual stars.

DJI in China also showed interest, but not as a spokesperson—Su Huan said they planned to increase his future livestream revenue. The originally agreed-upon rate now clearly didn't fit, so DJI wanted to renew his contract early.

In short, this wilderness survival show wasn't just about prize money—his rising fame had dramatically boosted his commercial value.

Soon, contestants from the training camp began leaving. Most, before departing, came to take a photo with Qin Yun and say goodbye—only a handful were exceptions, like Park Buceng and Yamamoto Kazusuke.

"Qin, I look forward to your new livestreams," Emily hugged Qin Yun and whispered in his ear, "The address I sent you on my phone is mine in Miami—if you ever come looking for me, just go there."

Then she lightly bit his earlobe, sending chills down Qin Yun's spine and freezing his smile.

"Fuck, this tall white girl actually wants to fuck me."

Gerard, Emily, Michael left. Guo Yao left. Tom and the others left. In one day, everyone except him was driven to the airport, scattering to Tiannanhaibei.

Once the production team finished their work, everyone also departed for the airport.

Sitting in the car, he estimated his prize earnings: two million U. S. dollars. After taxes, he'd likely net around 1.8 million U. S. dollars—roughly 12.5 million RMB at current exchange rates, plus 2 million from Douyin, totaling about 15 million.

At this time, this income was quite decent. But he wasn't particularly excited.

His Douyin livestreams alone brought in millions per session—15 million no longer carried much emotional weight.

What he valued more was the popularity he'd gained from this show's livestreams.

Just look at his Douyin followers: from 50 million, he'd surged to 90 million—barely a step away from the 100 million milestone. Among all Douyin users, his follower count now ranked in the top three—truly terrifying.

Honestly, with this many followers, even if he stopped livestreaming entirely, a single product livestream could earn him a year's worth of livestream income.

But he wasn't someone who particularly cared about money—he'd never considered becoming a product livestreamer. His self-media was one thing only—livestreaming!

Now that his fame was out there and his popularity had risen, it was time to open accounts on TikTok, YouTube, and Twitch.

In future livestreams, he'd broadcast simultaneously across multiple platforms.

On the plane!

"George, what's wrong? You look down."

The person he knew best in the production team was associate director George Bryant.

George forced a smile and shook his head: "Nothing. Just feeling a bit empty now that the show's over."

He obviously couldn't tell Qin Yun the truth—it was a massive scandal, best buried deep. Let it rot inside him. Pretend nothing happened. After all, the final outcome was good.

Hearing this, Qin Yun chuckled: "Resting isn't good?"

The two chatted casually for a while, then Qin Yun put on his eye mask and closed his eyes to rest.

…

This was Qin Yun's first time in the U. S. —and in New York.

He'd only seen America's prosperity and filth through media reports, but now that he was here, he realized it was two extremes—sharply divided.

He wandered alone, here and there, and what he saw made his skin crawl.

Billionaires clustered here; luxury and ultra-luxury were everywhere. Top universities, healthcare, and art were world-class. Yet vast impoverished zones existed too—lower-class citizens had pitiful access to social resources; homeless people were everywhere, and crime was rampant.

In one sentence: the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.

Compared to this, China was a godlike nation—it ensured even the lowest classes had enough to eat, wear, and live in, while granting access to adequate education, healthcare, and modern technological benefits.

And the American concept of democracy? It was almost an insult to human intelligence—but the masses still bought into it.

In his week here, he'd seen several mass protests in New York—like they were going to work.

If the lower class was this bad, the ruling class was even worse.

Still, this place was truly a paradise for the rich—if you had money, you could enjoy everything.

But in Qin Yun's view, his evaluation of it was simple: disorganized, undisciplined.

After shooting a pile of show-related videos and posters, he communicated with Casio's U. S. headquarters, then had Su Huan remotely intervene.

Business? I don't understand it!

They finally settled on one endorsement deal: three million U. S. dollars per year.

Though the brand was Japanese, he wasn't that picky.

As for Red Bull, they ultimately agreed to an A-level contract, with live-streaming fees to be negotiated individually for each event.

The A-level contract is $500,000 per year, and Qin Yun doesn't have to do anything.

If Red Bull wants him to participate in additional activities, the fees will be paid separately.

When everything settled, the company's account gained over five million U. S. dollars; this wilderness survival program was completed perfectly.

Sitting in George's car, the two were now on their way to New York Airport.

Morning traffic in New York was as congested as Beijing's. Horns blared nonstop, people filled every corner—black, white, yellow, every color imaginable. The streets also teemed with bizarre figures, like those high on drugs.

Seeing this, one could only think: damn, New York really has every kind of person.

"Squeee—!"

The car ahead slammed on its brakes, forcing George to stomp his own brake pedal hard.

"Fuck!"

George cursed, flipping the middle finger at the car ahead.

But what happened next took an unexpected turn.

The car ahead suddenly opened both side doors; a man and a woman stepped out, hands tucked inside their coats, walking toward them.

Instantly, Qin Yun felt a sharp throb in his third eye—an ominous premonition appeared without warning.

George frowned and said to Qin Yun: "Qin, stay in the car. I'll handle this."

He had just unfastened his seatbelt to get out when Qin Yun immediately grabbed him, his face turning pale.

As the man and woman drew closer, they pulled their hands out—black gun barrels aimed straight at the two of them.

"Fuck, you evil Chinese, die, you demon!"

The white woman's face twisted with malice; she pointed at Qin Yun and fired.

"Bang—!"

The gunshot acted like a switch: the noisy street fell silent for an instant, then erupted into chaos as everyone ran.

Qin Yun's heart pounded wildly—he wasn't facing gun danger for the first time.

But this was New York's street—how could they openly pull guns and shoot people? Was there no justice left?

Fortunately, he reacted quickly, yanking the seatbelt release, throwing himself backward.

On the other side, the male gunman had also aimed at George's head, ready to fire. George was frozen—holy shit, I just honked and flipped a finger, is this really worth dying for?

Before he could react, Qin Yun grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backward, dragging George clean off the seat.

"Bang—!"

Another gunshot—the seat was punctured.

Qin Yun quickly calmed down, unfastened his seatbelt, yanked open the door, and kicked with all his strength.

The force sent the door swinging outward; the female gunman, still standing beside it and having missed her shot, screamed "Ah!" as the door slammed into her and flung her away.

She rolled over ten meters before stopping, the gun falling beside her. She lay unconscious, head bleeding, looking gruesome.

Seeing this, the male gunman's expression changed—he quickly retreated.

"Get out! Come out right now! Put your hands on your head and kneel on the ground! Hurry!"

Qin Yun ignored him, glancing at George: "You okay?"

George was still dazed but shook his head: "I'm fine."

"Stay in the car." Qin Yun patted his shoulder. Though he didn't know what had happened, he'd been threatened with death—he wouldn't let this go.

He remembered American law: in public, if your life is threatened, you may defend yourself directly, as long as you don't kill.

"Fuck, get out right now, Chinese!"

The white male retreated beside the white female, glanced at his bleeding companion, and grew livid.

Not only had they failed to kill him, but their own ally was injured—utterly infuriating.

At the other end of the traffic light, several people peered curiously, filming with their phones, their appetite for spectacle intense.

Qin Yun raised his hands high and slowly stepped out of the car.

"Don't shoot, I'm coming out."

Seeing Qin Yun step out, the white male's eyes lit up with triumph, then he barked: "Where's the other guy? The producer bastard—get him out too… Stop right there!"

He suddenly realized Qin Yun, hands raised, was walking toward him.

Qin Yun's expression was calm, his tone steady: "Mr., do you know the consequences of openly carrying a gun and attempting murder in New York? No irreversible damage has been done yet—even if you're arrested, you can likely post bail. But if you kill someone, it's a different story."

"Shut up!" The white male's voice cracked with bluster. "Stop! Stop right there! Don't take another step, or I'll shoot you dead!"

Qin Yun ignored him—he'd already heard sirens.

As Qin Yun drew nearer, the white male suddenly pulled the trigger.

"Bang—!"

At the sound of the gunshot, Qin Yun's body sank, his right foot exploded with force—he vanished, leaving only a blur in place.

"Ah!"

In a single lunge across the mere four or five meters, he closed the distance, jabbed one finger into the man's wrist—a faint "click" sounded—and the wrist dislocated.

Simultaneously, Qin Yun punched the man's chest, sending him flying backward to crash heavily on the ground, eyes rolling up, instantly unconscious.

"Damn, guess free America really has gunfights every day."

He didn't touch the two guns on the ground—avoided unnecessary trouble.

"George, come out. It's safe."

George stepped out of the car, saw both gunmen lying unconscious, and exhaled in relief. Then, as he noticed their clothing and sleeve patches, his expression subtly changed.

"They're from PETA New York."

As he spoke, two police cars appeared at the street corner, one behind the other.