Chapter 228

For Qin Yun, this award was equivalent to a talisman.

He could ignore domestic scheming and backstabbing; as long as he made no mistakes, no one could touch him—he had more than enough confidence.

Moreover, his future livestreams gained additional privileges: unless it was a highly classified location, he could enter almost anywhere with extremely high clearance. Previously, visiting the Forbidden City required escorts and approval for non-public areas; now, he could come and go freely.

Places like the Prince Gong's Mansion and the Temple of Heaven were now fully open to him.

In short, within China's " Fuben," he had fulfilled the requirements to access certain places—no restrictions remained.

After spending several days in Beijing and sampling the perks, time slipped unnoticed to May 13th.

"Ye Jingli's team is preparing to depart—they're asking when we'll head over."

Qin Yun glanced at the email materials sent by Catherine without looking up: "So early? The competition doesn't start until the 18th."

"They say it's to acclimate to the venue and get a feel for it."

"Alright," Qin Yun nodded. "We'll still go on the 16th."

Su Huan had no objections; these past few days, the two had been utterly inseparable in Beijing, never enough of each other. Once they reached France, they'd be busy again—no time for intimacy.

Seeing Qin Yun absorbed in the documents, she felt warm and decided to take a shower, asking casually: "What did Catherine reply about what you asked her? Did she agree?"

"She said she'd reply today, but she thinks it's no problem—just rerouting signals from several machines to my drone. Technically, it's straightforward. If there's any issue, it's probably fear that my livestream might hurt overall viewership."

"Unlikely," Su Huan shook her head. "You only need footage related to you—it won't affect the overall broadcast."

He shrugged, glanced back—and froze.

Behind him, the woman had stripped down to nothing but her underwear.

Her perfect figure, flawless skin, glossy and supple—he'd seen it countless times, yet never tired of it. Every time the sage phase passed, it still sent his blood boiling.

"It's a bit warm—I'm going to shower," Su Huan said, flustered by Qin Yun's burning gaze.

"Now that you mention it, I feel warm too."

Qin Yun grinned, stripped off his clothes in seconds, then swept Su Huan up and charged into the bathroom.

"Ah… beast!"

…【One hundred thousand characters omitted】…

An hour later, the afterglow lingered; Su Huan's face flushed, her fingers tracing circles on Qin Yun's chest, eyes still dazed.

"Husband, aren't we being too frequent?"

Qin Yun caressed her smooth back, thought for a moment—two or three times a day didn't seem too much? His body felt no strain.

"Can't you handle it?" But he genuinely worried she might be overexerted: "If you're tired, we can cut back."

"No," Su Huan refused instantly. She didn't know why, but she had an unusual gift in this area—extraordinary stamina and energy. No matter how hard he pushed, she always bounced back, ready for a second, third, even fourth round.

She'd only hesitated after seeing online claims that frequent sex harmed men's health.

"Heh, if you're not tired, don't worry about me," Qin Yun said. His body was a bug—every skill amplified his stamina, energy, and recovery far beyond normal human limits.

Remembering when he was with Song Ya, they barely had sex once a week.

In the year before their divorce, he had to beg and plead for sex once a month—she had zero interest, always perfunctory, rushed through it, killing his desire entirely.

But with Su Huan, she played coy yet yielded, impossible to resist—physical and psychological pleasure pulled him in, drowning him utterly.

May's weather had grown hot; this year's El Niño intensified further, and the heat arrived with startling speed.

By mid-month, the high had already neared 35°C—even in Beijing, and further south it was even hotter.

Soon, it was May 16th. The two boarded a flight, endured over ten hours in the air, landed in Paris, then took a train through Saint-Lazare and Caen, finally arriving at their destination around 6: 0 p. . local time.

Saint-Amand was a temperate oceanic climate—mild, humid, windy, with summers never scorching.

The perceived temperature stayed under 20°C—perfectly pleasant.

Upon entering the town, they found crowds everywhere, banners fluttering, colorful balls floating—a festival atmosphere had already spread. Red Bull logos and event posters were visible everywhere.

Tourists and competitors from across the globe had converged on this small town, injecting massive economic energy into it.

French buildings mostly featured cream-yellow or light-gray stone walls with dark gray or reddish-brown tiles, exuding age. Ancient churches blended Romanesque and Gothic styles—thick stone walls, narrow stained-glass windows, bells ringing clear and bright.

At the town's far edge lay vast open grasslands, now cordoned off as the landing zone for the competition—distantly, the grass shimmered a vivid green.

"The Black Throat Pit lies in a valley northwest of the town," Qin Yun and Su Huan sat in an ice cream parlor, not rushing to meet the Changkong Club members, leisurely acting like tourists.

"Ten thousand meters up—you're going to break the record," Su Huan said, worried but hiding it, not wanting to unsettle Qin Yun.

"Mm," Qin Yun squeezed her hand, smiling. "At ten thousand meters, the temperature's around -50°C. Have the suppliers we contacted arrived yet?"

Su Huan pulled out her phone, checked her notes: "We scheduled for 9 a. . tomorrow. They'll likely object to the price—it's for a demonstration, not the actual competition, and they think this fee is too high for just one show."

Qin Yun sneered: "They say that now. But once I'm in the top three, the price won't be this anymore."

"I told them the same," Su Huan smiled. "So far, PD, Cypres, and Cookie have no objections. AirLiquide and Salomon are the ones raising issues."

Qin Yun nodded slightly, tucked away the map: "Let's go. First, meet Zeng Luo and the others at the hotel."

The Changkong Club had sent over a dozen people.

Besides the seven competitors and Nie Jun, Jiang Shuangxing, Ye Ran, and Zeng Luo, there were also support staff.

If Changkong hadn't booked the hotel in advance, they'd have been unable to secure rooms and would've had to sleep in tents.

Just look at the town's edge—tents were packed tightly together, all occupied by competitors or tourists who couldn't get hotel rooms. Of course, larger teams could drive farther out if needed—transportation was convenient.

Soon, Qin Yun and Su Huan met the Changkong Club members.

But their expressions weren't relaxed. Lu Hao, Ding Shuo, and Sun Ang were all absent.

After greeting everyone, they dropped off their bags and sat down with Zeng Luo, Ye Ran, Nie Jun, and Jiang Shuangxing at a café.

"Why so grim-faced?"

Ye Ran sighed: "Nothing serious—just a private dispute with a foreign club."

"Lost?"

Zeng Luo's face darkened: "Not just lost—they got crushed."

"Tell us the details," Qin Yun and Su Huan exchanged glances, instantly intrigued.

As Zeng Luo recounted, the full story unfolded before them.

On the 13th, after arriving in Saint-Amand, the club discovered other foreign elite clubs had arrived early, already scouting, preparing, and training.

Lu Hao, with his foul mouth, was out shopping at night and, seeing a foreign Black woman, muttered: "Fucking ugly!"

Fortunately, the woman's companion understood Chinese—the conflict erupted immediately. Coincidentally, both were skydivers. Provoked, Lu Hao accepted their private bet.

The stakes: whoever lost would withdraw from the Red Bull Cup.

By the time Zeng Luo and Ye Ran found out, Lu Hao had already been dragged into a car by Ding Shuo and Sun Ang. Had they simply refused and ignored it, they'd have lost face—but nothing worse.

But Lu Hao stubbornly insisted on competing, making Zeng Luo and Ye Ran furious enough to beat him.

The next day, before Ye Ran's group could apologize, the two Black men arrived with their team—wearing gear with unmistakable logos: "CyberPunk."

"CyberPunk" normally meant just "cyberpunk," but in skydiving circles, it referred to Australia's top skydiving club.

Lu Hao turned pale.

Eventually, CyberPunk brought in official referees and challenged Lu Hao, Ding Shuo, and Sun Ang to a KOF-style Dingdiantiaosan match—altitude was fine, 3, 00 meters.

Result: CyberPunk sent only the Black woman, Kalar, and she took on all three—defeated them single-handedly.

Then she left with one remark: "Chinese skydivers suck."

They never mentioned the bet—but the news spread silently through the entire town.

Unless Zeng Luo wanted to lose all dignity, he had no choice but to honor the bet.

But without Lu Hao, Ding Shuo, and Sun Ang, the formation skydiving team had to be replaced. Special tricks had to be abandoned or substituted, and losing three Dingdiantiaosan competitors reduced their chances of advancing to the finals.

"So what now? Replace them in formation and special tricks?"

Zeng Luo sighed: "You Jun and Tang Zhou are replacing them in formation skydiving. Special tricks are dropped."

What could Qin Yun say? This was Lu Hao's own fault. Now, the competition was already ruined—he was speechless.

He didn't ask how Zeng Luo handled the three—they weren't his concern.

"Master Qin, tomorrow's the last day. The official planes will be fully loaded. You can acclimate to the climate and venue."

"Got it."

The next day, Su Huan met with sponsors while he went to acclimate to the venue.

The preliminary competition's takeoff point was a large airstrip outside town, packed with dozens of large helicopters—so many they looked like a sea.

During the competition, each aircraft would launch toward a designated target. Competitors had to land precisely on their assigned target—any deviation, even if landing near the center, counted as invalid.

The preliminary round was at 2, 00 meters—a ludicrous height for a standard competition. Internationally, official skydiving preliminaries were usually capped at 800 meters, often done from high-altitude ground sites without helicopters.

Red Bull was truly the king of extreme stunts—the preliminary jump height was 2, 00 meters.

The targets were like shooting targets: center was zero, first ring was 1 cm, second ring 2 cm, expanding outward to 10 cm. Landing beyond 10 cm meant a miss. A miss in the preliminaries meant elimination.

This preliminary round was divided into ten groups. The group assignments would be announced tonight.

"Hope we don't get paired with those monsters."

Nie Jun muttered prayers under his breath, making Qin Yun smile.

Zeng Luo, however, seemed much more relaxed after one night—perhaps he believed Qin Yun's presence guaranteed a finals spot.