Chapter 249: Stirred Mud (Request Support)

In the meantime, he adjusted the flow rate of his helium-nitrogen-oxygen tank.

Because he realized that, with his current physical condition, the tank's flow rate didn't need to be set so high; with this adjustment, the tank that originally lasted eight hours could now last much longer.

As Qin Yun moved, real-time data tracking of the tank appeared on the screen, reflecting all changes instantly.

"At this flow rate, Brother Qin could easily last ten hours—but is he really fine?"

Some professionals, seeing the data changes, couldn't help but express skepticism.

"Yes, fifteen degrees may not seem low, but underwater, it still feels cold—even in a drysuit; if your body feels cold, your oxygen demand increases."

"Most importantly, the deeper you go, the greater the pressure—maintaining this flow rate is practically impossible. I think Brother Qin is just trying to save a little at the start."

To ordinary viewers, these professional analyses sounded impressive but incomprehensible; yet most believed Qin Yun simply didn't need as much oxygen as an ordinary person—he'd already proven this perfectly at Yao Mei Peak and beneath the wilderness ice cave.

The oxygen-deprived environments that would cause extreme discomfort to ordinary people felt perfectly normal to Qin Yun.

After swimming forward for a moment, Qin Yun's laughter came through the microphone into the livestream: "Visibility is better than expected—about six to seven meters. I hope it holds."

As he spoke, he glided steadily past two Shi Zhu ahead and continued descending.

The depth gauge on the livestream screen kept ticking: 20 meters, 30 meters, 40 meters. Just as the depth stabilized at 40 meters, the underwater scene abruptly changed—a hidden current surged again, stirring up endless silt as if by an invisible hand, churning it up from the riverbed; visibility plummeted from six to seven meters to less than half a meter, the helmet lamp's beam shattered into fragments, and all that remained before him was a gray, chaotic haze, as if he'd fallen into a dark prison.

Even his own hands were barely visible as blurry shadows.

If he could barely see, the ten underwater drones' cameras were even worse—in an instant, the livestream lost all clarity, replaced by nothing but murk.

"Fuck, how the hell are we supposed to keep going in this murk?"

"No wonder they call it blind diving—so this is what they meant."

"Brother Qin's breathing is so damn long, like an old turtle."

"Fuck you, old turtle."

Qin Yun didn't move rashly, but he hadn't lost his sense of direction—his mental spatial reconstruction had already mapped every place he'd passed and every spot his vision had reached. Put bluntly, even if the murk lasted a long time, he could still proceed—only the reconstruction would take longer.

"Visibility is low now, but I've already memorized the direction ahead, so I'm not worried about visibility—I'll keep going. Once I get past this zone, the view will definitely improve."

Qin Yun's voice was as steady as an old dog, utterly calm; he pulled the guide rope forward, quietly feeling his way up to the ceiling rock wall, following its surface, and after ten meters, he firmly secured a carabiner to anchor the guide rope.

And as expected, visibility improved significantly—he immediately sped up. Soon, after swimming a few more meters, he finally emerged from that murky silt zone.

Once the camera feed cleared, the livestream viewers finally exhaled in relief.

"Can you see the passage ahead? It's only about 0.7 meters wide—I need to be careful not to bump my gear."

Ahead loomed a vast rock wall like a towering barrier, stretching vertically and horizontally, leaving only an extremely narrow passage; the closer he got, the more the ground narrowed, the riverbed and ceiling squeezing together into a tight space.

Qin Yun's body moved effortlessly, gliding through with relaxed grace, expending almost no effort—his turns and forward motion were seamless. These subtle details unnoticed by ordinary viewers left the professionals in awe.

Only someone with unparalleled familiarity with water could achieve this.

As he neared the passage, Qin Yun's gaze shifted downward.

He hovered in place, pointing at the raised mound below.

"Look—beneath us is a thick layer of silt. If I step on it, I'd sink instantly, and it could easily bury me completely."

As he spoke, several translucent little fish suddenly darted out from the silt below, vanishing in a blink.

Then, in an instant, the silt was violently stirred again; Qin Yun cursed, "Fuck!"—and his vision was once again swallowed by murk.

"Hahaha, Brother Qin, why show off like that? Just walk past quietly!"

"Laughing my ass off—did you notice? Brother Qin's voice sounds a bit off."

"We noticed already."

"It's because of the helium—Brother Qin's tank is a helium-nitrogen-oxygen mix; inhaling helium naturally alters the voice, but it's not that funny yet."

"I kinda want to hear what his voice sounds like when it's fully pitch-shifted."

Qin Yun didn't know any of this—if he did, he'd be speechless.

He swiftly passed through the narrow passage, then immediately secured another carabiner on the other side to anchor the guide rope.

The camera on his head swept the area; Qin Yun noticed the terrain sloped downward from beneath his feet, growing increasingly deep and unfathomable, like a triangular incline.

"Those little fish you just saw—they've lived their entire lives in this pitch-black underground river, their eyes completely regressed; they rely solely on lateral lines to sense water flow and surroundings. They're called blindfish, unique to karst cave systems, the native inhabitants of this underwater labyrinth."

Qin Yun continued forward, explaining: "These fish evolved from ancient surface fish trapped in underground rivers, adapting over hundreds of millions of years—losing their eyes, shedding pigment, becoming a rare species with a tiny population."

Hearing Qin Yun's explanation, netizens erupted in admiration.

"Damn, Brother Qin knows everything—even these damn little fish."

"Since Qin Yun started streaming, I've never seen him not recognize a single plant or animal—as if every one of them is stored in his head."

"Knowledge changes destiny—Qin Yun isn't just a physical powerhouse; I think his knowledge plays an even bigger role."

After swimming forward for about five minutes, Qin Yun checked the depth gauge—it read seventy meters. The underground river's terrain had grown complex; the once-wide channel narrowed, and surrounding rocks hung like stalactites, forming natural obstacles.

In the livestream, his figure moved through them, appearing tiny and fragile.

Merely watching the dark environment induced a suffocating feeling—but Qin Yun's breathing hadn't changed a single bit; the tiny tank flow rate and the harsh environment seemed to affect him not at all.

There was not the slightest trace of fear in Qin Yun's demeanor.

"Fuck, Brother Qin isn't human—I'm just watching and my skin crawls."

"Skill makes courage—that's Brother Qin."

"Has Brother Qin ever shied away from a challenge? This is just another natural wonder he's conquering."

Qin Yun moved smoothly, gripping a stalactite, turning a corner—and finally found the required passage. But the sight before him made his expression flicker.

According to government records, the waterway here was narrow but still about 0.6 meters wide; yet what lay before him was nothing like the records—several massive Shi Zhu intersected, completely burying the passage, leaving only an entrance less than 50 centimeters in diameter.

Fifty centimeters in height, width, and depth—not just left and right.

Without his gear, passing through would be effortless—he could simply curl up, and even the narrowest point wouldn't stop him.

But now, with the bulky tank attached, the width had expanded to at least sixty or seventy centimeters—passing through was nearly impossible.

Unless… he removed his gear entirely.