Chapter 259: The Artistic Master Qin Yun

"This works?"

Qin Yun watched as Su Huan animated the figure in the image with just a few quick motions, feeling utterly astonished.

He remembered that last year AI was still just a large language model—only a year had passed, and now videos were out? This would surely render a huge number of mid- and low-end video editors unemployed overnight.

"Exactly. Short dramas and animated series are made this way now. AI evolves almost every month—it's changed too much."

Looking at the character on the screen, Qin Yun suddenly had an idea.

"What if I turn my livestream content into an animated series? Any potential?"

Su Huan paused, then nodded: "Definitely. But even if it's popular, it still can't match the thrill of you being real."

Qin Yun smiled: "Not necessarily. Animation can express cinematic angles better. I'll design the characters, have Lin Nan and the others try it out, then launch a dedicated account under the company's name on Douyin to post it."

Su Huan shrugged: "Fine, you decide. It'll be quick to produce anyway. But designing characters? You'll use AI?"

Qin Yun shook his head: "I'll draw them myself."

"Draw them yourself?" Su Huan knew Qin Yun was excellent at carving, so him being able to draw wasn't surprising—but he'd never actually seen Qin Yun pick up a brush before.

"Get me paper and a pen. I'll draw you one right now and show you what I can do."

Su Huan quickly brought paper and pen. Qin Yun spread them on the table, picked up the brush, and began—his right hand moved like a printer, without a single hesitation. In less than two minutes, a cute, delicate cartoon version of "Su Huan" appeared on the paper.

Looking at the chubby "Su Huan" on the paper, Su Huan burst out laughing: "You're such a tease—making me look so fat. But you're really good; you instantly captured my essence. Anyone who knows me will recognize it's me."

Qin Yun hadn't thought that far—he simply found the subject's features as naturally as breathing; it was all basic skill to him.

"I'll present it in comic form, then have Lin Nan and the others turn it into an animated series. That should be fun," Qin Yun said, growing more excited. "I could even make it a series and get a publisher to release it."

Seeing how enthusiastic he was, Su Huan supported him: "So where do you plan to start drawing? Fanzi Cliff rock climbing?"

Qin Yun thought for a moment, then shook his head: "Start in Beijing. I need to redesign the details."

Over the next few days, aside from handling the house matters, Qin Yun threw himself entirely into setting up the comic. Since it was a comic, he couldn't just replicate everything exactly—he'd have to apply artistic embellishment.

As the setting progressed, his original ideas quickly transformed beyond recognition, becoming tens of thousands of words of text for an entirely new story character.

Qin Yun always worked this way: either don't do it at all, or do it as well as possible.

Thus, time passed slowly in the tranquil rhythm of creation.

"Honey, where should I put these two erhus?"

"I ordered a music stand—it'll arrive in a couple days. Just put them anywhere for now."

"Oh, what about the bamboo flute?"

"My stand is multi-functional—it can hold the bamboo flute too."

As he spoke, Su Huan walked out of the room holding the bamboo flute, smiling: "Master Qin, play us a tune."

Qin Yun was installing something and chuckled: "What do you want to hear?"

Su Huan pulled out her phone and switched to recording mode: "Just play something cheerful."

Qin Yun took the bamboo flute, stepped onto the spacious balcony, and, inspired by the view outside, said: "I'll play 'Swords and Dreams' by Zhou Huajian."

Su Huan dragged over a chair, knelt on it, and prepared to listen.

Qin Yun placed the bamboo flute to his lips, lightly traced his fingers over the finger holes, focused for a moment, and a clear, mournful tone drifted out with the summer breeze.

The bright, undulating melody made Su Huan feel as if she were galloping across the martial world, blades flashing—filled with heroic passion and the poignant sorrow of life's fleeting illusions.

The summer wind carried the flute's sound beyond the balcony, drifting over the garden below and seeping through the windows of nearby buildings. The clear bamboo flute was irresistibly captivating—passersby on the street, residents resting indoors, all paused their movements, turning toward the sound, listening in silence.

Inside, Su Huan gazed at the man's figure, listening to the haunting yet free-spirited flute melody, her eyes soft with tenderness.

As the music began, Qin Yun fully immersed himself in the clash of swords, pouring the martial world's freedom and the transience of human attachments into every note of the bamboo flute.

Soon, the piece reached its end—the flute's tone slowly faded, gradually dissolving into stillness.

Qin Yun released his breath, set down the flute, and looked at Su Huan: "How was it?"

"Clap, clap, clap!"

Su Huan clapped enthusiastically: "Beautiful. Why didn't you ever show off these talents in college? If you'd been this multi-talented back then, your admirers would've lined up from the library to the campus gate."

Qin Yun laughed heartily: "That just proves how humble I am."

"You play the erhu, the bamboo flute, even write lyrics and compose music," Su Huan counted on her fingers, amazed. "I think you could break into the entertainment industry."

"The entertainment industry isn't that easy to break into," Qin Yun shook his head. "And that world is too chaotic, too full of temptations. Walk in as a blank sheet, walk out colored in every shade."

"But surely there are still pure people there?"

Su Huan didn't believe it.

Qin Yun chuckled: "You're too naive. That world is a dye vat—especially now. Everyone who enters gets dragged in against their will."

"Alright," Su Huan stuck out her tongue. "I think Brother Chao and Sister Li are fine."

Qin Yun's expression turned strange: "In this world, especially for women, unless you're like that Second Princess, everyone ends up tainted. Go find out what Sister Li was like before."

After interacting with Chen He, Zhao Liying, Deng Chao, and others, Qin Yun had gradually come to understand the darkness of this world.

Of course, at his current level, entering this industry would be effortless for him.

He handed the bamboo flute to Su Huan and continued unpacking boxes. The items he'd ordered had been arriving gradually, and he handled everything himself without needing staff help.

Tasks like lifting refrigerators or carrying sofas—exhausting for most—were effortless for him.

The two worked through the afternoon and returned to their old neighborhood by nightfall.

Qin Yun had boundless energy, but Su Huan couldn't keep up, so she went to bed early, and Qin Yun didn't bother her.

After Su Huan fell asleep, he began researching his next livestream in the living room.

For the past half-month, the system had been silent—no tasks appeared. Qin Yun had rested enough, so he planned to launch a new livestream.

But he had no idea where to go or what challenge to take on.

He had many options, but couldn't decide.

"Should I just do another vote, like last time?"

The thought came to him, and he decided to try it. But this time, he wouldn't use livestream voting—he'd set up a voting channel on Weibo, then promote it on X and Instagram. That would be enough.

He opened Weibo, found the voting plugin, and uploaded five options.

One: Sahara Desert, trekking across for survival

Two: Svalbard Archipelago, Norway, ice plain survival

Three: Siberian primeval forest, extreme cold survival

Four: African savanna, grassland survival

Five: North Face of Mount Everest, oxygen-free summit

These five options were the result of his careful consideration.

Even for him, they were highly challenging and prone to disaster. Among them, the oxygen-free Everest summit was comparatively the simplest.

After further thought, he clicked "Send."

He copied the link and posted it directly on X and Instagram. Foreign users could access the Weibo vote directly through the link—no registration required, since votes were anonymous.

Then Qin Yun posted a Weibo update.

【Eighteen days have passed since my cave diving livestream on July 3. I'm launching a vote—choose what you'd like me to do for my next livestream. Voting ends July 31.】

Qin Yun rarely posted on Weibo, so his updates were infrequent.

But he had many followers—so the moment he posted, countless users received app notifications and immediately clicked in.

"Master Qin has rested long enough."

"Hahaha, finally another livestream from Master Qin—and again, we get to choose!"

"Vote for the Sahara Desert—I want to see Master Qin die of thirst."

"Vote for the African savanna—I want to see Master Qin get eaten by lions."

"Haha, enough already—Master Qin's probably sweating buckets."

Qin Yun read these comments and shivered. Why weren't his fans the mindless idol-worshipping types? Every single one of them clearly hoped he'd suffer.