Chapter 290

The Serengeti is vast, so vast that beyond the main roads, 99% of its land remains purely natural.

These areas, except for occasional patrol vehicles passing through and helicopters flying overhead, are largely untouched by human interference; the portion of the Serengeti affected by human radiation is minuscule.

Still, 90% of the land remains beyond human reach, and every day, nature’s purest survival of the fittest unfolds there.

Like right now!

Directly ahead, below a slope, a pride of lions is hunting a wildebeest.

Qin Yun and Dahuang sit and lie quietly, watching the distant scene, with two drones circling beside them.

He gently patted Dahuang’s head and said to the camera: “This is a mature pride—two adult males, likely brothers; nearly ten adult females; six subadult lions; and five cubs.”

“Lions are cooperative animals, so a pride isn’t ruled by just one adult male. Most males are driven out before adulthood, and these expelled males usually roam together, then challenge other prides once mature to earn breeding rights.”

“Dahuang probably became solitary due to some issue. A lone lion has low survival odds on the savanna—just like nearly all animals here, except rhinos, hippos, and elephants.”

The comment section immediately flooded with replies upon hearing this.

“Master Qin, why do lion kings drive off nearly adult lions?”

“Yeah, father and son united, their strength cuts metal—this way the pride grows stronger.”

“Maybe they fear being challenged—after all, youth prevails over age.”

“666…”

Qin Yun laughed at these comments: “It’s not that complicated. Fear of challenge is only part of it—the main reason is instinctual genetics. Female lions stay in their birth pride for life, meaning one male who takes over a pride mates with all its females.”

“Similarly, if the old king is defeated by his own son, and the son takes over, he too mates with all the females—do you see? If subadults don’t leave, generations later, inbreeding becomes inevitable, leading to high cub mortality, stunted growth, deformities, and so on.”

“That’s why no pride lasts forever.”

Hearing Qin Yun’s analysis, netizens erupted.

“Holy shit, lions are wild.”

“The old king mates with his daughter, then mates with his granddaughter—damn.”

“Animals are animals—they don’t have human morals. Basic stuff.”

At this moment, the pride’s hunt ended with the wildebeest collapsing.

But the exhausted females could only watch helplessly as the dominant males and their brother advanced first, claiming the best portions—belly, organs, thigh meat—ripped apart in a bloody mess.

Younger lions and cubs trying to approach were snarled away.

One subadult, desperate for food, dared to bite the wildebeest’s leg—only to be slammed to the ground by the king.

After the two adult males finished eating, the females took their turn—but even among females, feeding order was strict and hierarchical.

Subadults came third; cubs last.

“Damn, cubs have zero status in a pride.”

“No wonder they leave to challenge the king—you treated me like shit as a cub, barely let me eat.”

“It reminds me of that movie, Hunger Station—by the end, only scraps remain; just getting food is lucky, fullness is impossible.”

“Being king must be sweet—no hunting, just lie back and wait for food.”

“This is survival of the fittest—those lacking vitality get culled at this stage.”

After watching this raw, unfiltered animal drama, Qin Yun and Dahuang turned and slipped away quietly, without disturbing them. Though Dahuang was eager, the pride had two adult males guarding it—he stood no chance alone.

So after his agitation, Dahuang calmed down.

The man and the lion continued forward.

Along the way, they encountered herds of zebras, witnessed massive migration herds racing toward the Gelumitihe’s water sources, occasionally spotted hyenas hunting, endured a lone warthog’s provocation, and felt the cold gaze of leopards watching from tree branches.

Throughout this journey, Qin Yun laid bare nature’s cruelest face before the camera.

On August 13, at noon, after passing through a sparse stand of acacia trees, the man and lion stopped.

Looking ahead, a broad open woodland appeared in view—each umbrella-crowned acacia stood like a sun-cracked giant, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

“That patch of shade is bigger—we’ll head there to rest.”

Qin Yun licked his lips, spoke to the drone, then led Dahuang toward the woodland. Inside, occasional low clumps of thorny acacia dotted the ground, and traces of large animals—winding trails—stretched into the distance.

He chose a relatively dense acacia tree and sat down heavily.

Then he twisted open a bottle cap, gulped down a large mouthful, and handed the mineral water bottle to Dahuang’s head—when Dahuang opened his mouth, he poured in several hundred milliliters.

“We’re getting closer to Gelumitihe—the water sources along the way have become much more abundant; no need to be so frugal anymore.”

Saying this, he pulled two hind legs from behind him—the legs of the warthog that had provoked them.

He tossed one leg to Dahuang, then started a fire to prepare the other.

“Warthog meat is mediocre—even worse than wild boar—too dry. Only roasting makes it tolerable.”

Watching Qin Yun prepare the warthog meat while complaining, netizens grew furious.

“Damn, you’re surviving in the savanna—still picky?”

“Have you ever gone hungry on this trip? All I’ve seen is you eating nonstop.”

“You weighed 85 kg before departure—come back and you’re 90 kg. You gained weight.”

“Hahahaha.”

Qin Yun smirked: “Survival is survival, but survival doesn’t mean you must eat crap. I can eat meat every meal—that’s my skill. Next time, I’ll bring seasonings—otherwise it’s too bland.”

At this moment, a netizen suddenly brought up something he’d mentioned before.

“Master Qin, is your offer to take us on a survival trip still valid?”

Qin Yun read it, thought for a moment, then replied: “Of course it is. After this Serengeti livestream ends, I’ll plan it and aim to include it in the next livestream.”

“Good, looking forward to it.”

“Hope I get picked.”

“Go ahead and send a Gala—on the money’s behalf, Master Qin, pick me.”

“I’m the luckiest—I’m guaranteed a spot.”

“Master Qin, how many spots?”

“Is it only for China, or worldwide?”

Qin Yun said: “Five people. First time—I’ll only pick five within China.”

“Master Qin, awesome!”

While chatting with netizens, a large chunk of warthog leg vanished into his stomach.

After finishing lunch, the man and lion rested in the shade for over two hours, rising around three to continue.

After walking nearly half an hour, Dahuang suddenly let out a low growl.

Qin Yun looked up ahead—faint sounds drifted on the wind.

He patted Dahuang’s head to calm him, then walked a few hundred meters further—the sound grew clearer.

Deep, heavy, desperate, agonized.

The tone carried unmistakable emotion—Qin Yun listened carefully, his expression shifting slightly.

He turned to the drone: “Did you hear that? Sounds like an elephant’s sob.”

“Elephant? Is it being attacked by predators?”

“Impossible—what animal on this savanna can challenge an elephant?”

“Maybe it was bitten by a venomous snake.”

“Master Qin, go check.”

Qin Yun hesitated little—he pushed through a dense thicket of thorny acacia, and the scene before him shifted abruptly: the flat woodland interior gave way to a swampy depression.

The swamp’s surface was crusted with a thin, hardened layer of yellow earth, appearing solid ground—unless you ignored the two elephants trapped within.

The drone flew over—the livestream audience clearly saw the thick, tar-like mud swallowing a large and a small elephant.

“It’s an elephant sinkhole!”

Qin Yun’s face darkened. He didn’t rush forward, observing carefully before fixing his gaze on the elephants in the swamp.

…………

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