Chapter 300

"Brothers, let's now properly witness the 'Crossing of Heaven' on the East African savanna."

The moment his words fell, the distant horizon seemed to wait for Qin Yun's utterance—suddenly, a deafening thunder of hooves rolled in from the grassland's edge, churning up clouds of dust as if intent on shattering the earth beneath.

"The Crossing of Heaven is also the most tragic life spectacle on the East African savanna; each season, a saga of life and death unfolds here every single day."

Qin Yun sat on the ground, the drone already far ahead.

Under the drone's lens, countless herds of wildebeests flowed like a black torrent stretching for kilometers, without hesitation, without retreat, marching in synchronized, urgent steps toward the muddy Mara River.

Hooves slammed hard against the cracked earth, emitting a dull 'thump-thump,' as if the ground itself trembled.

As the drone drew closer, the wildebeests' forms became clear—their manes tossed wildly, their eyes filled with exhaustion and fear, yet not a single one hesitated.

Forward, leaping across this river—this was an instinct carved into their genes by generations past; beyond lay life, the only chance for their kind to survive.

Along the riverbank, countless herds, numbering in the thousands, each led by a head bull. They paced anxiously back and forth, hooves digging furrows into the soil, dust rising in clouds.

"The wildebeests are ready—but the Nile crocodiles in the river, the lions, cheetahs, Hu Langs, and hunting dogs along the shore are already salivating."

Qin Yun's voice drifted softly.

"So damn many Nile crocodiles—and lions, leopards, hyenas keep harassing from all sides."

"One crossing costs countless lives."

"Just looking at it gives me chills—so many crocs ready to feast; feels like the first ones in are the ones who die worst."

"Moo—moo—"

At that moment, one of the wildebeest leaders let out a low sound. Immediately, an old male wildebeest stepped forward, letting out a hoarse, solemn bellow—as if bidding farewell to his herd, or rallying himself—then leapt violently into the muddy water, thrashing his limbs toward the far shore, spray exploding behind him.

The next instant, countless Nile crocodiles surged forward, instantly tearing the old wildebeest to shreds, blood spreading through the water, the scent of blood turning every predator's eyes red.

And that single act became a battle cry. On the bank, tens of thousands of wildebeests charged forward without hesitation, leaping en masse into the river, instantly turning the calm surface into a churning maelstrom, water spraying everywhere, roars shaking the heavens.

In those cries lay fear, struggle—but not a single trace of retreat.

The drone circled overhead; under its lens, wildebeests thrashed their limbs desperately against the swift current, some swept sideways by the flow, losing direction, flailing helplessly in the water, emitting desperate whimpers.

Others clung tightly to their companions, supporting each other with their bodies.

Calves pressed close against their mothers' bellies; mothers strained every ounce of strength to shield them, struggling forward through the rapids. On the river's surface, countless wildebeest forms intertwined—hooves pounding, roars echoing, the river's roar, and the cries of despair mingled, ringing across heaven and earth.

This was no hymn—it was a tragic elegy; every bellow was a yearning for life, every struggle a defiance of death.

Far away, in the muddy water, Nile crocodiles lay like dead logs, their eyes devoid of warmth, slowly closing in.

When a female wildebeest, exhausted from protecting her calf behind her, was suddenly swept away from the herd, a five-meter-long Nile crocodile erupted from the water, jaws snapping shut around her hind leg—sharp teeth piercing flesh instantly, blood gushing forth.

The female wildebeest let out a piercing scream, then was dragged under.

The calf let out a helpless cry, instinctively swimming two strokes toward its mother—then the current swept it off balance, plunging it straight into the crocodile pack.

The horrific scene unfolded without mercy under the lens.

"Tsk tsk—pure Nile crocodile feast."

"The wildebeests are literally using their lives as bait—sacrificing some to save the majority."

"Yeah, damn impressive."

"Ten thousand boats racing downstream—this is ten thousand horses crossing."

Qin Yun said calmly: "The Mara River is about 50 to 100 meters wide, and its total length is 400 kilometers—but the only stretch where the 'Crossing of Heaven' truly concentrates is the border region between Kenya and Tanzania, roughly 40 to 60 kilometers long."

"Along this stretch, there are a dozen fixed crossing points. The wildebeests don't crowd into one spot—they spread across these dozens of kilometers, crossing simultaneously at multiple points. So the migration army is actually stretched out over tens of kilometers; at every crossing point, thousands upon thousands of wildebeests leap in every moment, tens of thousands daily, continuing for weeks on end."

Qin Yun's explanation left netizens murmuring in awe.

"That's why I say this isn't a hymn—it's an elegy. In this 40-kilometer river stretch, slaughter unfolds constantly; everywhere is a charge, everywhere is a battlefield."

The wildebeests leapt into the river without hesitation, swam toward the shore—ahead lay the river, the Nile crocodiles; behind lay prides of lions, leopards, hyena packs.

Cross over—life. Fail to cross—death!

Qin Yun sat for an entire day, until dusk fell and the wildebeest herd, under the lead bull's command, began retreating again—preparing for the next day's crossing. The day's slaughter finally ended.

Netizens who had watched the 'Crossing of Heaven' all day were numb.

At every moment, wildebeests were being killed; the spectacle was so grand it made life feel terrifyingly fragile.

He slowly rose, turned, and walked down the slope.

"The Crossing of Heaven is never a feast to paradise—it is a tragic journey where living beings pave their path with flesh and blood, wagering their lives for survival."

After saying that, he shook himself, let the camera focus on him, and smiled brightly: "After seeing the crossing of the Mara River, tomorrow I'll set out from the Mara River and head downstream along the riverbank. From here to the northern delta of the Maasai Mara, the distance is roughly 100 kilometers. If all goes well, I can reach it in three days."

【44】 He shook himself off, turned the camera toward his face, and smiled: "Having watched the Crossing of Heaven, tomorrow I'll set out from the Mara River, following the downstream bank. From here to the northern Sanjiaozhou of the Ma Sai Mara, it's roughly 100 kilometers—I'll reach it in three days if all goes well."

Hearing Qin Ye say this, netizens suddenly realized how fast time had passed.

From August 5th to today, August 19th, only half a month had passed—and Qin Yun had quietly traveled from Nduuto Lake to Kenya's border. Every event along the way, every scene he'd shown, felt as if it had happened just yesterday.

"I'm already looking forward to Qin Ye's next livestream—I hope I get picked."

"After this whole journey, if it were me, I'd probably be dead by day one."

"Can't help it—Qin Ye can ignore so many risks; we can't."

"In his eyes, ten spotted hyenas are coming to die; for us, one spotted hyena could kill us."

Qin Yun waved his hand, humble: "Don't say that—it's just basic ops. Basic ops."

As Qin Yun advanced along the Mara River, he began seeing more and more vehicles—each year during this season, this 40-kilometer crossing stretch had become a tourist attraction. Countless people came from afar to witness the world-famous 'Crossing of Heaven.'

Qin Yun walked alone among them, unremarkable—he deliberately avoided crowded areas. When he couldn't avoid them, it didn't matter; he exchanged a few words with people, then kept walking.

Most of these people knew him, even watched his livestream; now seeing him in person, they began taking photos and selfies from afar.

Here, even the most famous celebrities were far less beloved than Qin Yun.

After bidding farewell to another caravan, Qin Yun walked deeper toward the other side of the Mara River. Setting up camp by the river was out of the question—who knew if Nile crocodiles might follow the scent at night? He wasn't afraid, but he didn't want to be on edge.

At this moment, on foreign social platforms, many photos of Qin Yun with strangers appeared—some taken from afar, others true close-ups.

For fans who followed Qin Yun's livestream constantly, seeing these photos, it was impossible not to envy them.

But they didn't pay attention to them for now.

Knowing Qin Yun's rising fame, his overseas fanbase grew daily—groups spread across the entire global internet.

As word spread that he would include fans in the next live stream, his followers had long been eagerly anticipating it. But recently, when Qin Yun said he intended to draw names only from China for the first time, overseas fans were deeply disappointed.

So these fans were plotting something, hoping to make Qin Yun change his mind—even if spots were limited, they deserved a fair chance to participate, didn't they?

Not long after, a website quietly went up, then spread like wildfire across social media.

The next morning, Qin Yun opened his eyes, launched his live stream, and domestic netizens immediately told him the news.

"Master Qin, your overseas fans are upset."

"Yeah, you're done for—you've pissed off every foreigner, better run now."

"Flee quickly."

Qin Yun was utterly baffled, his face blank with confusion.