Chapter 300: The Tragic Crossing

“Brothers, let’s now properly witness the ‘Passage to Heaven’ across the East African savanna.”

The moment he finished speaking, as if waiting for Qin Yun’s words, a thunderous hooves’ roar erupted from the distant horizon, rolling across the grasslands in a cloud of dust, as if intent on shattering the earth beneath.

“The Passage to Heaven is the most tragic life spectacle of the East African savanna—this season, every day here unfolds an epic of life and death.”

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

Under the drone’s lens, countless wildebeest formed a black flood stretching for kilometers, advancing without hesitation or retreat, marching in synchronized, urgent steps toward the muddy Malahe River.

Their hooves slammed hard against the cracked earth, producing a dull “thud-thud,” as if the ground itself trembled.

As the drone drew closer, the wildebeest became clearly visible—their manes blown wild, their eyes filled with exhaustion and fear, yet not a single one hesitated.

To advance, to leap across this river, was an instinct carved into their genes by generations—beyond lay life, the only chance for their herd to survive.

Along the riverbank, herds of wildebeest, numbering in the thousands, each led by a dominant male, paced anxiously back and forth, hooves digging furrows into the soil, kicking up clouds of dust.

“The wildebeest are ready—but the Nile crocodiles in the river, the lions, leopards, hyenas, and wild dogs along the shore are already salivating.”

Qin Yun’s voice drifted softly through the air.

“So damn many Nile crocs—and lions, leopards, hyenas harassing from all sides.”

“One crossing costs countless lives.”

“Just looking at it gives me chills—so many crocs ready to feast; those who go first will die the worst.”

“Moo—moo—”

At that moment, one of the wildebeest leaders let out a low call. 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 murky water, thrashing his limbs desperately toward the far shore, spray exploding behind him.

The next instant, countless Nile crocodiles surged forward, tearing the old wildebeest to shreds in an instant; blood spread through the water, the scent of blood turning the eyes of every predator red.

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

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

The drone circled overhead; under its lens, the wildebeest flailed their limbs, fighting desperately against the torrent—some swept sideways by the current, 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. The river’s surface was thick with intertwined wildebeest forms—hooves pounding, roars echoing, the river’s roar, and the cries of despair blending together, filling the heavens 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 murky 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 on her hind leg—sharp teeth piercing flesh instantly, blood gushing forth.

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

The calf let out a helpless cry, instinctively paddling 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—what a feast for the Nile crocs.”

“The wildebeest are literally throwing their lives away—sacrificing some to save the majority.”

“Yeah, truly fucking magnificent.”

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

Qin Yun said calmly: “The Malahe River is about fifty to a hundred meters wide, and stretches four hundred kilometers in total—but the only stretch where the ‘Passage to Heaven’ truly concentrates is the border region between Kenya and Tanzania, roughly forty to sixty kilometers long.”

“Along this stretch, there are a dozen fixed crossing points. The wildebeest don’t crowd a single spot—they spread across these dozens of kilometers, crossing simultaneously at multiple points. So the migration isn’t a single column—it stretches for dozens of kilometers. At every crossing point, thousands of wildebeest leap in every moment; tens of thousands die daily, and this continues 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 forty-kilometer stretch, slaughter unfolds constantly; everywhere is a charge, everywhere is a battlefield.”

The wildebeest leapt into the river, swam toward the shore—before them lay the river, the crocodiles; behind them, lion prides, leopards, hyena packs.

Cross over—life. Fail to cross—death!

Qin Yun sat for an entire day, until dusk fell and the wildebeest, under their leader’s command, began retreating once more—preparing for the next day’s charge. The day’s slaughter finally ended.

Netizens who had watched the entire ‘Passage to Heaven’ were numb.

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

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

“The Passage to Heaven is never a feast to paradise—it is a tragic journey where living beings pave their path with flesh and blood, betting their lives on survival.”

After speaking, he shook his body to get the camera focused on him and smiled brightly: "After watching 'The Crossing of Heaven,' tomorrow I'll set off from the Mara River and just follow the riverbank downstream; it's about 100 kilometers from here to the northern Serengeti Delta, and if everything goes smoothly, I can arrive in three days."

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

From August 5th to today, August 19th, only half a month had passed, yet Qin Yun had quietly traveled from Nduuto Lake to Kenya’s border. The events along the way, the scenes he showed, felt as if they’d happened just yesterday.

“I’m already looking forward to Qin’s next live stream—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 can ignore so many risks; we can’t.”

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

Qin Yun waved his hand humbly: “Don’t say that—it’s just basic ops. Basic ops.”

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

Qin Yun walked alone among them, unremarkable—he deliberately avoided crowded spots. When he couldn’t avoid them, it didn’t matter; he exchanged a few words with people, then continued on.

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 Malahe River. Camping 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 locals appeared—some taken from afar, others true close-ups.

For fans who followed Qin Yun’s livestreams, seeing these photos, it was impossible not to envy them.

But they didn’t dwell on it for now.

With Qin Yun’s rising fame, his foreign fanbase grew daily—fan groups now spanned the entire globe.

When news spread that Qin Yun would bring fans along in his next livestream, his fans had been eagerly anticipating it. But recently, Qin said he’d only select names from China first—this left foreign fans deeply disappointed.

So these fans were now plotting something, hoping to change Qin’s mind—even if spots were limited, they deserved a fair chance to participate.

Not long after, a website quietly went live, then exploded across social media.

The next morning, Qin Yun opened his livestream, and domestic netizens immediately told him the news.

“Qin, your foreign fans are upset.”

“Yeah, you’re done—you’ve pissed off all foreigners, better run.”

“Hurry up and leave.”

Qin Yun was utterly confused, staring blankly.