Chapter 43: Eastern Cliff (Part One)

At the end of September, the eastern cliff of Shengsi, Zhoushan, still bore morning mist; the sea wind, laden with the salty crash of waves, swept in from the depths of the Bohai Sea.

The 70-meter-high granite cliff, as if carved by axe and chisel, plunged straight down into the raging sea; its surface was riddled with weathered cracks and slick moss, while shattered rocks at the base were repeatedly slammed against jagged reefs, spraying water into the air.

Qin Yun controlled the drone to slowly ascend from the rear ridge and starting point, methodically observing the cliff face again and again.

If this climb were attempted freehand, Qin Yun had no confidence he could complete it—indeed, he would most likely fail. Because this is a coastal location, the moisture makes the cliff conditions extremely complex; unless you physically test each hold for reliability, visual inspection alone cannot determine safety.

Most importantly, because it is coastal, the surface is slippery; holds that should bear full weight may now support less than seventy percent, drastically increasing the danger.

It is morning now, and this is already Qin Yun's third day here; after repeated observations, he knows every inch of the Eastern Cliff like the back of his hand, every spot memorized.

As the drone slowly returned to its launch point, Qin Yun retracted it.

"It's time."

…

September 28, 1:00 PM. Qin Yun donned a harness loaded with nuts and mechanical cams, fitted his action camera, calibrated all settings on the four drones, then posted a final one-minute countdown for the live stream in a newly created WeChat group.

At this moment, Su Huan and the DJI liaison staff saw the message and immediately perked up.

Qin Yun estimated the time, first sent three auxiliary drones to fixed positions, then logged into Douyin and clicked "Start Live."

Facing the drone's lens, Qin Yun spoke without preamble: "Hello everyone, I'm Qin Yun. I'm currently at the starting point of the 'Duan Long Zhan' route on the Eastern Cliff of Shengsi, Zhoushan—a vertical drop of seventy meters, nearly ninety-degree angle. This location is near the sea, with extremely high humidity and severe weathering; almost no one has ever attempted this Duan Long Zhan route on the Eastern Cliff, so here I am."

"Compared to well-known climbing routes, today's challenge—the Eastern Cliff's Duan Long Zhan—is undoubtedly far more dangerous. Today, I will use traditional climbing techniques, relying solely on minimal protection, to successfully reach the Yinhai Platform."

As the stream went live, viewers flooded in; with the drone's camera switching angles, everyone clearly saw Qin Yun's current position.

Moreover, due to the time of day, the tide was rising; waves crashed against the shore, spraying water—everything visible in the frame.

"Holy shit, where is the streamer? Looks so dangerous."

"Insane, I've never heard of sea cliff climbing before."

"Feels like ninety degrees—can he even do this?"

"Upstairs clearly hasn't watched the streamer's videos—go check them out and you'll know if he can do it."

Qin Yun glanced at the comments on his screen; the viewer count was rising fast—just two minutes into the stream, over a hundred people had joined.

Live streaming, Qin Yun knew—even without experience—that interaction was key; only by engaging with viewers could the stream succeed.

"I see comments saying it's dangerous—it really is. Please don't ever try this casually. I dare do this only because I have professional skills; otherwise, it wouldn't be challenging limits—it'd be suicide."

After Qin Yun spoke, the comment section exploded.

"Hahaha, he tells me not to try it casually—laughed me to death."

"Bro, I think I'm still a normal person, not an idiot."

"…"

Qin Yun turned his gaze away, checked his shoe buckles, then gripped a jagged corner barely embedded in a crack with his left hand, reached with his right to pull out a medium-sized nut: "First step: set a protection anchor. The scree slope holds are loose—this is a deadly trap; anchors must be placed deep in the fissures."

With a flick of his fingers, he screwed the nut into a horizontal crack fifteen centimeters deep, tugged twice to confirm stability, then clipped in a quickdraw and threaded the safety rope.

"First anchor done—load-bearing is sufficient. We're officially starting."

He stepped with his left foot onto a protruding rock slab, pushed off with his right leg, pressing his body against the cliff to avoid the oncoming sea wind.

At this moment, the drone's camera lowered, capturing loose stones tumbling from beneath his feet, falling into the churning waves below. Qin Yun glanced down, then looked straight at the lens: "See that? Every step is on weathered rock—each foothold must be tested. Keep your center of gravity close to the cliff, or one slip triggers a chain collapse."

No sooner had he spoken than the rock corner gripped by his left hand cracked apart—he instantly shifted his weight to his right hand while his left foot swiftly found another crack.

This entire moment was captured by the camera.

"Holy shit, that came out of nowhere."

"Too terrifying—this isn't extreme sport, this is suicide sport."

"The streamer's got balls of steel."

Su Huan, watching the screen, covered her mouth in shock, barely stifling a scream; similarly terrified was Qin Yun's mother, Hu Fen, who had abandoned her work and hidden in the bathroom, heart pounding.

Meanwhile, the live viewer count had reached three hundred and kept climbing; few who entered left. Everyone who saw the footage was transfixed.

"Some might say that was too dangerous—this is only the beginning. Don't worry—traditional climbing always works this way: low margin for error, but there's still room to respond." Qin Yun stabilized his position, glanced at the lens, and during a lull in the wind, inserted a second nut into a newly found crack on the right.

"We'll add a backup anchor—just in case the primary fails. So while it looks dangerous, there's still safety. We're only five meters up—the scree slope has just begun; the real show's yet to come. New viewers, please follow and like—thank you."

Qin Yun mimicked other streamers' phrasing, but he couldn't bring himself to say "family"—it simply felt unnatural.

Su Huan watched the viewer count skyrocket and privately messaged the DJI staff: "Did you guys run Dou+?"

"No, not yet."

The staff were equally surprised—they'd expected maybe a hundred viewers at most, but now it clearly would far exceed that.

In just a short while, the count was nearing five hundred.

Though this number meant nothing compared to top streamers—barely a drop in the ocean—it was Qin Yun's first-ever stream, and viewer retention was exceptionally high: numbers only rose, never dropped.

Qin Yun had climbed roughly fifteen meters when the cliff abruptly steepened into a near-vertical knife-edge, leaving only narrow fissures for finger holds.

The drone swiftly switched to an overhead view, capturing the full seventy-meter cliff and the jagged reefs and churning waves below.

This sight made viewers in the stream nearly wet themselves—the overwhelming sense of danger, transmitted through the lens, gave them a feeling of weightlessness.

Moreover, the drone's camera transitions were impossibly smooth; someone asked in the stream.

"Streamer, do you have a team? The camera switches are too seamless."

Qin Yun, hanging from the cliff and preparing to move on, paused—since this question involved his sponsor, he couldn't ignore it.

"I'm just a solo content creator—no team. But my filming equipment is indeed sponsored—you all saw the logo up there, right? No need for me to name the brand or mention it again, to avoid accusations of advertising. This drone has built-in AI that precisely captures and switches between multiple camera angles—I don't need to control it manually. I have to say, modern tech is incredibly advanced."

After speaking, Qin Yun ignored the comments. He stopped before a half-meter-wide "Duan Hun Cao"—a deep fissure—and took a deep breath to steady his rhythm: "We've reached the critical point of the knife-edge cliff. This groove ahead is called Duan Hun Cao—two meters deep, only traversable horizontally. The walls are covered in slick moss—extremely slippery."

He unclipped a spare nut from his waist, placed a third anchor on the left side of the groove—each time he placed a nut, a camera angle automatically switched into position; this motion-capture capability freed Qin Yun from worrying about visual aesthetics.

After securing the third anchor, he alternated hands gripping the groove's edge, kicking his feet against faint protrusions on the walls to move sideways.

At that moment, the sea wind suddenly intensified, causing his body to sway slightly; viewers clearly heard his breathing: "Sea wind is the biggest interference in sea cliff climbing—when moving horizontally, instability makes it easy to lose grip and fall. Luckily, my arm strength is strong enough to handle this level of disturbance."

"Once again: do not attempt this activity. Please remember."

He smoothly crossed the Duan Hun Cao, secured another anchor on the right fissure, and looked up toward the solitary rock outcrop at the thirty-fifth meter.

"See that rock? Next is the Overhanging Solitary Stone section. That rock's center of gravity leans outward, there's a crack at the bottom, loose stones might give way — we have to hug its back side and climb."

As he spoke, he quickly climbed beneath the solitary stone, reached out to feel the crack at the rock's bottom, looked at the camera, and just as he was about to speak, he noticed the viewer count in the upper right corner had suddenly broken through a thousand.

"I didn't expect over a thousand people watching my livestream — the streamer is deeply honored. Welcome, new friends. I'm currently at the East Cliff sheer face of Shengsi, Zhoushan, doing a traditional climb of the Dragon-Slashing Blade. I've now entered the middle section — the Overhanging Solitary Stone section."

After saying that, he looked at the crack at the bottom of the rock, and the camera timely panned to the action camera on his head: "See this crack? Years of sea-wind erosion — the rock's sway grows with the wind. When climbing, you have to fight the centrifugal force, can't put extra load on the stone."

His left hand hooked onto the joint between the solitary stone and the cliff face, his right hand set a mechanical cam, his feet alternately pushed off the concave points on the stone's back, his body pressed tight against the rock wall as he slowly ascended.

The drone camera focused on the solitary stone, capturing the faint sway as the sea wind blew against it. Qin Yun's voice carried a hint of tension: "Now the stone is swaying, I have to slow my rhythm — every step, I wait for the wind to steady before I push. The core of traditional climbing is stability, more important than speed."

The new viewers were drawn in by the livestream content at a glance, and one after another offered their knees in the comment section.

This kind of outdoor extreme-sports livestream — when has it ever appeared on Douyin? Even on platforms like Douyu or Panda, you can hardly find livestreams of extreme sports like this, because the probability of something going wrong is just too high.

On livestream platforms like Douyu, outdoor livestreams are mostly wilderness-build-style streams. This type exists on Douyin too, only it's more popular as video showcases rather than livestream format.

Qin Yun's attention was on the cliff face right now, no longer watching the comments on the monitor. Besides the action camera on his head and the main camera, there was another camera locked on him from a different angle. The main camera's AI was timely switching angles, fully displaying the sweat, breathing, and muscles on Qin Yun's body, making the danger of extreme sports feel as if you were right there.

His movements were steady, but when he reached the end of the solitary stone, the crack suddenly let out a faint *click*. That sound appearing in the livestream room made countless viewers hold their breath.

Qin Yun also froze instantly. After the wind died down, he quickly placed an anchor in the rock crevice above, and using it for leverage, pulled himself over the top of the solitary stone.

That move was swift, yet danger lurked everywhere, making viewers break out in a cold sweat.

"The streamer is too badass, no wonder everyone calls him the Great God."

"Watching this I'm wet — don't get the wrong idea, I'm drooling."

"The streamer's muscle lines look so good, way better-looking than gym muscles, full of a sense of power."

"The Great God is too awesome."

Qin Yun looked up toward the Sword Ridge Rock at the very top, sat down cross-legged: "We've reached the Sword Ridge Chasm — this is the hardest section of the Dragon-Slashing Blade. The ridge is narrow, the stone edge is razor-sharp, and one careless moment the sea wind can flip your body over."