Chapter 51: Survival in the Wild

Qin Yun’s livestream is different from other livestreams on Douyin.

On Douyin, other livestreams are either female hosts chatting or PKing, or skill-based challenges, or gaming streams.

On any platform, gaming streamers are always the most popular and attract the largest audience.

But on Douyin, there’s another unique group: product promotion streamers.

Buying is human nature—spending money truly triggers dopamine release and brings joy.

Qin Yun’s type of stream is also a form of skill-based livestreaming, just on a much larger scale.

“If you haven’t followed the streamer yet, please hit follow. Thank you.”

Qin Yun noticed that the number of viewers quickly surpassed five thousand, and he believed that as time passed, this livestream’s audience might even break ten thousand.

Yesterday, Su Huan had already negotiated with DJI for sponsorship of this livestream and future video deals.

For the livestream portion, DJI would pay a full sponsorship fee of 150,000 yuan; the only requirement from Qin Yun was to subtly mention the drone occasionally.

For the subsequent videos, Qin Yun set four videos at 50,000 yuan each, totaling 200,000 yuan.

So from just this one livestream, his commercial income reached 350,000 yuan—this portion only requires taxes and doesn’t need to be split with Douyin.

The split with Douyin applies only to the gift revenue.

Fortunately, he joined the Partner Program; otherwise, it would still be a 50-50 split, but now it’s a 30-70 split.

A five-day livestream, if lucky, could yield an unexpected amount just from gift revenue—though still far behind top streamers, for Qin Yun it would be a huge leap forward.

“My plan is simple: in five days, I’ll come out from the Inner Mongolia direction, so I can’t just stay put—I must cover a certain distance each day to find people by day five; finding people means we’ve succeeded in survival.”

Qin Yun continued walking forward, speaking as he went: “Anyone familiar with human history knows humans can survive without mountains, but they must rely on water. Our entire Chinese nation was built along the Yellow River; living beside rivers became our instinct.”

“So in the wild, if you find a river, follow it downstream—you’ll inevitably find human settlements.”

“What the streamer says makes sense.”

“Easy to say, hard to do. Remember, not just humans—all animals share the same habit: where there’s water, there are animals.”

Qin Yun saw this comment and laughed: “Friend ‘One Rooster Rules the World’ is absolutely right. Opportunity always comes with risk.”

“What a ridiculous name—streamer, watch out, you’ll get banned.”

“Too yellow and violent—I love it.”

Qin Yun said nothing; he had now fully entered the forest and could no longer see anything behind him.

“It’s still early, so today we can walk farther. By around five o’clock, before it gets dark, we must find a campsite quickly.”

“It’s already October—the day-night temperature difference is extreme. I checked: nighttime temperatures here drop below freezing.”

“Below freezing? Someone from Jilin, tell me—is it really below zero in October? I don’t believe it.”

“I’m from Jilin—the streamer is right. Tonight’s temperature where he is is minus three degrees. It’s cold.”

“Minus three? In Zhejiang, that’s a death sentence.”

“Southern weakling!”

Anyone who often enters forests knows: forests have no paths. The idea that “paths form from many footsteps” simply doesn’t apply here.

Nature’s recovery ability is extremely strong—the path you walk today will be completely covered by new vegetation tomorrow.

“Fortunately, we’re in a forest—if we’d gone into a rainforest, the ground would be muddy, and tall grass taller than a person would be everywhere, making it even more dangerous.”

Qin Yun found a clear patch of ground, launched his second drone into the forest air, and used the main unit to control its follow, letting AI switch the livestream feed automatically.

Otherwise, watching him nonstop would get boring, though his voice barely stopped.

After a while, Qin Yun noticed the forest’s darkness came faster than expected—by barely five o’clock, it was already noticeably dim.

Soon, he found a spot where the trees weren’t too dense and said into the camera: “When setting up a campsite in the wild, warmth is the most important—because if you accidentally suffer hypothermia, you might as well go home and sleep.”

“The streamer’s right—I often watch foreign wilderness shows.”

“Hypothermia? What’s that?”

Qin Yun explained: “Hypothermia, or low body temperature, occurs when the body’s core temperature drops below 35°C.”

“A normal human core temperature is maintained at 36–37°C through a thermoregulatory system balancing heat production and heat loss. When heat loss consistently exceeds heat production, hypothermia occurs.”

“Hypothermia is dangerous—severe cases can easily kill.”

“Streamers 666, you know a lot.”

“Looks like the streamer did his homework.”

“I don’t care about that—I just know you’re setting up a campsite in the wild, and you didn’t bring anything, right?”

“Yeah, the streamer should’ve brought a knife.”

“Let’s watch how the streamer builds it.”

Qin Yun wasn’t paying attention to the livestream comments—he scanned the surroundings. “It’s getting late. A complex campsite is impossible now, so I’ll build the most basic one. Do you see that branch up ahead?”

He walked over, lifted the branch, and placed it across a tree fork, forming a right triangle between the branch and the fork.

“Look, the main structure’s done—simple, right? These side branches let me easily pack moss and mud on top.”

He scooped up moss mixed with soil from the ground and slowly covered the branches. Nothing fancy here—just tedious, slow work.

After coating both sides, Qin Yun gathered more branches, tied them together with grass vines, and made a door that could be pushed open from the top, then covered it with moss, dry leaves, and mud.

“See? The simple campsite’s done. It’s not big enough to lie down, but at least you can rest.”

“6666… Streamer is awesome.”

“Impressive—fast, efficient movements.”

“Next, I need to clear the area around here, dig a fire pit. Since this is a forest, if a fire starts, I’ll be locked up for life, so I’ll build the fire inside a pit and dig a channel straight to the campsite—so the heat will reach inside, and I won’t freeze tonight.”

“Locked up for life? Pfft…”

“Not just locked up—if it causes major damage, execution is possible.”

“Quick, someone report the streamer—he’s planning arson!”

Qin Yun chuckled at these comments: “Guys, cut me some slack.”

Just then, Qin Yun noticed a special user enter the livestream, marked with a unique label.

“Fire is prohibited in forests. Violators will bear corresponding legal responsibility.”

Qin Yun froze, staring blankly at the glaring label.

The livestream viewers burst into laughter.

“Hahaha, I told you—streamer starts a fire, he gets banned.”

“Too perfect—glad the streamer didn’t do it yet.”

Qin Yun felt relieved—he’d been a bit careless about this.

In a livestream with so many viewers, starting a fire in a forest for warmth—if it went public, he’d be finished.

He quickly said: “I was joking just now—in a forest, absolutely no actions that could cause open flame.”

Qin Yun abandoned the idea of lighting a fire, but the livestream was flooded with gifts—viewers were utterly convinced by his desperate survival efforts.

“No wonder the streamer’s popular—this survival instinct.”

“Hahaha, I’m dying—sending you glasses. Next time, clean your vision.”

“The streamer’s expression—I already screenshot it.”

Qin Yun smiled helplessly, then laid a thick layer of leaves inside the campsite.

“I was joking about the fire, but this campsite has thick layers of soil, moss, and dry leaves—its internal temperature is much higher than outside. No need to worry about warmth.”

“Leaves insulate against ground heat loss, creating a warming effect.”

With the campsite built, Qin Yun planned to end today’s livestream—light was fading fast, and video clarity would suffer severely unless he activated the main unit’s night vision mode.

“Alright, since the campsite’s built, I’m going to rest. So…”

Before he finished speaking, several strange comments appeared in the livestream.

“Streamer, what’s that behind you? Why is it moving?”

“It’s swaying—the depth of field makes it unclear. Zoom in.”

“Looks like an insect.”

Qin Yun turned his head curiously, then his pupils shrank—he immediately directed the drone toward it. The camera revealed a snake coiled on a branch.

“Holy shit—it’s a snake! Scared the hell out of me.”

“That snake’s huge—over two meters? Brown-black—is it venomous?”

“We’re done—this is a viper, commonly called the five-step snake, extremely venomous. One bite and the streamer won’t survive until rescue.”

“Dead. The streamer’s been targeted.”

Qin Yun instantly recognized the viper—his current zoological knowledge flooded his mind with details the moment he saw it.

He didn’t retreat. After stabilizing the drone’s shot, he spoke softly: “Many of you probably recognize it—this is a viper, also called the five-step snake. Most venomous snakes have triangular heads, and vipers are no exception.”

“Summer is the active season for snakes, but with today’s temperature, this snake shouldn’t be out. Maybe it’s native here, and my presence startled it. Friends—if bitten by such a venomous snake, stay calm, tie a bandage above the wound, and seek medical help immediately—do not attempt self-treatment.”

“Streamer sounds so calm—aren’t you scared?”

“Oh no, the streamer’s lost his mind—still giving a lecture now?”

Qin Yun kept his gaze locked on the viper, his voice transmitted clearly through the mic.

“If I had fire, I’d actually be happy to catch it and make snake soup—but too bad.”

“Is the streamer serious?”

“666, totally insane—I believe the streamer is genuinely calm, not faking it.”

“This guy’s showing off—I’d give him nine out of ten. One more point and he’d get arrogant.”

At that moment, the viper coiled on the branch slightly pulled back. Qin Yun’s expression sharpened instantly.

But his voice remained steady: “Friends, this viper is angry, so the consequences will be severe—it’s about to attack me. But don’t worry—I’ve trained for this. A mere viper—I’ll catch it with my…”

Before he could finish the word “hand,” the viper vanished from the branch, leaving only a blur. Viewers froze, their comments falling silent.

Qin Yun’s combat skills, which granted him extraordinary reflexes, finally manifested at this moment.

In the instant the viper lunged, his right hand shot out, first landing on the viper’s chin, then his thumb flicking upward with immense force, halting the viper’s forward momentum instantly.

Immediately after, Qin Yun flipped his right hand and swiftly gripped its head, applying slight pressure before snapping it down— the viper lost all ability to resist.

Qin Yun held his right hand up to the camera and shook it: “I told you, it’s just a viper—not worth mentioning.”

As he finished speaking, he glanced at the livestream chat and noticed the comments had stopped scrolling; he leaned closer, puzzled.

“Huh… why are there no comments? Did it disconnect?”

The moment he spoke, the comment section suddenly began scrolling at high speed.

“Holy shit, the streamer just showed me up—I didn’t even see what happened, and the snake was already under his control.”

“That reaction speed is insane.”

“Absolutely legendary.”

Then gifts flooded the screen, even two Carnival gifts appeared; Qin Yun couldn’t possibly thank everyone fast enough.

In the end, he simply gave a general thanks.

“Alright, it’s getting dark—I need to rest. I’ll start streaming again at seven tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you in the livestream. Goodbye.”

Qin Yun ignored every comment begging him not to end the stream and clicked “End Stream” without hesitation.