Chapter 58: Water and Animals

At dawn, the sun rose in the east.

The sunlight fell, dispelling the night’s chill; Qin Yun stretched his body, letting his stiff muscles and tendons regain flexibility.

Around seven-thirty, he turned on his livestream equipment again and changed the stream title to: 【Qin Yun’s Wilderness Survival: Day Three】, then immediately clicked to go live.

This morning time slot typically has few viewers, since adults are busy at work and minors are still sleeping in.

But because it’s National Day holiday, and due to the continuity of his livestreams over the past two days, his viewer count surged the moment he went live—within a minute, it reached three or four hundred.

“A Ye , you started later than yesterday—I’ve been waiting half an hour.”

“A Ye didn’t eat last night—are you hungry now? I’m eating scallion oil noodles.”

“I’m eating pan-fried buns, grease dripping all over my mouth—ah, I’m a bit full.”

Qin Yun rubbed his face hard and said into the camera: “Hello everyone, I’m Qin Yun, currently a wilderness survivor. Today is my third day in the original forest of Daxinganling. I feel fine except for being a bit hungry. Seeing you all eat so well, I really want an oil stick and a bowl of soy milk right now.”

“Hahaha, streamer, don’t joke—just eat your bugs properly.”

“Soy milk? Why not squeeze some yourself?”

Seeing these comments, Qin Yun smiled bitterly: “Compared to the night before last, I didn’t sleep well last night—first, it was too cold, and second, I had to stay alert for any wild animals passing by, since this shelter won’t stop any animal’s attack.”

“Luckily, my luck held out—all night was fine. But now I’m genuinely hungry—I must find food, or I’ll lose strength and won’t be able to run from wolf packs or black bears.”

“Want to see the streamer meet a grizzly.”

“Upvoter, just wish the streamer well.”

“Actually, A Ye ’s combat skills are insane—the footage of him killing two wolves the day before yesterday still gives me chills.”

Qin Yun launched the drone, then faced it toward himself and continued walking north.

“My goal is to survive five days in the wilderness and escape alive afterward. In these three days, I’ve covered about a hundred kilometers—this pace is already quite good—but I haven’t found water yet, so I can’t tell if I’ll find signs of humans within five days.”

Qin Yun’s face was somewhat dirty now, but under his high Yanzhi , the dirt only made him look more rugged on camera.

He skipped over a stretch of uneven path and pressed forward.

Half an hour later, as his livestream notification spread, viewership kept climbing—already reaching three thousand. This was rare at this hour; only top streamers could achieve it.

At that moment, he suddenly spotted something white on a fallen tree—he reacted like he’d found treasure, shouting into the camera: “Look! It’s a termite nest. Given its size, there must be termite nymphs inside. Maybe I’ve found breakfast.”

Seeing Qin Yun’s eyes gleaming, the livestream viewers lost their composure.

“Holy shit, streamer, you’re actually eating termites?”

“No way—I’m still eating my noodles, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Ugh—!”

“Yesterday you ate rabbit meat, today you’re eating termites—insane.”

Qin Yun brought the camera close to the tree’s surface, picked up a stick from the ground, and stabbed it into the nest several times—termites immediately swarmed out, dense and countless, making viewers dizzy.

But his target wasn’t them—it was the termite nymphs, the larvae.

Good fortune: after digging open the nest, a pile of nymphs appeared in his view—and perfectly on camera.

“Oh my god, I have arachnophobia.”

“Streamers gonna eat this? I’m about to vomit my last meal.”

“Disgusting.”

Qin Yun reached out, grabbed a handful, and shoved them straight into his mouth, chewing through the nausea—then realized the taste wasn’t bad.

He said casually: “Termite nymphs have no hard shell, packed with fat and protein, soft and chewy. Honestly, they taste like creamy nuts—if you’re curious, go try some.”

“Holy shit, he actually ate them?”

“Termites: sudden disaster—home destroyed, entire lineage devoured.”

“Consumed several termite nymphs: satiety +1”

“So fucking disgusting—TikTok admins, ban him now.”

“His expression doesn’t look fake—could they really be tasty?”

“Forget it—even if tasty, I couldn’t swallow them.”

Viewers in the livestream erupted at this sight.

Those eating breakfast suddenly found their food nauseating.

“Damn it, A Ye ’s not human—he’s hungry, so he’s making us sick too.”

But this wave had real impact—gifts flooded in.

Qin Yun grabbed two more handfuls; seeing the nest nearly empty, he licked his lips and sighed: “Too little—even not enough to fill a tooth gap—but at least I ate something, hunger eased a bit. Now I must find water quickly—if I find water, I can hunt animals or fish.”

As the sun rose higher, the forest temperature climbed.

After walking a while, he picked some blueberries to quench his thirst, then suddenly slapped his arm—looked down, and grinned: “Mosquitoes.”

“Streamer’s crazy—glad to see mosquitoes?”

“Guess he’s starving—gonna eat mosquitoes next?”

“A Ye , just be human.”

Qin Yun laughed: “In the city, mosquitoes mean nothing—but in the forest, they’re a clue. Mosquitoes thrive in damp places; to breed, they must lay eggs near water. So seeing them means we’re probably close to water.”

In the camera frame, he launched the drone’s auxiliary unit, which rapidly ascended, soon rising above the treetops into the sky.

The camera switched—some sharp-eyed viewers immediately spotted a water source.

“Look! Beyond that raised ridge, there’s a stream.”

“I see it too—streamer’s lucky, looks like just one or two kilometers away.”

Qin Yun saw it too—he smiled, and quickened his pace.

When he climbed over the spot viewers mentioned, he immediately heard the rush of water: “Ha! I hear water!”

Moments later, a slender stream appeared in his view—narrow, shallow, barely ankle-deep—but it flowed, alive and continuous.

“Perfect—we’ve got water.”

Qin Yun sprinted to the stream, inspected it carefully, confirmed no danger, then cupped the water and splashed it on his face, then dipped his head and drank deeply.

“Ha! Refreshing!”

Qin Yun shook his head—the camera captured his wide, satisfied smile.

“Water in forest streams like this likely carries parasites—it must be boiled. But no worry—I’ll drink just a little, and the human body can handle small amounts of parasites.”

Shuowan , Qin Yun drank two more mouthfuls.

“Puchencheng gifted 10 pairs of glasses—Congratulations A Ye on finding water.”

“Yu Yujue gifted a sports car—A Ye ’s luck’s holding—will he get better food today?”

“Polangge gifted a carnival—Just got out of a meeting—did I miss anything?”

“666, Polangge, which company do you run? Hiring? I can bend and flex.”

“Clearly a CEO—no wonder he’s so generous.”

“Polangge, you missed A Ye eating bugs.”

“No big deal—you’re lucky. That was too gruesome to watch.”

Qin Yun saw Polangge’s carnival gift, thanked the givers, and was about to say more when his eyes suddenly widened—as if he’d seen something terrifying.

He sprinted over, leapt across the stream to the opposite bank, and pointed Yansu ly at a muddy depression: “Friends, danger—look what this is.”

“What else could it be? Just a hole? Could it be a bear paw print?”

Qin Yun glanced and said: “The troll named KunKun2.5 is right—it’s a bear’s footprint. From the freshness of the soil, I can tell it was made less than three hours ago.”

“And from the size, this bear weighs around 150 kilograms—definitely an Asian black bear. We locals call them ‘black blind ones.’”

“Holy shit, really a bear?”

“Shit, streamer actually met one—run now, or you’ll be eaten.”

“Bear, 150 kilos—one swipe and you’re a pancake—call that small?”

“I’ve never seen a real bear in my life.”

“Pandas are bears too.”

“A Ye , run!”

Without waiting for their advice, Qin Yun confirmed it was a black bear and immediately bolted away.

As he ran, he explained: “I know Daxinganling has two bear species. One is the Asian black bear I just mentioned—smaller, under 150 kg, poor eyesight, timid, rarely attacks humans. But brown bears are different—they can reach 500 kg, have an acute sense of smell—seven times better than a hound’s—and sit at the top of the food chain, highly aggressive. Records show over a thousand human deaths from brown bears—you understand how terrifying they are.”

“But my luck’s decent—it’s just an Asian black bear. As long as we don’t provoke it, its timid nature means it won’t attack me.”

“Streamers, what if you meet one? Play dead?”

“Climb a tree—bears can’t climb, right?”

Qin Yun glanced at the comments and said seriously: “Trust me—if you play dead, you die. Don’t climb a tree—every bear species is an expert climber—you’ll still die. The only real option is to run. Don’t try to scare it, especially not a brown bear—if you bare your teeth, you have no second chance.”

“666, so our elementary school textbooks are lies?”

“I remember the book said: climb a tree if you meet a bear.”

“Streamer’s right—avoid bears entirely. You’re not their match.”

Qin Yun’s speed was now too fast for the drone to follow—he grabbed it, turned on his action camera, and switched the feed to it.

“Good—the forest floor is soft, doesn’t hinder my running. But I lost the water source—if I’d followed the stream downstream, I might’ve found an exit. But with black bear tracks, I must keep my distance.”

“Even an Asian black bear is beyond human strength—their only weakness is timidity.”

As he spoke, a steep vertical drop appeared ahead. Qin Yun stopped instantly, peered over—it was followed by several more drops, the terrain sinking sharply.

He judged the height, tossed the drone upward, then jumped straight down.

“Whoa, streamer’s bold—looks like three or four meters.”

“A Ye clearly has elite athleticism.”

Qin Yun dropped over four or five ledges, then suddenly found the ground cut off completely—below lay a raging river, the opposite bank seven or eight meters away.

The drone flew down the cliff and found the river was more than ten meters below.

“Lucky break—I found water again, but it’s flowing in the opposite direction. I need to go north, but this river runs west to east—I have to cross it.”

“Host, that gap’s too wide—you can’t jump it.”

“The world record for long jump is 8.95 meters, the Asian record is 8.47 meters—no one would dare jump this wide. It’s terrifying.”

“Master Qin, take a detour.”

Qin Yun assessed the situation and made a decision immediately.

He took off his backpack, launched both drones at once, stuffed everything inside, and with a strong throw, flung the backpack straight across to the other side.

He smiled at the camera: “I’m not taking a detour—I’m jumping across.”