Chapter 60: A False Alarm

If making roasted chicken, Qin Yun wouldn’t need to go through so much trouble—just skewer it and place it over the fire.

But to enjoy a hot bowl of mountain delicacy soup, he found a thick, even stone and began smashing it; with his skill, every strike’s force and angle was deliberate, and viewers soon saw a hollowed-out stone pot.

“666, the host’s craftsmanship is unmatched.”

“Qin Ye’s hands-on ability is incredible.”

“It looks simple to the host, but I struggle just peeling a pencil—compared to him, I’m a waste.”

Don't talk like that, upstairs—everyone is worthless compared to Qin Ye.

With the pot ready, Qin Yun gathered edible mushrooms on the spot.

“In the wild, mushrooms are the most common edible plants, but there’s no absolute way to tell if they’re safe to eat. That’s why, if you’re out in the wild, better not touch any mushroom you don’t recognize.”

“Many are deadly poison—you’d have no time to save yourself once you eat them.”

As he cleaned the mushrooms, he explained: “Look at these few I’m holding—they’re actually fairly common. This one’s Pholiota adiposa, sold in markets too; this red pine mushroom appears in abundance after rain; and this purple-faced mushroom—you wouldn’t dare eat it if you didn’t know it, but its texture is tender and its flavor uniquely distinctive.”

“The host knows so much—he’s a walking encyclopedia.”

“Over these past few days, I’ve seen the host’s vast wilderness knowledge—he handles plants and animals with ease.”

“Awesome—I respect people with real knowledge the most.”

After preparing the mushrooms, he placed them in the stone pot, added the crabs, weighed them down with the wild chicken, and poured in water.

Once done, Qin Yun began preparing the fire.

With his bow in hand, starting a fire was effortless—soon flames rose beneath the stone pot.

Qin Yun sat before the hearth, occasionally adding more firewood, answering viewers’ questions; as dusk fell and temperatures dropped, the warmth of the flames wrapped around him.

“The host looks so relaxed—I want to try this too.”

“You’d better try it in your backyard.”

“Others look battered surviving in the wild, but the host still looks full of energy.”

“But that’s not the main point—the main point is the dangers the host faces are life-threatening; one slip and you’re dead.”

After about an hour, the aroma of the mountain delicacy soup began to drift out slowly—the unique scent of chicken, river seafood, and mushrooms stirred Qin Yun’s stomach and made his mouth water.

He took a deep breath: “So fragrant—it’s probably ready.”

He carried the stone pot over to a pre-prepared stone platform, added more firewood, let it cool slightly, then used a wooden stick as chopsticks to pick up a mushroom and pop it into his mouth.

On camera, viewers watched Qin Yun close his eyes, savoring carefully, all waiting for his evaluation.

“Very fragrant, very fresh—if only we had salt.”

Humans can’t live without salt—not just for the body, but for the taste buds too. The difference between with and without salt is night and day; though this wild chicken, crab, and mountain delicacy soup was delicious, it lacked saltiness.

“Still, the flavor’s great—brothers, I’ll eat first.”

“The host’s eating chicken in the wilderness, while I’ve been getting killed 108 times straight on the island.”

“Welcome to Qin Ye’s Wilderness Food Show.”

“Envious—I’m drooling. Even though I know it won’t taste great without salt, watching Qin Ye eat makes it look amazing.”

“I can’t take it anymore—I just ordered a KFC bucket.”

Qin Yun glanced at the comments, grinned, and started eating on his own, occasionally replying to a few.

Having grown used to no salt, the freshness of the mountain delicacies flowed straight from his tongue to his core; each sip of soup made him feel warm all over. But mostly, he was starving.

At this point, even eating sweet potatoes would taste like a supreme delicacy.

By now, night had fully fallen; because of this large human presence, mosquitoes began gathering, buzzing annoyingly.

He scooped up another bowl of soup, took one sip—and suddenly, a sharp “plop” came from behind him, near the massive rock.

“What was that sound?”

“Holy shit, is that a snake?”

“Predator approaching—player alert.”

Something’s there! Qin Yun reacted instantly, snatching a burning stick from the fire, spinning around, and assuming a combat stance.

The next second, as he saw the animal crouched on the rock, his expression subtly changed.

The drone’s angle couldn’t see the top of the rock, so the comment section flooded with messages.

“Host, adjust the angle quickly!”

“I want to see what it is!”

“Qin Ye looks tense—is it another wolf?”

“Finally, my wilderness skills can be useful.”

“It’s here to steal food.”

Though Qin Yun couldn’t see the drone’s screen, he could guess what the comments showed—he carefully reached out and adjusted the drone’s angle to point at the rock.

When viewers finally made out the dark shape—

“Whoa, so cute! What kind of cat is that?”

“Kind of majestic—never seen this cat breed before.”

“It’s way bigger than a cat—are you sure it’s a cat?”

Qin Yun, holding the burning stick, spoke in a low voice into the stream: “It’s not a cat—it’s a lynx, a feline. Looks like a cat, but its body is four or five times larger. This is the ‘wolf cat’ lynx—a carnivore whose menu includes roe deer, wild deer, birds, foxes, and mountain goats.”

It was a yellow-and-black lynx, ears upright, eyes cold and piercing, long facial hairs hanging like a lion’s mane—overall, it looked majestic and formidable.

“Lynx? Never heard of it.”

“Holy shit, that’s a lynx—I saw one on Douyin; they say it’s extremely aggressive.”

“By its size, it’s bigger than a dog—no wonder its menu’s all meat.”

“Qin Ye, be careful, stay safe.”

“The lynx is a top predator,” Qin Yun said, his eyes locked on the lynx on the rock—he dared not look away. One bite and he’d be done for.

“But don’t worry—lynxes rarely attack humans. It probably smelled the chicken soup; wild chickens are on its menu too. And it’s cautious—it won’t strike unless it’s sure.”

As he spoke, Qin Yun pulled the wild chicken’s hindquarters from the pot and tossed them onto the rock. The lynx jumped back in surprise.

Only when the scent of meat overpowered its caution did it inch forward, then devour the meat in three quick bites.

After eating, it licked its lips, its eyes still fixed coldly on the pot—clearly unsatisfied.

Qin Yun chuckled bitterly: “Looks like this lynx wants to steal my chicken. I could drive it off, but to avoid retaliation, I’ll give it half—better than being disturbed tonight.”

He tore off half the chicken from the pot and flung it onto the rock.

This time, the lynx immediately lay down and began eating the meat. Seeing this, Qin Yun could only shrug, shifted his position, and resumed eating, though he kept part of his attention on the lynx.

“Close call—I hope this lynx eats its fill and leaves.”

Qin Yun picked up a small crab and crunched away, occasionally glancing at the lynx; the two ignored each other perfectly.

“Can you keep a lynx as a pet? Looks so majestic—I want one.”

“Dream on—afraid you’ll get eaten at night?”

“The host said it’s a carnivore, a wild hunter—still want to keep it? Dream on.”

Qin Yun saw the comments and laughed: “Of course you can’t keep it. Our country bans keeping wild animals except cats and dogs. Plus, this lynx is a Class II protected species—keeping it illegally is against the law. Unless you get a wildlife breeding permit, don’t even dream of it.”

“But abroad, sure—especially in the Middle East. I remember they keep everything: black panthers, tigers, lions—all fine, as long as you’ve got money. Otherwise, you can’t afford it.”

“Anyone who owns cats or dogs knows good pet food isn’t cheap. But a lynx? Pure carnivore. You need fresh meat daily—minimum five pounds.”

“The host knows so much.”

“Qin Ye is a wilderness encyclopedia—he knows everything.”

Qin Yun laughed: “Just read more books—knowledge is in books.”

As he spoke, Qin Yun looked up—the lynx had finished all the chicken, but hadn’t left. Still, it showed no sign of craving more.

“I need to drive it off—otherwise, if it lingers, I can’t handle it.”

Qin Yun gripped the burning stick, twisted his face into a fierce expression, roared, and leapt forward a step.

The lynx jumped—but that was all. It just tilted its head, still watching him.

“Haha, lynx: What the hell is this idiot?”

“The lynx’s probably never seen a human—it doesn’t know how to react.”

“Host, be more menacing.”

Qin Yun smiled at the mocking comments: “No problem—do it a few times and it’ll get used to it.”

The next second, he contorted his face, roared again, swung the stick, and took several steps forward, closing in on the rock.

The lynx jumped again—this time backing up a few steps.

Seeing Qin Yun approach closer, the lynx, under pressure, turned and fled—soon vanished from the camera’s view.

Seeing success, Qin Yun reappeared on camera: “Done. Let’s get back to dinner.”

By the time he finished the entire pot, it was already 7:30 PM. He didn’t extinguish the fire—kept it burning, added a few larger logs, then squeezed himself into the crevice of the rock.

“Alright, today’s stream ends here. If you haven’t subscribed, please do so—you’ll get a notification when I go live tomorrow.”

“Qin Ye, don’t go yet! It’s only 7:30—why sleep so early? Keep chatting.”

“Yeah, Qin Ye.”

“Host, keep going—I love watching you.”

“Ten billion gifts sent: A pair of glasses for the host—keep streaming.”

“Heaven, Earth, I’m the greatest sent: A sports car for Qin Ye—don’t end the stream so early.”

“...”

Watching the gifts flood in, Qin Yun couldn’t help but bow to the five pecks of rice.

But by 8:30 PM, he still signed off—he needed to rise early tomorrow, and the encounter with the Northeast Tiger had weighed heavily on him.

You feel intense pressure just seeing a tiger in a zoo, let alone encountering one in the wild.

Although he never faced one directly, the psychological pressure of knowing a Northeast Tiger is chasing you is obvious.

…

At this moment, in an office building in Beijing.

Several computers displayed clips of key moments from Qin Yun’s broadcasts; one executive was speaking to several individuals who clearly held senior positions.

“This is an outdoor streamer on our platform. I had the marketing team analyze his profile—he’s a potential top-tier streamer.”

“Manager Liu, what are you getting at?”

Liu Wei said: “Aren’t we planning a show with America’s wilderness survival program? I propose nominating this man.”

One senior executive frowned: “He looks promising, but you know we only have two slots for the entire China region—and that’s only because we’re a co-producer.”

Another senior added: “Yes, he’s far behind Luo Jiahai.”

Luo Jiahai was a top outdoor streamer on Douyin, with thirty million followers—the platform’s most powerful outdoor streamer—though his focus was more on wilderness exploration than survival.

Liu Wei said: “I think a streamer so aligned with the theme could serve as a backup. Though his follower base is small, his audience loyalty is extremely high.”

If it was only a backup option, the senior executives immediately lost their objections—since they held the final decision anyway—they all agreed.