Chapter 76: Back-to-Back 1980

That evening, Qin Yun received five videos from Fang Nan, glanced through them, and expressed satisfaction.

Without hesitation, he uploaded all five videos directly to his account.

Fans who had been waiting for his full videos received notifications immediately; seeing him upload all five at once without dragging it out, they all praised Qin Ye for his generosity.

Zhao Liying, cycling on the hotel’s treadmill, finally felt her stomach settle. The taste was good, but indulgence had limits; she wiped sweat from her forehead, sighing helplessly.

Celebrities, especially female ones, eat less than babies just to look good on camera; their dietary discipline is often beyond ordinary people’s endurance, each of them harsher on themselves than anyone else.

“Miss Zhao!”

At that moment, Xiao Zhan walked in, holding a phone, his face filled with emotion.

“Hmm? Need something?”

“Qin Ye just updated his videos—go check them out.”

Zhao Liying shook her head; she’d heard from Chen He about Qin Yun’s wilderness survival, but she wasn’t interested.

She merely leaned over to glance at Xiao Zhan’s phone, then quietly stepped aside to search for Qin Yun on her own phone and silently binge-watched.

Muscles, hormones, high looks—all combined—Zhao Liying instantly became interested.

“Mr. Qin, hello, I’m Liu Wei from TikTok’s content department.”

“Director Liu, hello—is this about last time’s contract?”

Though the caller was different, Qin Yun assumed it was still about the previous signing.

“Contract?” Liu Wei paused, then immediately understood—obviously, it wasn’t just him who’d noticed Qin Yun; other departments had too.

“No, Mr. Qin, I’m from the content department. I’m calling to share some good news.”

“Director Liu, please go ahead.”

Good news? Money?

Liu Wei said: “You’ve surely heard of the Wilderness Survival program, right? This year we signed a strategic partnership with the show’s team, and they gave us two slots. Because of your previous livestream, I recommended you—do you have any interest?”

Wilderness Survival?

He couldn’t possibly not know this internationally renowned survival show—though Chinese participants had rarely ever appeared. Now, for this TikTok collaboration, they’d allocated two slots.

But from Liu Wei’s tone, those two slots would surely be fiercely contested domestically.

After thinking it over, Qin Yun asked: “Is there a prize?”

Liu Wei replied immediately: “Past winners received a million-dollar prize. This year, due to our partnership, the show’s prize has been raised to two million U.S. dollars. If you survive thirty days, TikTok will award you two million RMB.”

Hearing this, Qin Yun was instantly tempted.

Two million U.S. dollars—at today’s exchange rate—that’s fifteen million RMB in prize money; according to Sister Ni, that’s nearly a hundred million.

“Director Liu, I’m very interested.”

Liu Wei immediately smiled: “Good—I’ll submit your info right away, skipping the preliminary rounds and moving you straight to final review. You’ll just need to attend the interview.”

Damn, having connections really does make things easier.

“Director Liu has that much faith in me?”

“I watched your livestream from start to finish. So far, I haven’t seen anyone in China better than you at wilderness survival.”

“Director Liu flatters me.”

“No flattery—your extensive wilderness knowledge ensures you can find food; your courage in single-handedly killing two wolves proves your strength; your exceptional practical skills make everything easier. These traits won’t guarantee you’ll stand out in Wilderness Survival, but your odds are high.”

After ending the call with Liu Wei, Qin Yun set the matter aside for now; the final interview was in mid-November, and the Wilderness Survival season wouldn’t begin until New Year’s Day, at Atlin Lake in Canada.

At this time of year, Canada was a frozen wasteland.

The difficulty level of Wilderness Survival was now at its peak.

Qin Yun had finished all his business in Hengdian; he planned to leave Jinhua tomorrow, head toward Quzhou, then enter Jiangxi to visit Jingdezhen.

But sometimes things don’t follow human will—next morning, while brushing his teeth, the system panel dropped down.

【Publish check-in task: Host must go to Pan’an Ski Resort and complete a back-to-back 1980 (two consecutive 1980° spins) on a snowboard, or a double-ski 2160 (double-ski 2160 off-axis spin) to complete check-in.】

Seeing the check-in task, Qin Yun muttered, “Damn.”

He’d just gained the skiing skill, and now it was already needed—but these two tasks felt oddly familiar, especially the snowboard one. He’d seen it somewhere before.

He searched on his phone and realized why—it was a move once consistently completed by a Chinese athlete, the only one ever to do so reliably in international competition.

He watched videos on TikTok, gained a clear understanding of the snowboard back-to-back 1980, then looked up the double-ski 2160. Both were extreme, but the double-ski version seemed harder; the snowboard’s challenge lay in executing two consecutive spins.

Although Qin Yun had mastered the skiing skill, he’d never actually tried it, so he couldn’t guarantee success—but since the system issued this task, it must have been based on his abilities; meaning, with Skiing Skill Level 1, he could accomplish it.

With this understanding, Qin Yun felt significantly more at ease.

At this point, Qin Yun’s five videos, after several hours of exposure, had surged in views, likes, comments, and shares, entering a larger traffic pool and drawing more viewers.

Moreover, the videos were professionally edited, paired with background music, rich in atmosphere, and expertly cut by Fang Nan.

“After watching Qin Ye’s wilderness survival, other outdoor livestreams on Douyu feel boring and unstimulating.”

“Snakes, wolves, rabbits, escapes, tigers, rafting, rock climbing—all in one streamer? You know how top-tier Qin Ye is.”

“Forget domestic outdoor streamers—even foreign masters can’t compare to Qin Ye.”

“That’s overdoing it—we can’t even compare ourselves to foreign masters.”

“Don’t boost others and dim ourselves—Qin Ye is the best.”

On every video’s comment section, countless comments clashed: some awed by Qin Yun’s prowess, others analyzing exactly why he was so good. Of course, trolls were inevitable—but under such hardcore content, they were instantly drowned, soaked in criticism.

Amid this surge of popularity, each video’s like count skyrocketed, soon appearing on TikTok’s trending list. His follower count surged again.

The next morning, he checked: his followers had jumped from over five million to seven million.

Lin Yao accidentally scrolled past it; Shi Lulu did too.

They stared at him, dumbfounded—this near-ten-million-follower mega-streamer was Qin Yun?

Shi Lulu felt wounded: such a huge streamer claimed he didn’t even have twenty thousand? That hurt.

Ignoring Shi Lulu’s resentful gaze, Qin Yun came to say goodbye to Lin Yao.

“Ah Yao, run your business well—I’m counting on you to repay me. Don’t give up lightly for trivial things.”

Lin Yao understood Qin’s implied meaning.

“Brother Qin, I will. Won’t you stay a few more days?”

“No, I’ve rested long enough—I need to prepare for my next livestream.”

Lin Yao’s eyes lit up: “Brother Qin, when’s your next stream? I’ll watch this time for sure.”

“Not certain yet—just follow my account. You’ll get a notification.” He waved and turned to leave, “I’m off. Goodbye.”

Throughout, he never spoke to Shi Lulu. Only after he drove away did she mutter discontentedly: “Ah Yao, does Senior think I was scamming you for money?”

“No, how could he?” Lin Yao immediately denied it, soothing her: “He just thinks your fan-photography job has no future.”

“Then why treat me like this?” Shi Lulu’s eyes turned red, staring at Lin Yao. “I just asked to borrow money—he’s a huge streamer, can’t even lend a few ten thousand? So stingy.”

“Don’t cry—I’m doing better now. When I earn money, I’ll invest in you.”

“Then lend me twenty thousand.”

…

After messaging Zhao Liying and Xiao Zhan on WeChat, Qin Yun left Dongyang and headed toward Pan’an.

From Hengdian Film City to Pan’an Ski Resort, the navigation showed seventy-two kilometers—about an hour and a half. Today he planned to adapt to his skiing skill inside the resort; tomorrow he’d livestream officially.

As for the check-in task, he’d just incorporate it into the livestream—it was only two moves, takeoff to landing, under a minute total.

Today, besides adapting his skill, he’d also plan the livestream content.

He’d checked Pan’an Ski Resort’s info yesterday: before last year, it was a small resort with only beginner and intermediate slopes. This year, it expanded—from 90,000 m² to 300,000 m².

Total slope length nearly four kilometers, twelve runs from beginner to expert, meeting needs from novices to pros—even featuring a large jump ramp built to Olympic standards.

Yet since its construction, few dared to try the jump ramp; those who did were all professional trainees. Normally, though open, the ramp stood empty.

To complete the check-in task, Qin Yun would have to use the jump ramp—but the entire livestream couldn’t be limited to just that.

Near noon, Qin Yun’s car arrived at Pan’an Ski Resort’s parking lot.

But after visiting the equipment rental counter, he left quietly, planning to buy professional gear in town. Ordinary gear was fine for casual skiing—but for the tricks he planned to attempt, equipment had to be flawless; even minor flaws could cause failure.

Level 1 is master-level, not legendary.