Chapter 78: Live Stream Launch

October 16, 8:40 a.m., morning light pierced the clouds over Pan’an Ski Resort, painting the white slopes a warm gold.

Qin Yun had already donned the gear sent by Huan Teng Sports and stood at the start of the advanced slope. His black professional snowboard had a matte finish; the matching snowsuit displayed a clear logo.

The main drone had been calibrated; control of the secondary drone was now handed over to Zhao Yajun and Li Xintian.

Because this was an extreme sport, while the main drone could use AI to lock onto him, the secondary drone required manual operation to capture better footage—otherwise, the high speed would render many shots unusable.

He spent over an hour teaching them yesterday, and the price was they had to work for him today.

He strapped on the DJI action camera; Su Huan’s voice crackled through his headphones, tinged with excitement: “Qin Yun, everything’s ready—you can start streaming anytime. Reservations have already surged past 180,000.”

Qin Yun nodded, pulled down his face shield, leaving only his eyes exposed: “Understood. I’ll go live sharp at nine.”

He stepped onto the board, glided lightly twice—he’d already tested Huan Teng’s gear, which was far superior to what he’d bought on impulse, though clearly not top-tier, it was more than sufficient for him.

It was lighter and more responsive than yesterday’s.

Zhao Yajun, controlling the secondary drone, felt equally excited, even nervous; the two huddled in a corner, far away, looking like snowmen with flushed cheeks, eager and ready to jump in.

“Xintian, how many people do you think will tune in for Qin Ye’s stream?”

Li Xintian shrugged: “How would I know?”

“Asking you is pointless—you’re not even a fan of Qin Ye.” Zhao Yajun turned to look at Qin Yun, admiration in her eyes: “Qin Ye is incredible. Not only is he handsome, he knows so much.”

“Crush on him?”

Zhao Yajun nodded without hesitation: “Obviously—if Qin Ye were my boyfriend, I’d give him a baby right now.”

Li Xintian blushed: “You’re shameless!”

“Hahahahaha!”

Soon, the final ten-second countdown began. Qin Yun clicked “Start Stream” on the main unit and signaled to Zhao Yajun—immediately, his distant figure appeared on screen.

“Hello everyone, I’m Qin Yun, a temporary enthusiast of extreme skiing. I’m currently at Pan’an Ski Resort in Jinhua. This resort spans 300,000 square meters and is one of Zhejiang’s top ski areas, featuring beginner, intermediate, and advanced slopes. Anyone interested is welcome to come try it out.”

After his opening remarks, Qin Yun noticed the comments refreshing at lightning speed.

“Holy shit, Qin Ye finally went live! I set eight alarms—I was terrified I’d miss it.”

“Wow, this snow scenery is gorgeous—morning light on fresh snow, atmosphere maxed out.”

“Qin Ye’s gear looks so cool—what brand is it? I’m getting a set too.”

“Anyone know snowboarding? That board under Qin Ye’s feet looks unusual.”

“Don’t ask—just check the storefront. It’s Huan Teng Sports, China’s top skiing brand.”

“Can Qin Ye even do this? I heard bad students have lots of gear—your setup’s so professional, don’t crash.”

“Trust Qin Ye!”

Looking at these comments, Qin Yun smiled: “All my gear is sponsored by Huan Teng Sports. Anyone into winter sports knows Huan Teng is China’s top brand—choosing their products won’t let you down. As for whether I can do it? A man doesn’t say ‘can’t.’ You’ll see soon enough.”

“Today I have two tasks. The first requires this snowboard under my feet.”

As he spoke, the live stream’s viewer count surged, soon surpassing 20,000. The comments were filled with fans’ anticipation and praise, but also skepticism and teasing. Even a few orders had already appeared in the storefront.

“Qin Ye, hurry up and tell us!”

“Isn’t Su Yiming, the Winter Olympics gold medalist, the best snowboarder in China?”

“What’s Qin Ye going to challenge?”

“Not some extreme difficulty trick, right?”

“Looking forward!”

Qin Yun adjusted his center of gravity. The slope he was on was a free-ride slope—the big air jump wasn’t here.

“My first personal goal is Su Yiming’s back-to-back 1980. But before that, I’ll demonstrate step by step—from basics to advanced—and explain some skiing tips. Newcomers, pay close attention.”

“By the way, all my gear—including the DJI equipment—is in the storefront. If you need any, take a look—the quality is unquestionable.”

His tone was natural, no forced product placement—he met sponsorship requirements without irritating fans.

The comments exploded with “Got it, got it!”; storefront orders surged again. Huan Teng Sports and DJI staff sent messages from the backend, expressing satisfaction repeatedly.

But the comment section was filled mostly with shocked emojis!

“Qin Ye, I won’t deny you’re awesome, but the back-to-back 1980 you’re attempting has insane difficulty—only Su Yiming can land it consistently on the international stage.”

“Streamer’s getting cocky. Waiting for the faceplant.”

“Qin Ye probably doesn’t even know what a back-to-back 1980 is. Globally, only a handful can land it.”

“Oh no, Qin Ye’s gotten arrogant.”

Of course, there was support too—but it felt mindless.

“Trust Qin Ye—he says he can do it, so he can.”

“I’m Qin Ye’s hardcore fan—if he says he can fly, I believe him.”

“Qin Ye is awesome—challenging limits, ready for the Olympics.”

Qin Yun ignored them. He jumped twice in place, then sent the main drone to his left, stabilizing its distance and angle—so that whenever he moved, the drone followed. At this speed, only the AI livestream drone he held could react quickly enough, calculating precisely—extremely demanding on the machine.

“Enough talk. Let’s begin.”

Qin Yun spoke, then no longer hesitated—he pushed off lightly, and the board shot forward down the advanced slope.

Zhao Yajun immediately controlled the drone to follow. With AI switching, three camera angles could shift seamlessly at any moment.

At first, Qin Yun didn’t show any high-difficulty moves—he opened with continuous carved turns. Feet planted on the board, body slightly leaned forward, core tight, the board’s edge cut cleanly into the snow—no skidding, leaving two smooth, neat arcs like musical notes drawn on white paper.

His movements were calm and elegant, speed moderate, each transition precise and crisp, weight shifts fluid and natural, no trace of clumsiness.

Most importantly, Qin Yun’s stream had an uplifting background score, synced with camera cuts—creating an immersive experience.

“Damn, I take back what I said—Qin Ye’s carving is textbook perfect.”

“Anyone who knows snowboarding, explain—what level is Qin Ye at?”

“Here we go—snowboard coach online. Qin Ye’s doing continuous large-radius carving: precise edge control, no skidding, stable center of gravity—high level. But we can’t judge anything else yet.”

“I’m a coach at Pan’an Ski Resort. Only our head coach here can match this—he’s a former provincial team athlete.”

“I thought Qin Ye was just doing this as a joke.”

In the footage, Qin Yun paid no attention to the comments—he couldn’t see them.

He continued adjusting, showing more advanced techniques. First, he slowed down and executed a flat 180-degree spin—smooth, no hesitation. Immediately after, he linked into a carved turn, the board edge slicing cleanly into the snow, leaving a perfect arc. Then he performed a backside 180-degree aerial spin: feet pushed hard, board launched, body rotated 180 degrees mid-air, grab move textbook-perfect, landing solid, board barely sliding.

This sequence flowed like water, seamless, no wasted motion.

The livestream erupted—viewer count had quietly surpassed 100,000.

At nine a.m. on a weekday morning, this was unimaginable.

“Snowboard Coach Niu (National Level 1 Athlete): Qin Ye’s foundation is rock-solid. Perfect center of gravity control, upper body stable, lower body power evenly distributed, precise edge angles, no extra movement—he’s unquestionably a master.”

“Ye Shen: From my professional view, the streamer is extremely skilled—conservatively on my level, maybe even better.”

“Holy shit, who’s up there? So good?”

“Damn, I checked—he’s Ye Kangjia, last year’s snowboard obstacle race champion. A legend in snowboarding.”

“Dual-ski competitor Lin Mo: As a dual-ski athlete, I don’t ride snowboards much, but Qin Ye’s stance? Absolutely elite—no doubt. Especially since Ye Shen said so.”

With these comments, the livestream exploded. Original skepticism vanished, replaced entirely by praise and awe. Viewer count skyrocketed.

“My god, all these legends are praising Qin Ye—he’s insane.”

“So Qin Ye isn’t just playing around—he’s actually skilled! I’m a fan now.”

“Huan Teng Sports just won big.”

“Qin Ye, give us something harder—let us see what you’ve got!”

Qin Yun seemed to sense the comments. After gliding further, he suddenly crouched low, pressed hard with his back foot on the tail, lifted gently with his front foot, using the board’s flex to launch himself airborne again. He tightened his core, balanced mid-air, hovered for a second, then landed smoothly—board barely touching the snow, no wobble.

He didn’t stop—executed three consecutive ollies, each smoother and higher than the last. On the final ollie, he added a simple grab mid-air, then immediately linked into a carved turn—motion stylish and flawless.

Fans erupted in cheers; comments flooded the screen with “So cool!” and “Qin Ye is awesome!” Viewer count broke 150,000; storefront orders hit their first peak.

“My god, three consecutive ollies, linked into carving—this skill is insane.”

“It’s not the technique—it’s the effortless control. It’s like Qin Yun’s doing these moves as easily as walking.”

“Incredible—is Qin Ye a snowboarder from birth?”

“Impressive, but I want to see something harder.”

At this point, the livestream wasn’t just filled with casual fans—many snowboarding professionals, even several athletes, had been pushed here by fellow enthusiasts.

Meanwhile, in Beijing, Anta Sports’ marketing director spotted this stream. Seeing the Huan Teng Sports logo on Qin Yun’s gear, he frowned.

He immediately called over a marketing manager: “Didn’t they come to us yesterday about sponsorship?”

He’d been busy yesterday and delegated it—now it seemed the deal fell through. Had they demanded too much?

The manager glanced at the viewer count and froze. Then said: “We offered to sponsor all his gear for free, but they wanted cash payment, so I refused.”

“What?”

The director stood up, stunned—not by the numbers, but by the manager’s stupidity. He snapped: “Did you even look into this? Look at the viewer count—over 100,000! Do you know how much we’d pay for a stream like this? Three million! How much did they ask for?”

“Th… thirty thousand.” The manager broke into sweat, stammering: “He’s not even a pro athlete—I thought he was just doing this for fun, so I—”

“So what? Do you have no brain—”

The director berated the manager until he was speechless. Meanwhile, Huan Teng Sports staff couldn’t stop grinning—this was exactly as the comment section said: they’d won big.

At this moment, Qin Yun had just landed from a 360-degree spin, leaving a beautiful S-shaped track on the snow.

This moderately difficult move ignited the livestream—fans’ gifts now filled the screen.

Qin Yun zoomed the drone’s view to the display, thanked viewers, and replied to a few selected comments.

“Warm-up’s done. Let’s get serious.”

“Qin Ye’s about to show off—everyone, step back.”

“Hahaha, that was warm-up? Is Qin Ye joking?”

“I feel like I’m about to cry—but if Qin Yun says it’s warm-up, then it’s warm-up.”

Ye Shen: If the streamer is as I suspect, this is merely a warm-up for him—I’m already looking forward to what comes next.