Chapter 79: Ultimate Challenge

"Warm-up’s done. Let’s get serious now."

Facing the camera, Qin Yun’s breathing was perfectly steady, his words brimming with confidence.

Netizens in the comments thought he was being excessive—this was just warm-up?

"If it were me, I’d already be done. But Qin Ye says this is just warm-up."

"You’re awesome. You’re incredible."

"Qin Ye, give us something more thrilling!"

"Ye Shen: If the streamer is as I suspect, this really is just warm-up for him—I’m already looking forward to what’s next."

"Professional snowboarder Chen Xue: I, a professional, am now taking notes while learning."

Qin Yun stopped watching the screen and sent the drone back to its original position. He took a deep breath, adjusted his rhythm, bent his knees slightly, then exploded forward—the snowboard surged down the slope.

Speed increased rapidly; wind howled past his ears, the snow surface blurring beneath his feet.

*Crash!*

At the perfect spot, he launched into the air, spinning swiftly—once, twice, 720°, a full double rotation—fluid and fast. Even mid-air, he executed a Melon grab, his posture elegant and stylish, hanging in the air far longer than seemed possible.

The entire sequence was captured by the drone, making viewers feel as if they were right there. Watching Qin Yun launch into the sky, everyone held their breath.

The next instant, he landed steadily, the board slicing precisely into the snow without a single tremor. Immediately after landing, he shifted his center of gravity and flowed seamlessly into a series of carved turns—flawless, without a single mistake.

The live stream erupted again; comments flooded the screen, gifts poured in like a tide, and concurrent viewers surged past two hundred thousand—breaking Qin Yun’s all-time high.

"Holy shit, Qin Ye is insane."

"Qin Ye, you’re about to take off! Forget the back-to-back challenge—just this alone proves you really know how to ride."

"Wow, he’s stronger than many pros. Qin Ye, what did you do before this?"

"Professional snowboarder Chen Xue: He really is stronger than many pros—like me. I can do it too, but not as fluidly, naturally, or precisely as Qin Ye. I think his level could compete in the Winter Olympics."

"Wait, seriously? Then why is Qin Ye even streaming?"

Qin Yun glided further, his voice carrying through the mic: "This 720° with Melon grab is an advanced snowboarding technique. It’s about mastering the rhythm of two consecutive 360° rotations—requiring full power on takeoff and stable posture. You must overcome centrifugal force and keep your core tight. Especially the Melon grab: your posture must be open, and the grab must sync perfectly with the rotation."

"Qin Ye, stop talking—I still couldn’t learn it even if you explained it."

"Is this streamer trying to teach us?"

"Hahaha, I understand every word Qin Ye says, but put together, I’m completely illiterate."

Qin Yun pushed harder, accelerating again.

"Guys, 720° is nothing—it’s just the threshold between amateur and pro. At the Winter Olympics, 1980° rotations are standard in finals."

After speaking, he launched again, flawlessly completing another 720° with a grab.

"Heh, do you even hear what you’re saying?"

"Incredible! Is there anything Qin Ye can’t do?"

"I just ordered the same Huan Teng snowboard and suit as Qin Ye’s."

"Up there—you’ve got the same gear as Qin Ye, but you don’t have his skill."

"Ouch!"

"Now I believe Qin Ye when he said he’d challenge the back-to-back 1980."

"So you didn’t believe him before?"

"Who the hell would believe it? Su Yiming’s the only one who can do it. You tell me you’re going to attempt it—I figured you were just bragging."

After performing several more tricks of varying difficulty, Qin Yun carved a massive arc into the snow to stop, then removed his board and pulled the drone closer.

"I think it’s time. Let’s fulfill the bold claim I made at the start—challenge the ultimate snowboarding move: the back-to-back 1980. Support me, follow along, and grab the lucky red packets!"

"Can’t wait! I’m already getting warm."

"Oh my god, don’t mess this up—it could be deadly if you fail."

"I just looked it up—back-to-back 1980 means two consecutive 1980° rotations, totaling 3960°. Only Su Yiming can land it consistently."

"Damn, I get dizzy after a 360°—3960°? Is he even human?"

"Ye Shen: Too bad I’m not there in person."

"666"

The live stream was electric—comments and gifts never stopped. With such massive concurrent viewership, even just tips amounted to a staggering sum. The already decent sponsorship fees were now utterly negligible beside the flood of gifts.

"Qin Ye, don’t be reckless! This move is too dangerous—if you get hurt, it’s over."

"Yeah, Qin Ye, no need to attempt such a high-difficulty trick."

"Professional snowboarder Chen Xue: Qin Ye, you’re incredibly brave. I’ve tried this move myself—even with full protective gear, I failed. The difficulty and risk are too high. Please be cautious and stay safe."

"Snowboard coach Niu (National Level 1 Athlete): Unbelievable. I thought you were just joking—but you’re serious?"

"Dual-ski competitor Lin Mo: Just imagining it feels impossible. The whole world has only one Su Shen. How could an unknown amateur possibly achieve what so many elite athletes can’t?"

Qin Yun read the comments and replied gratefully: "Thank you all for your concern and support. I know this move is extremely difficult and dangerous, but I want to challenge my own limits—and show everyone just how magnificent snowboarding truly is. Don’t worry—I’ll prepare thoroughly, prioritize safety, and give it my all."

"Po Lang gave the streamer ten Carnival gifts—Qin Ye, go for it!"

"Feng Liu gave the streamer ten Carnival gifts—Qin Ye, go for it!"

"Ultraman gave..."

A string of Carnival gifts streamed by—most netizens were stunned. One Carnival gift was 3,000 yuan. Ten meant 30,000. How many times 30,000 was this?

Some bitter netizens ranted: The state should ban these internet celebrities—morally corrupt, ruining kids. No wonder everyone’s fleeing to self-media now—who’ll bother with real economy anymore?

"Idiot. Verified."

"If you could make money in this field, I bet you’d be the first to jump in."

"Fool! Classic sour grapes."

Qin Yun ignored the trolls. He picked up his board and walked up the slope, saying: "Thanks for the gifts—I won’t thank you all individually, there’s just too many. You’re making me feel like I’ve earned enough to retire."

"Hahaha, Qin Ye, stop joking."

"Qin Ye, you were born for this."

"This popularity is insane. Even big streamers with tens of millions of followers aren’t this impressive."

"How many followers does Qin Ye have now? Over ten million?"

"Long ago. I checked—he’s at twelve million and still growing."

"Incredible!"

Soon, chatting all the way, Qin Yun returned to the slope’s starting point. He stood with feet parallel on the board, body slightly crouched, core tight, arms hanging naturally at his sides.

He closed his eyes, mentally replaying every motion of the back-to-back 1980. The snowboarding skill granted by the system flowed through his limbs like instinct.

The takeoff point, rotation speed, grab timing, landing cushion, and transition rhythm for the second jump—every detail was etched into his mind, flawless, without the slightest deviation.

In that moment, the live stream fell silent. Everyone held their breath, afraid to disturb Qin Yun.

At the Hengdian Tianyun Mountain Legendary Drama set, Zhao Liying and Xiao Zhan, having just finished filming, rushed over and opened their phones. Seeing the live stream’s viewer count, they both gasped.

They’d underestimated this man’s influence.

Zhao Liying considered herself top-tier on Douyin, confident her streams regularly exceeded 100,000 viewers—but she couldn’t guarantee it every time.

Stars rely on mystery and distance. Once those vanish, people grow used to them.

Xiao Zhan felt the same.

Both quickly dismissed their thoughts, focusing entirely on the man on screen.

"What are you two looking at?"

Director Lü’s voice suddenly sounded beside them.

"Shut up!"

Their simultaneous reply left Director Lü annoyed, but he couldn’t protest. He leaned in, thinking: It’s just snowboarding—what’s so interesting? Did the Winter Olympics start again? It’s only October!

Inner calm allowed Qin Yun to focus entirely. He suddenly opened his eyes—his gaze resolute, piercing. The drone zoomed in, revealing eyes that glowed with startling intensity. He inhaled deeply, pushed off gently, and the board began a slow glide down the slope.

In the drone’s view, snow blurred beneath Qin Yun’s feet, fine snow spray splashing against his pant cuffs, leaving faint traces.

As the jump ramp neared, he knew the moment had come. He tightened his core, crouched low, knees under maximum pressure, storing all his power in his legs. He pressed hard against the tail of the Huan Teng board, using its powerful flex to launch into the air—like an eagle breaking free, soaring upward.

At takeoff, his body leaned slightly forward, arms pulled tightly to his sides, then thrust to initiate rotation—the first 1980° began.

Zhao Yajun controlled the secondary drone to capture the full scene, while the main drone, closer, recorded every motion. His head-mounted camera provided a first-person view.

His body spun rapidly in midair, gripping the board edge precisely, speed blurring him into a streak. First circle, second, third—rotation fluid and swift, no hesitation. Snow spray whipped into a miniature vortex by his spin, spectacular to behold.

Fourth, fifth, half of the sixth—when the 1980° completed, he precisely controlled the rotation, maintaining core tension, then landed smoothly.

"Holy shit—he took off! Qin Ye’s flying!"

"Rotation speed is insane—doesn’t he get dizzy?"

"One, two... half of the fifth—first rotation’s almost done!"

"Incredible! Qin Ye is incredible!"

The barrage exploded the moment Qin Yun launched—everyone’s breath seemed to release at once.

But no one looked away—back-to-back means he must complete the second rotation. That’s the true difficulty.

Qin Yun spread his arms, adjusted his posture, and precisely sliced the board edge into the snow, creating a faint mist. Then, with perfect muscle memory and center-of-gravity control, he surged upward again—speed unchanged, the second jump ramp now right before him.

…………