Chapter 94: A Difficult Ascent

“I was scared to death—I thought my heart stopped just now.”

“Qin Ye’s reflexes are divine—Miss Han just barely saved her life.”

“Oh no, Miss Han’s look at Qin Ye is different now.”

“Qin Ye is so cool—he reacted in time even like that, absolutely godlike.”

“So close—Miss Han almost didn’t make it.”

“Damn, we’ve barely started and it’s already this intense.”

The live stream comments scrolled rapidly, but Qin Yun didn’t look—they weren’t allowed to divert his attention even slightly; even speaking to the camera occasionally was already at his limit.

He looked up, and after the massive black rock fell, he heard more sounds rustling amid the debris.

“Don’t move.”

Qin Yun suddenly reached out and wrapped his arm around Han Wei’s waist, moving swiftly.

At the same time, a voice echoed through the live stream.

“After that large black rock fell, it triggered other rocks nearby—I must leave this section quickly, or there’ll be danger.”

As he spoke, more falling rocks suddenly appeared—small as fists, large as millstones—sliding continuously from the cliff face. The drone’s lens locked tightly onto the cliff, broadcasting every moment to the live stream.

Fang Yi’s car had long arrived at the company garage, but she never got out—her heart clenched tight, pounding like a drum, utterly terrified.

Qin Yun moved like a phantom, weaving nimbly between falling and loose rocks, now dodging left, now right, carrying Han Wei and narrowly avoiding each falling stone.

His movements were fluid and effortless, with no wasted motion—each dodge was pinpoint precise, as if he could foresee the trajectory of every falling rock.

Han Wei was held close to him, feeling his steady, powerful heartbeat and broad chest—and her panic, miraculously, settled into calm.

She had seen outstanding men before in her life, but this was the first time she felt overwhelming safety from a man.

After several minutes, the two finally burst out of the ice avalanche fan zone, reaching the starting point at the base of the north cliff. He released Han Wei and turned back—the ice avalanche fan behind them still shed loose stones, but the noise was gradually fading.

He watched silently for a while, waiting until the ice avalanche fan calmed, then turned his gaze forward.

A near-vertical cliff loomed ahead, ice and rock interwoven, as if sneering.

“You okay?” He looked at Han Wei.

Han Wei shook her head, her face still pale: “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Qin Ye is insane—carrying someone and still moving so easily.”

“This stamina… this strength… unbelievable.”

“So badass—I think Qin Ye could crush me with one hand.”

“Miss Han’s eyes are glued to Qin Ye—she’s totally fallen for him.”

Qin Yun didn’t reply to the comments. He guided the drone upward slightly, pointing at a steep snow slope ahead: “Next is a mixed section of scree and glacier, from 4,200 to 5,100 meters—C1 camp is just ahead.”

The drone slowly ascended and pulled back, revealing the entire route clearly to the live stream.

Many viewers soon spotted over a dozen figures on screen.

They were members of the Peak Climbers Alliance and the Storm Mountaineering Team—they had already advanced over a hundred meters.

Qin Yun sensed his body’s changes—he was certain the Sherpa adaptation ability was a divine skill; after such intense movement, he felt absolutely no discomfort.

It was almost ridiculous.

He was almost certain his blood oxygen saturation was above 98%, and his blood pressure was normal.

For safety, he still brought three oxygen bottles.

These weren’t ordinary oxygen tanks—they were high-pressure oxygen, usable continuously for three to four hours.

Many think altitude sickness means just taking a couple breaths when you feel short of breath—but oxygen therapy must be continuous; a few breaths won’t help.

The body needs time to adapt.

This section is full of glacier crevasses—both visible and hidden, some covered by thin snow and invisible to the naked eye; one misstep could send you plunging straight into the abyss.

After speaking, Qin Yun pulled out ropes and quickly tied knots, securing himself and Han Wei together with a safety line, keeping a distance of about five meters.

Looking at Han Wei’s pale face, Qin Yun asked softly: “How are you feeling? Any discomfort?”

Han Wei bit her lip and firmly shook her head: “No, I’m fine.”

Qin Yun studied her, as if searching her eyes—but she met his gaze stubbornly, showing no trace of guilt or weakness.

“Good.” Qin Yun nodded. “Stay like this. I’ll lead ahead—follow my footsteps exactly, not a single step wrong, understood?”

“Understood!” Han Wei nodded vigorously. She already felt slight pain, but it wasn’t serious.

Qin Yun said no more. He gripped his ice axe, stepped onto the steep snow slope, driving the axe deep into the ice and snow to anchor himself, his climbing boots ascending steadily step by step.

Han Wei followed behind him, matching his pace exactly.

Over a hundred meters ahead, a team member nudged Yang Jia beside him.

“Captain, look at them.”

Yang Jia turned back, raising an eyebrow silently—useless to reason with someone determined to die.

“Ignore them. Keep going.”

The Storm Mountaineering Team saw Qin Yun and Han Wei. The Peak Climbers Alliance saw them too.

But out here, everyone was an adult—though thoughts varied, a glance was enough; none paid them further attention.

Qin Yun occasionally glanced up at them—the hundred-meter distance wasn’t far; though wind and snow blew, visibility remained clear.

They were truly professional, moving cautiously—each step carefully tested, only advancing after confirming safety.

Han Wei couldn’t focus on them—this was her first true step into the north cliff zone. Though she knew it would be hard, the sudden rockfall at the start had crushed her psychologically.

And while Qin Yun seemed to drive his ice axe in effortlessly, when she tried, her axe either didn’t sink deep enough or her crampons slipped—after just a few steps, she’d slide unpredictably, heart pounding in terror.

Qin Yun turned his gaze back to her, sensing her struggle.

He tightened the rope, giving her support: “Lower your center of gravity, lean forward—never lean back. Drive your ice axe deep into the ice and snow, use your arms, not your legs.”

Han Wei obeyed. As time passed, she slowly began to adapt.

The drone had been pulled far back, its lens capturing the entire snow slope and the two tiny figures.

Watching those two small figures slowly ascending, the live stream comments ranged wildly.

“The scenery is so beautiful—I’d love to try this someday.”

“Nature’s masterful artistry.”

“I envy Qin Ye and Miss Han.”

“It looks so dangerous—right above a sheer abyss.”

“I feel like I could fall at any second.”

“Those two climbing teams are moving pretty fast.”

As time passed and altitude rose, the air at 4,700 meters became extremely thin—oxygen levels halved compared to sea level. Qin Yun didn’t need to turn—he could hear Han Wei’s labored breathing.

He looked ahead—the C1 camp was still about three hundred meters up. Those two teams had almost certainly reached it already.

Han Wei felt as if a giant hand was crushing her chest—each breath brought sharp pain, her vision darkening, ears ringing.

She was frustrated—she’d felt fine just moments ago, yet the altitude sickness struck so suddenly.

“Altitude sickness?”

At that moment, a voice came beside her ear.

Han Wei turned her head—Qin Yun stood to her left. She bit her lip and nodded weakly: “I… I can’t catch my breath…”

Qin Yun sighed inwardly—4,700 meters, and they hadn’t even reached C1 yet, and she was already suffering.

Han Wei felt she’d used all her strength just standing—climbing was impossible. Qin Yun first placed the oxygen mask over her face, then inserted the oxygen tube from his pack into the connector.

As he turned it on, oxygen flowed—after a moment, her complexion improved slightly.

But it was still abnormal—her exhaustion was visibly obvious.

Qin Yun sighed softly. But before he could speak, Han Wei seemed to sense it—she raised her right hand and pressed it against his arm.

She shook her head, her eyes pleading: “Give me fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes.”

The live stream viewers watched every moment.

“Why is Miss Han pushing herself so hard?”

“I heard climbers say: no rescue above five thousand meters. Aren’t we already past five? What will Qin Ye do?”

“Qin Ye, Miss Han clearly can’t make it—get her down now.”

“Yeah, altitude sickness isn’t a joke—she’s already severely affected before even reaching C1. She can’t go on.”

“It’s heartbreaking to see.”

Far away in Shanghai, Fang Yi watched her daughter’s exhausted state on the stream—her ashen, bluish face tore at her heart.

She wished more than anything that this man called Qin Ye would immediately bring her daughter down.

But she knew her daughter’s nature better than anyone.

Just as stubborn as her sister.

Qin Yun didn’t pay attention to the live stream. He looked into Han Wei’s eyes, hesitated slightly, then nodded: “Fine. Fifteen minutes. If you can’t hold on, we turn back to base camp.”

Han Wei nodded gently, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply.

Altitude sickness varies by person—some get it at 3,000 meters, others feel nothing at 4,000, but collapse suddenly past 4,500.

Han Wei had come to the north cliff base camp many times—she’d been adapting. But this altitude sickness struck unexpectedly. Still, she trusted her body’s resilience.

It wouldn’t reach its limit this soon.

The two climbing teams reached C1 camp and began setting up. Though the camp was small, two tents were sufficient.

Xia Cuo of the Peak Climbers Alliance glanced back toward their path, a lingering unease in his chest.

“I wonder if they’ve turned back yet?”

Soon, fifteen minutes passed.

Qin Yun asked again: “Can you keep going?”

After fifteen minutes of continuous oxygen intake, Han Wei’s darkened consciousness cleared, and her overall condition improved significantly.

She looked up at the distant, blurred cliff face, clenched her fists, and nodded firmly: “Yes, I can still walk.”

She couldn’t stop—she hadn’t reached the place where her sister vanished, hadn’t apologized to her sister, hadn’t brought her sister home. She couldn’t stop here.

Qin Yun saw the stubbornness in her eyes, said nothing more, and simply nodded: “Alright, keep going. I’ll slow down.”

The two resumed climbing, but Qin Yun’s attention was mostly fixed on Han Wei.

Altitude sickness isn’t something oxygen can fix in a short time; once it sets in, it worsens with increasing elevation.

From his observation, Han Wei’s condition was deteriorating again—her steps grew heavier, and she slipped several times, each time pulled back by him with the rope.

Through the rope, he could clearly feel her weakness—the strength on the other end was fading, her breathing labored like a broken bellows, even oxygen couldn’t ease it.

“The C1 camp is just ahead. We’ll rest there.”

Qin Yun’s voice gave Han Wei strength; she moved upward step by step.

Another ten minutes passed, and the rope in Qin Yun’s hand suddenly tightened—Han Wei’s legs gave out, she lost her balance, gasping heavily, her face turning blue-purple, her eyes glazed.

Qin Yun quickly pulled the rope upward, then rushed to Han Wei, felt her pulse and forehead, and frowned deeply.

Damn it—fever, oxygen deprivation, total physical exhaustion—she’d hit her absolute limit.

In just these few minutes, her condition had collapsed rapidly.

“Han Wei, I’m sorry. Your condition no longer allows you to continue. For your own life, I must get you down the mountain immediately.”

Hearing Qin Yun’s voice, Han Wei shook her head unconsciously: “No… no, I can still go… I have to bring my sister home… Sister… sis… I’m sorry…”

On camera, the wind howled like wailing ghosts. Han Wei slumped in Qin Yun’s arms, breathing rapidly, lips purple, eyes sunken—her once stunning face now only pale, frail, and sickly.

Qin Yun looked up at the steep cliff face. The drone floated gently to rest before him, its lens aimed at him.

“Brothers, you’ve seen the situation—Han Wei’s body can’t hold out any longer. I must get her down immediately. Once she’s safe, I’ll return right away and continue our journey.”