Chapter 96: Heart-Stopping

Not just Xia Cuo, but all other members of the Climber’s Alliance and the Storm Mountaineering Team stared in stunned silence at the scene unfolding far away, beyond their comprehension.

Yang Jia opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

Each strike of that ice axe seemed to shatter her understanding, making her feel her years of mountaineering had lost much of their pride.

Online viewers watching the tiny figure crawling across the alternating white and black ice wall grew increasingly eager for what came next.

At this altitude, ordinary people struggle to breathe, let alone perform such extreme physical feats.

Although most people can adapt to altitudes of four or five thousand meters, for the vast majority, it remains a massive challenge.

Oxygen deprivation, freezing cold, rock climbing—any one of these is beyond the easy reach of an ordinary person.

But these obstacles, before Qin Yun, were now being shattered one ice axe strike at a time.

Fortunately, the weather was good—no snowfall—otherwise climbers would have had no choice but to wait.

Qin Yun glanced toward the direction of Camp C2, then adjusted his course; soon, the drone’s camera abruptly switched, revealing a thousand-meter abyss below, no longer Camp C1.

“Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Bro Qin is legendary, so bold—I’m sweating in my palms.”

“666, one misstep and it’s Amitabha.”

“The streamer is insane—hardcore to the extreme.”

“…”

Comments flooded in, gifts poured endlessly, and the like count in the top-left corner soared to an astonishing number—thirty million.

Beneath him lay a thousand-meter abyss; above him stretched endless ice walls—yet Qin Yun walked as if on flat ground.

This extreme pressure and stark contrast made viewers utterly hooked. Every new viewer was instantly locked in by the screen within seconds.

Even without speech—only the howling wind and Qin Yun’s breath—this visual allure kept everyone from leaving once they entered.

After advancing about seventy or eighty meters, Qin Yun gripped his ice axe in his left hand and hooked his right hand onto a protruding rock ledge. He paused briefly as the camera slowly zoomed in.

He glanced at the viewer count on his display and smiled: “Friends, we’ve got quite a few people now—I guess I should reintroduce myself.”

“Bro Qin, no need—you’re just a temporary climber.”

“Yeah, we don’t need to know much about temporary workers.”

“Pfft… temporary worker? What’s that?”

“Bro Qin, just climb your mountain. Who doesn’t know you’re a temp? That’d be too ignorant.”

Seeing these comments, Qin Yun couldn’t help but laugh and sigh.

“No, that won’t do. Many new viewers might not know. Hello everyone, I’m Qin Yun, a temporary mountaineering enthusiast, currently attempting Yaomei Peak in Xiao Jin County, Sichuan. I’m currently at roughly 5,280 meters, about a hundred meters below Camp C2.”

“The stretch from Camp C1 to C2 is extremely dangerous—among the most difficult sections of Yaomei Peak. It includes steep mixed ice-rock terrain, rated M5, and rock faces at difficulty level 5.8. I must emphasize: this is a dangerous activity—do not imitate.”

“Bro Qin is hilarious.”

“Haha, I don’t understand a word Bro Qin says.”

“Look at this, folks.”

Viewers in the stream laughed, spat out drinks, and the atmosphere was lively.

Some viewers asked: Bro Qin, what does this difficulty rating mean?

Qin Yun immediately replied: “Mountaineering has many grading systems—French international, North American. We generally use the North American system.”

“For example, the route I’m on now is rated M5/VI. M5 means some sections are near-vertical or fully vertical, requiring dry-tooling skills. The VI refers to time—from I to VII, it ranges from hours to over a week.”

“VI typically takes several days to complete.”

He pointed to a distant spot: “That’s Camp C2. I plan to camp there tonight and summit in one push tomorrow.”

As he finished speaking—*crack!*—a faint snapping sound echoed through the stream.

A patch of ice beneath Qin Yun’s foot suddenly loosened and broke away; his body instantly lost support and began sliding downward.

“!!!”

“Holy shit, ice cracked? What happened?”

“Did Bro Qin slip?”

Hearing the sound, every viewer in the stream was startled, hearts leaping into their throats.

At this critical moment, Qin Yun’s eyes sharpened—he instantly grabbed a secondary ice axe from the side of his backpack. As he plunged downward, he yanked the axe free and slammed it hard into the ice above.

*Hssss—!*

The secondary axe held firm; combined with his primary axe, already embedded securely, his body halted mid-air—only his feet dangled, suspended entirely by the two ice axes.

The drone’s AI understood streaming—upon detecting crisis, the camera instantly pulled back, capturing the full scene.

Watching Qin Yun hanging from the ice wall, the tension surged to its peak—danger and thrill reached their zenith.

“Shit shit shit shit… a plant.”

“6666666”

“Bro Qin is legendary (screaming)”

“Holy crap, scared the hell out of me.”

For an ordinary person, holding on with just hands would last seconds—but longtime fans who knew Qin Yun’s wilderness survival feats knew this was already a very safe situation for him.

Qin Yun’s voice came through the microphone.

“Brothers, death is like the wind—it’s always with me. Dangerous for you? For me, it’s nothing.”

“Damn, still showing off at a time like this—but I have to admit, it’s impressive.”

“Bro Qin, stop showing off and just hold on!”

“666”

After speaking, Qin Yun showed no panic—he engaged his core, explosive strength surging through his body, found new footholds with his feet, and steadied himself firmly on a harder layer of ice.

After this, he pulled his left ice axe free, thrust it upward with force, driving it deep into the ice, and spoke again.

“Whether mountaineering or rock climbing—it’s always like this. Even if you’re certain of your foothold, you never know what will happen next. So never panic. Once you panic, you’re done.”

“That just looked dangerous—but my heart rate didn’t even go above ninety.”

“From now on, we’ll call you the Show-off King.”

“Mom asked why I’m kneeling while watching the stream.”

“Bro Qin shows off, but he’s undeniably legendary.”

“That reaction speed, that mental fortitude—unbelievable.”

“I almost threw my phone away just now.”

“Bro Qin, you’re a god.”

Not just them—even Liu Wei on Douyin, Qin Yun’s classmates and friends, his ex-wife Song Ya, and others who knew him—all stared at the man on screen as if seeing a stranger.

Especially Song Ya, his ex-wife—each time she watched Qin Yun’s stream, she felt he must be possessed by a Saiyan. Otherwise, how could he be this incredible?

No matter how little she cared for him, she knew the Qin Yun she lived with was nothing like this.

But after the divorce, he became like he’d unlocked a cheat code.

It was as if divorce lifted a seal on Qin Yun—now we’re parted in peace, but how am I supposed to find peace?

Song Ya couldn’t say she had no regrets. Comparing the wealthy Zhang Tao to the man on screen, her heart felt gnawed.

The more successful he became, the more she felt like a failure.

Su Huan, far away in Hangzhou, had nearly missed a heartbeat—each time she watched Qin Yun’s stream, her pulse raced violently. She wanted to stop watching, but couldn’t.

Qin Yun—a man who made her heart race every single time.

At that moment, a flood of Carnival gifts suddenly appeared on the stream—instantly, the top donor slot changed hands.

“Holy shit, top donor turned into top donor sister—is this Miss Flirt?”

“Miss Flirt? That’s just Han Wei.”

“Sister Han is awesome, so generous.”

“I counted—fifty Carnivals. Holy crap, 150,000 yuan gone.”

“Bro Polaris, don’t let Miss Flirt crush you.”

Bo Lang Ge, Zeng Luo, watched this and smiled, ignoring it.

He knew Han Wei—if she wanted to be top donor, he wouldn’t make things awkward.

At this moment, the stream wasn’t just filled with Bo Lang Ge and Miss Flirt—it also hosted many top Douyin streamers and celebrities.

Especially those streamers—their expressions were complex. Such a formidable streamer had risen so suddenly, with no warning at all.

Compared to this streamer’s hardcore feats, their own efforts felt meaningless.

Because they could be replaced—old ones fade, new ones emerge. But Qin Yun? He was irreplaceable—so rare.

He was a natural traffic magnet.

Even if they had the skill, none would dare operate like this. As the saying goes: walk by the river often enough, you’ll get your shoes wet. In extreme sports, one mistake means death.

In the video, Qin Yun continued climbing—this stretch was truly an extreme section.

Had his rock-climbing skill not reached master level, and had he not possessed the Sherpa’s natural adaptation, even oxygen deprivation alone would have crippled him.

But now, one terrifying extreme point after another was effortlessly dismantled by his flawless technique.

Another hour passed; the sky began to darken.

Qin Yun gripped his ice axe in his right hand, flicked his left wrist—the camera showed his Casio watch: “It’s 6:30 PM now, temperature minus twenty-eight degrees. Sunset is in less than fifteen minutes—I must speed up.”

He tucked the watch away, pulled down his face guard. Instantly, the camera captured his breath: within seconds, frost coated his eyebrows and eyelashes, his exhales thick with white vapor.

Yet his eyes remained bright, showing no fatigue.

“See that?” he readjusted his guard and said, “This temperature is freezing—nature’s giant refrigerator. Luckily, the sportswear sponsored by Huan Teng Sports keeps my body temperature stable. And the drone? Even in this cold, it’s running perfectly—no glitches. I have to say: Made in China is awesome.”

Qin Yun casually dropped three ads in a few sentences—many viewers hadn’t even registered it yet.

By the time he realized it, Qin Yun had already continued climbing upward.

“666, Brother Qin’s ad was so unexpected—you wouldn’t even notice unless you thought about it.”

“Hahaha, the stuff in Brother Qin’s window is seriously expensive, but I have to say, it’s truly a point of national pride.”

“Since Brother Qin is going through so much trouble climbing, I’ll reluctantly place an order.”

Not long after, sales for all three brands in Qin Yun’s window surged dramatically, making the brands monitoring his livestream feel the contract was well worth it—especially Casio and DJI.

“Phew—!”

A falling wind stone skimmed past his body; Qin Yun twisted and lunged sideways, then landed firmly on a narrow ledge.

“Friends, I’ve reached Camp C2 on the north face of Yaomei Peak. It’s extremely narrow—look up above me, doesn’t it look like an eave? This platform barely fits a sleeping pad; there’s barely any space, so no tent can be pitched. I’ll just have to make do for the night—this is going to be a rough one.”

He sat cross-legged on the ledge; though there was overhead cover, there was none on either side, and the wind howled fiercely, the temperature bitterly low.

“Just watching Brother Qin sit there, I feel totally safe—I want to go there too.”

“Same here, Brother Qin looks pretty smug.”

“Minus thirty degrees? Are you trying to die?”

Qin Yun chatted a bit longer with his livestream viewers, then signed off as night fell.