Otaku Translation: Honey Badger's Streaming Life C100

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The sun had risen, but the forest mist lingered stubbornly, reluctant to disperse under the thick canopy of leaves. It would likely take until noon for the fog to fully clear. Meanwhile, the rising temperature combined with moisture evaporating from the ground made the air inside the woods oppressively humid and sticky.

Annoyed, Wang Ping kicked at the layer of fallen needles blanketing the forest floor.

The Greater Khingan Range was a classic cold-temperate coniferous forest. The leaf litter here wasn’t composed of densely packed short needles clinging to tiny twigs; instead, it consisted of long, horse-tail-like clusters of pine needles bundled together at their tips.

Needles everywhere. Needles, needles, needles. After walking just a short while, Wang Ping's paws were clogged with them, wedged uncomfortably between his claws. And as if that weren’t irritating enough, these coniferous forests were dominated by resinous pines. Many species secreted copious amounts of oily sap, making the fallen needles not only prickly but also disgustingly sticky.

“The early bird catches the worm.”

At first, Wang Ping thought this saying was purely metaphorical—a lesson about diligence. But no, it turned out to be disturbingly literal.

Now, amidst the trees, birdsong filled the air. Woodpeckers hammered away at tree bark, their rhythmic “thunk-thunk-thunks” echoing far into the distance. The sound grated on Wang Ping’s nerves—or rather, his badger instincts.

Maybe I should catch one of those birds and eat it?

He mulled over the practicality of such an endeavor, weighing whether raw bird meat might be palatable. Alas, starting a fire was out of the question. Even though Gu Lang might not understand why, Wang Ping certainly did—and so did most people from China. Lighting a fire in the Greater Khingan wilderness wasn’t merely reckless—it was suicidal.

“Smack!”

A small piece of resin-coated pinecone fell from above, landing squarely on Wang Ping’s head and sticking fast.

“What the—what just hit me?!”

Wang Ping shook his head vigorously, but the offending object refused to budge. He pawed at it awkwardly, craning his neck until, finally, he managed to pry it loose.

Examining the shard of cone now coated with a few stray white hairs, he didn’t need a mirror to know his scalp was smeared with sticky sap.

“Damn it! Of all the rotten luck—to have something fall directly onto my head!”

Shaking off the debris, Wang Ping tossed the fragment aside and glanced back at Gu Lang trudging behind him. Climbing this kind of earthen hill differed greatly from scaling steep peaks like Mount Tai or Mount Hua. From a distance, the slopes seemed gentle enough, but appearances were deceiving. These soft, spongy layers of decomposing leaves offered zero stability. One misstep, and you’d tumble forward. Every step required grabbing onto nearby vegetation to maintain balance.

Moreover, once you entered the dense forest, visibility became practically nonexistent. Trees stretched endlessly in every direction, obscuring both path and destination. Even when reaching summits, the view remained obstructed by foliage. Beneath the canopy lay a chaotic tangle of shrubs, wildflowers, grasses, mushrooms, ferns—and worst of all, horsetails. These segmented plants jutted up from beneath the rotting leaves, sharp enough to scratch and brittle enough to snap under pressure. Grabbing hold of them during ascents often ended disastrously, leaving climbers face-first in piles of soggy leaves.

At this moment, Gu Lang had abandoned any pretense of bantering with the chatroom audience. Sweat poured down his face after barely an hour of climbing.

This was the route he’d chosen. Whether crawling or stumbling, he’d see it through.

Gritting his teeth, he leaned heavily on his trekking pole, using one hand to clutch saplings or tufts of grass as he staggered upward. Occasionally, his grip failed—like when a stalk of horsetail snapped mid-climb, sending him sprawling into the dirt. His tablet, secured in a Velcro pouch strapped to his chest, wobbled precariously, its camera capturing only glimpses of the surrounding chaos.

Meanwhile, viewers in the live stream watched the jittery footage, hearing nothing but Gu Lang’s labored breathing and catching occasional shots of Wang Ping venting his frustration by kicking leaves and rocks.

Ironically, the spectacle drew even more viewers. By morning, the stream’s popularity surged past 100,000 concurrent viewers, catapulting it onto the front page of the outdoor category rankings.

“At this pace, crossing twenty kilometers by noon feels… unlikely…”

This marked the Nth time Wang Ping had paused to wait for Gu Lang to catch up. Shaking his head disdainfully, he scoffed at the irony: despite being twice as tall, Gu Lang moved slower than Wang Ping’s stubby legs.

Just as he turned to resume walking, “smack!” Another resinous cone fragment landed atop his skull.

Wang Ping: …Seriously? Is this tree experiencing some sort of midlife crisis shedding spree?

But the indignity didn’t end there. As Wang Ping tilted his head upward, a shadow rapidly descended, growing larger by the second.

“THUD!”

Gu Lang stared dumbfounded as Wang Ping was abruptly flattened by a falling pinecone mere feet away. Instinctively, he shuffled several steps farther from the tree.

In the live chat, silence reigned for a split second before exploding into chaos.

“…”

“He’s not dead, is he?”

“Nah, Buzz-Cut Bro can take a hit.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like laughing?”

“Excuse me, I need to step away to laugh.”

“Poor Boss Buzz-Cut…”

“His head was already flat, and now THIS happens…”

Perhaps due to altitude-induced oxygen deprivation or low blood sugar from hunger, Gu Lang’s delayed reaction took several moments to register. Eventually, concern kicked in, prompting him to check on Wang Ping.

“Boss, you okay?”

Approaching cautiously, he spotted Wang Ping sprawled on the ground, a pinecone resting comically on his face. Slowly, Wang Ping lifted two paws, nudging the offending object aside.

Relieved, Gu Lang exhaled. At least he wasn’t dead.

As for Wang Ping? He was utterly baffled—not because of the impact, but because of sheer disbelief. What cosmic misfortune dictated that a single creature (or honey badger) could get pummeled three times consecutively by objects falling from the same tree? Each blow progressively worse than the last?

Staring blankly at the offending branch overhead, Wang Ping squinted. Nestled among the dangling clusters of pine needles, a gray-furred squirrel perched, gazing longingly at the pinecone clutched in Wang Ping’s paws.

Wait… what?

Turning the pinecone over, Wang Ping noticed it: covered in sticky resin, the green husk bore countless tiny tooth marks. Near the base, someone—or something—had gnawed through the tough outer shell, exposing the prized seeds within.

More importantly, Wang Ping observed fine bite marks around the stem where the cone connected to the branch.

“So THAT’S why stuff keeps raining down on me. Not tree shedding—YOU little punk throwing things at me?”

Encouraged perhaps by Wang Ping’s small stature or lack of retaliation, the squirrel hesitated briefly before descending the trunk. When Gu Lang called out for Wang Ping to move away from the tree, the bold rodent crept closer still.

“Uh…”

Gu Lang froze mid-step, instinctively angling the tablet toward the approaching squirrel.

“Squeak-squeak…”

Eyes narrowing, Wang Ping watched incredulously as the audacious squirrel scurried right up to him, sniffing curiously at the pinecone still clutched in his paw.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! First, you bombard me with projectiles, and NOW you want your snack BACK?!”

Through the live feed, everyone witnessed the stunned silence break as Wang Ping suddenly sprang into action. With lightning speed, he extended a claw, seizing the squirrel by the scruff of its neck and hoisting it aloft.

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