Otaku Translation: Honey Badger's Streaming Life C142

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Chapter 142: Highland Vistas

Gu Lang’s delay lasted an entire week.

The Jeep Wrangler, loaded with gear, had remained untouched since entering Tibet. Wang Ping was starting to wonder if the sleeping bag in the rooftop tent had sprouted mold.

Eventually, whether due to acclimatization or the miraculous healing powers of Lhasa’s famous stone-pot chicken soup, after a week of lying comatose in the hotel, Gu Lang finally came back to life. He began poring over maps, plotting their route for the journey ahead.

As for Wang Ping, he’d been busy using Gu Lang’s phone to place a few orders, making sure Gu Lang scribbled down notes despite his weakened state so the hotel staff could deliver items to their room. Wang Ping had been contemplating whether to bring some meat and seasonings along—after all, Gu Lang had packed a gas stove and pots. Surely they weren’t planning to survive on wild greens and instant noodles out there?

Unlike the north-south routes favored by seasoned adventurers and outdoor experts, Gu Lang, emboldened by the fact that he was driving, had devised an east-west route. Not only did it cut straight through the heart of the uninhabited Changtang Plateau, but it also deliberately avoided most towns and villages, opting instead for desolate stretches of wilderness. This was a classic case of someone who forgets pain once the wound heals.

The finalized route stretched from Nagqu in the east to Rutog County in the west, covering over a thousand kilometers—a near-complete traversal of the Tibetan plateau. Wang Ping couldn’t even muster the energy to complain anymore.

Of course, it was a troublesome plan, but Wang Ping wasn’t overly worried. Gu Lang, to his credit, had enough self-awareness to know he wasn’t on par with the true outdoor legends yet, which was why he’d compensated with an arsenal of gear. With all this professional equipment, GPS navigation, and Wang Ping by his side, even if trouble arose, they’d likely manage to hold out until help arrived.

Nagqu, located 200 kilometers north of Lhasa, sits at an altitude of 4,500 meters. To the north lies the legendary Tanggula Pass.

Here, one-third of the year is marked by relentless winds, and the average temperature hovers below freezing. However, Gu Lang’s decision to come in August was fortuitous—it was the warmest season in the highlands. Even so, before leaving Lhasa, Gu Lang had immediately swapped into thermal clothing and layered on a thick, insulated jacket.

Thankfully, they were traveling by car. If things got too cold, they could always rely on the vehicle’s heater.

Once they left the urban sprawl of Lhasa and merged onto National Highway 109 from Provincial Road 202, Gu Lang’s eyes were glued to the scenery outside the window. Wang Ping was no different; his gaze remained fixed on the passing landscape.

The live stream was active, and Douyu had been hyping up the trip since Gu Lang announced his plans to enter Tibet. When he went live, the platform had plastered a banner on the homepage: “Douyu Streamer Challenges the Uninhabited Changtang Plateau.” Had Gu not fallen victim to his bout of acclimatization failure, the site would’ve promoted him a week earlier.

This time, Douyu’s support wasn’t due to any exclusive contract or Chen Bai’s favoritism. Rather, it was a calculated move—they were prepping the audience for Gu Lang’s appearance in an upcoming live program. After all, the more fans Gu Lang gained now, the larger the audience for the program later.

As soon as the car left Lhasa and hit the open road, the chatroom exploded with endless streams of “666” (a Chinese slang for admiration).

Many people referred to traveling to Tibet as a pilgrimage. Wang Ping had always dismissed this as the pretentious musings of artsy youths—what kind of sacred journey could this be in such a barren land where the population density was less than three people per square kilometer?

But that notion had vanished long before they reached Lhasa. Now, what replaced it was awe and transcendence.

It wasn’t just Wang Ping who was awestruck—Gu Lang and the viewers in the live stream shared the same sentiment. Before, Gu Lang had been so focused on keeping himself alive and driving to Lhasa while hooked up to an oxygen tank that he hadn’t had the luxury of appreciating the scenery. Now, fully recovered, he finally had the chance to take it all in.

Before arriving, the phrase “uninhabited zone” had conjured images of endless Gobi deserts, skies choked with yellow sand, and a lifeless vacuum stretching as far as the eye could see.

But the reality was a lesson in the adage “seeing is believing.” Towering snow-capped mountains pierced the heavens, their pristine white peaks blinding in the sunlight. The sky above was an unblemished expanse of azure blue, unlike anything Gu Lang had seen in Hulunbuir.

In Hulunbuir, the vastness of the land evoked a sense of boundless openness. But here, on the plateau, the sky felt unnervingly close, as though it hovered just beyond the horizon. The clouds seemed within arm’s reach, and the purity of the blue sky sent shivers down the spine.

Even before reaching Nagqu, let alone entering Changtang, both Gu Lang and the viewers in the live stream were already convinced this trip was worth every moment.

“Damn, I’m just a shut-in, and I’m already dreaming of going to Tibet!”

“This is officially on my bucket list now.”

“WildWindFaraway tipped the streamer ×6 Super Rockets…”

“Haha, look at Big Brother Buzz-Cut—he can’t take his eyes off the view!”

“The streamer must feel the impact even more intensely since he’s experiencing it firsthand.”

“LittleFriendLily tipped the streamer ×3 Rockets…”

“OneBigCow tipped the streamer ×2 Super Rockets…”

“LittleFriendLily: Ping Ping didn’t smoke this time, good boy!”

“OneBigCow: Ugh, what was I about to say again…?”

At the sound of the tipping notifications, both Gu Lang and Wang Ping instinctively glanced at the tablet mounted on the dashboard.

Wang Ping: …If I say I forgot to smoke, would you believe it ?

The 200-kilometer drive took just an hour and a half on the highway.

For the first half of the journey north to Nagqu, the Jeep sped through valleys on the western slopes of the Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains. Technically, before entering the Nagqu region, they were still within Lhasa’s administrative boundaries.

It was only after consulting a map that they realized there were two mountain ranges named Tanggula in Tibet, each belonging to different regions and geographical locations.

The Tanggula range most people referred to was the continuous chain of towering peaks in northern Nagqu, best known for the infamous Tanggula Pass.

Meanwhile, the Nyenchen Tanglha range to the east of Nagqu was less familiar to outsiders but held immense significance in the hearts of the Tibetan people.

The names of both ranges originated from Tibetan. “Tanggula” simply meant “mountains on the plateau,” while “Nyenchen Tanglha” translated to “sacred protector of the grasslands.” The contrast spoke volumes—one name was casual, the other deeply reverent.

In truth, Nyenchen Tanglha was one of the sacred mountains in Tibetan Buddhism, a holy site for the ancient Bon religion.

These days, however, the area had become a tourist hotspot thanks to its natural hot springs and the lush Yangbajing Valley on its southern slopes. It was now one of the must-visit destinations in Tibet, though devout pilgrims tended to head instead to Mount Kailash.

Gu Lang wasn’t here for tourism or pilgrimage—he was here for thrills. The Jeep raced through the valleys of the western slopes. Once they crossed out of Lhasa’s jurisdiction and entered Nagqu, the terrain shifted dramatically.

To the west of National Highway 109, the vast expanse of the Changtang Plateau unfolded before them. From the elevated vantage point of the highway, solitary snow-capped peaks dotted the landscape, while rivers and lakes shimmered like scattered jewels.

Gu Lang glanced westward, then ahead, his expression conflicted.

After checking the tablet, the usually decisive streamer turned to the audience for advice:

“Everyone, what do you think? Should we stick to the original plan and head to Nagqu first, or should we veer west and dive straight into the Changtang Plateau?”

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