Otaku Translation: Honey Badger's Streaming Life C157

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Chapter 157: South First, Then North

The sun had risen high enough to burn off the morning mist by the time Gu Lang was digging a hole by the riverbank.

Wang Ping stood nearby, staring at the lifeless body of the female wolf laid out on the edge of the freshly dug grave. It finally dawned on him where he’d heard that phrase before—"water flowing in front, mountains standing behind." This wasn’t just some random description; it was straight out of an old feng shui manual. A legendary spot for burial, no less.

Realizing they’d spent the night sleeping smack dab in what could only be described as sacred ground gave Wang Ping chills—or maybe it was just his overactive imagination. Either way, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this whole situation felt... off.

As for eating wolf meat? Wang Ping didn’t care one way or another. But his stomach was not pleased. It growled and rumbled even as he munched on beef jerky, refusing to settle down.

Gu Lang, meanwhile, had already packed up their tent and added fresh wood to the fire. With military precision, he scooped a shovel full of glowing embers from the flames and tucked them under the car’s engine bay to keep it warm while they worked. The discovery of the folding entrenching tool stashed in his pack had been thanks to the dead mother wolf.

Not far away, curled tightly into a blanket like a forgotten bundle, lay the tiny wolf pup. No movement, no sound. Just stillness. If left to Wang Ping’s logic, burying the pup alongside its mother would have made perfect sense. Why separate them when death had already done so much damage?

But Gu Lang wasn’t having any of it. Stubborn as ever, he refused to believe the little creature wouldn’t pull through. Even the live-stream audience watching online thought the pup was beyond saving. Yet here Gu Lang stood, determined to prove everyone wrong.

To bolster his argument, he launched into a story that happened in a freezing winter back in his hometown. Apparently, a neighbor's dog had given birth during the night, unaware until morning when the puppies were found stiff and cold. Miraculously, after being wrapped in blankets and brought inside, the pups survived. Whether or not this tale held water remained questionable—especially coming from Shengjiawu villagers, whose storytelling abilities tended toward exaggeration—but Gu Lang clung to it like gospel.

Progress on the grave was slow going, thanks to the rocky terrain. Knowing they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, Wang Ping retreated to the Jeep. He pulled out a tablet from beneath the dashboard and started calculating distances. By his estimate, it would take another two days to reach the general area where the golden eagle king was said to roam.

“Wonder how far Luke and his team are,” Wang Ping mused silently. “They’re pros—they’ve gotta be faster than us.”

Fifty kilometers away, across the valley, lay a small county town with a name steeped in irony. In Tibetan, it meant "light," but phonetically, it translated to something far less dignified: Nyima (Meaning Your Mother in Chinese).

At the entrance of a modest guesthouse in Nyima County, a heavily modified Hummer idled. Its horn blared twice, breaking the quiet morning air. Moments later, a woman emerged, clad in a puffy blue jacket and dark sunglasses. She carried a canvas bag in one hand and slung a long, guitar-case-like box over her shoulder. Her gait wobbled slightly under the weight, betraying her apparent struggle.

A passenger opened the rear door, taking the bag from her hands. Once seated, she tossed the mysterious case onto the backseat and removed her shades, revealing her face. Double eyelids framed pale skin dotted with freckles. Her lips were fuller than average, and though she wasn’t conventionally beautiful, neither was she unattractive. Still, the others in the vehicle dared not show even a flicker of disdain.

“Miss Yuan,” a Uyghur-looking man in the front seat began in English, “Erzi reports that two groups have already entered Yema Tan. Shouldn’t we hurry?”

She turned her head slowly, her icy tone sending a ripple of unease through the car. “Are you anxious?” she asked flatly.

“No, ma’am! I just don’t want anyone beating us to it. If we miss our chance…” His voice trailed off, eyes cast downward.

“How I explain myself to the boss is none of your concern,” she snapped. “Drive.”

The driver hesitated briefly, glancing at the man beside him. A subtle nod passed between them, and the Hummer roared to life, kicking up clouds of dust as it sped out of town.

Back at the riverbank, the ice had melted enough for the Jeep to start. Gu Lang cradled the bundled-up pup in his arms as he bid farewell to the small mound of earth now marking the mother wolf’s resting place. Wang Ping stayed put, unwilling to step into the muddy mess outside. Instead, he scrolled through the barrage of comments flooding their live stream.

Gu Lang’s antics—oscillating between hilariously absurd and oddly sentimental—had sparked polarized reactions among viewers. Outdoor enthusiasts scratched their heads, unsure what to make of him, while animal lovers showered him with support. For once, Gu Lang’s presence dominated the chat, though keyboard warriors occasionally popped up to accuse him of putting on a show.

Knowing Gu Lang well, Wang Ping doubted the guy was deliberately trying to perform. But attributing this behavior to some latent artistic streak seemed equally unlikely. More probable? Another flare-up of his chronic case of middle-school syndrome.

Sure enough, as Gu Lang stood by the riverside clutching the motionless pup, he muttered softly, almost theatrically.

“Listen up,” he said, addressing the silent bundle. “Your mom’s buried right there.”

“Best I can do under the circumstances.”

He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Hey, d’you think five hundred years from now she’ll come back as some kind of spirit to repay me, like Bai Suzhen?”

“Oh wait, scratch that. Dead moms don’t come back as spirits… sorry ‘bout that.”

Whether the departed wolf could hear him from beyond the grave was anyone’s guess. If she could, Wang Ping figured she might rise again just to strangle him.

Their original plan involved stopping at a larger town for supplies before venturing deeper into the wilderness. Water, food, snacks for Honey Badger, fuel for the Jeep—all essentials. Initially, they aimed for Rongma Township to the north. But recent detours revealed treacherous mountain roads blocked by snow-capped peaks. Meanwhile, heading south to Nyima County proved both closer and more accessible, with a direct route via County Road 50.

Facilities-wise, Nyima offered significantly better amenities than Rongma. After all of five minutes’ deliberation, Gu Lang decided on the unconventional path: south first, then north.

“It’s simple,” he reasoned aloud. “We planned to cross the no-man’s land from the west, starting in the north. So we stick to the plan. Detour for supplies, then double back. Easy peasy.”

Five kilometers downriver, they crossed at a shallow ford where the water split around rocks. On the opposite bank stretched a floodplain, fertile and lush thanks to the season. Rolling hills rose in the distance, dotted with wildflowers and chirping birds.

Just as Gu Lang steered the Jeep southward, Honey Badger perked up. Ears twitching, Wang Ping glanced toward a cluster of trees at the foot of a nearby hill. Simultaneously, his stomach let out a thunderous growl.

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