After the drawing of lots ended, each group set off one after another toward their respective hunting zones.
Zhou Chaochao was the last to depart.
She unhurriedly checked all her equipment: entrenching shovel, paracord, flint, canteen, and the wooden spear she had personally carved the day before.
She weighed the balance of the spear in her hand, then repeatedly sharpened its tip with a whetstone until the edge gave off a cold, matte sheen—sharp enough to pierce on contact.
The livestream comments had already exploded:
“She’s really planning to go deep alone to hunt?”
“Is she crazy?! That area is marked high-risk on the map!”
“Is the production team not going to intervene? Who’s responsible if something happens?”
“I don’t know why… but I feel like she’s not acting.”
Zhou Chaochao slung her backpack over her shoulder, lifted her gaze straight toward the camera, her voice calm yet piercing:
“I know what you’re all thinking. That I’m being reckless, acting out of spite, risking my life for attention.”
A faint, cold curve appeared at the corner of her lips.
“Think whatever you want. But I have to go.”
Her gaze deepened, each word deliberate:
“Even if I hadn’t drawn last, this area… would have ended up mine anyway.”
That meaningful sentence instantly filled the comments with question marks:
“??? What does that mean?”
“Rigged by the production team?”
“If you think about it carefully… that’s terrifying. Was this predetermined?”
Zhou Chaochao said nothing more. She turned and stepped straight into the dense forest.
From the moment Lin Weiwei had hypocritically told her to “leave it to luck,” she had already seen through the trick—no matter the drawing order, this most dangerous zone was destined to fall to her.
This was a setup aimed at her.
Someone was determined not to let her remain on the show.
Now that Zheng Kai had left the group, she had even fewer concerns.
Zheng Kai might not have been particularly sharp, but he had no grudges with “Zhou Mumu.” She was a soldier—she did not want to harm the innocent.
Although she had embarrassed Zheng Kai on camera, it had truly been for his safety.
As for those hiding behind the scenes, setting traps—
she would show them no mercy.
The hunting zone Zhou Mumu had drawn lay deep within the protected area, a narrow valley surrounded by mountains. The terrain was steep, ancient trees towered overhead, and the dense canopy almost completely blocked out the sunlight. The air was cold and damp, and everything felt oppressive.
The moment Zhou Chaochao stepped into the valley, her entire body entered a combat-level state of alert.
Her footsteps grew lighter, her center of gravity lowered, her stride even. The soles of her shoes nearly skimmed the ground, not even crushing fallen leaves into sound. Her eyes scanned rapidly—treetops, shadows, bushes, ground impressions—while her ears filtered out wind and insects, capturing every abnormal noise with precision.
Less than half an hour into her advance, she suddenly stopped.
Ahead, the bushes showed clear signs of violent trampling—not the passage of animals, but deliberate, forceful human destruction. The broken branches were fresh, sap not yet dried. It had happened less than thirty minutes ago.
Zhou Chaochao crouched, her fingertips lightly touching the soil.
Layered overlapping footprints—at least two people. The prints were deep and wide, clearly carrying weight.
Following the trail, she moved stealthily forward until a relatively open clearing came into view.
Long drag marks from an iron cage scarred the ground. Rust, wood chips, and scattered granular residue were visible. She picked up a bit, brought it to her nose, and sniffed—corn, soybean meal, high-density nutritional additives.
Typical feed from a large-scale breeding farm.
Not the wild chickens or rabbits the production team had claimed.
Someone had deliberately released large animals here.
Zhou Chaochao’s eyes instantly turned ice-cold.
As expected.
This wasn’t meant to make her look bad—it was meant to kill her here, or at least seriously injure her and force her out of the show permanently.
She had just stood up when—
From deep within the forest came a sudden sound:
Snort—snort—
Heavy, murky breathing filled with violent intent, like a broken bellows being yanked. Then came the cracking of bushes, the dull thud of tree trunks being struck. Even the ground trembled faintly.
Judging from the sound, it was a wild boar.
The question was—just one, or a whole group?
One would be enough. She wouldn’t even be able to finish eating it in a month.
The sound drew closer.
It was coming.
With a flick of her wrist, Zhou Chaochao brought the wooden spear horizontally before her chest. Her core sank slightly, knees bent, stance steady as an anchor—standard close-range hunting defense posture: forward center of gravity, full field of vision, space reserved for evasion. Every muscle was tensed at the brink of action.
The livestream comments exploded:
“Oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD—!!!”
“What is that sound?! The ground is shaking!!”
“That’s a large beast! Run, Zhou Mumu!!”
“The production team lied! This isn’t a normal hunting zone!!”
“Ahhh! It’s a huge wild boar!!!”
“I’m already scared to death!!”
“Why is she still standing there?! RUN!!”
The next second, the bushes exploded apart.
A gigantic black boar burst out, nearly two meters long and weighing at least 300 jin.
Its bristles stood on end, its skin rough and taut. Two yellow-black tusks jutted out, their tips chipped and sharpened. Its eyes were blood-red, saliva trailing from its mouth, breath heavy like fire. Each step sent dirt flying.
This was not the lean agility of a wild boar.
Its muscles were bloated, its body thick with fat. Its movements carried the clumsiness of captivity, yet drugs had forced it into near-mad explosive power.
A deep purple indentation circled its neck—an old mark from a long-worn iron collar.
This wasn’t an animal that had wandered in.
It had been transported, injected with stimulants, and deliberately released to hunt her.
The boar locked onto Zhou Chaochao, letting out a thunderous roar. Lowering its head, it charged straight at her with terrifying speed—fast enough to leave an afterimage, powerful enough to snap a tree trunk as thick as an arm.
The comments went completely insane:
“Holy shit that size!! Has this boar turned into a monster?!”
“How can a wild boar be this big?!”
“It’s over, it’s over—if it hits her, she’s dead!!”
“Zhou Mumu, RUN! Climb a tree!!”
“Production team, do something! Someone’s going to die!!”
Zhou Chaochao did not run.
Her gaze remained icy calm, pupils slightly contracted, rapidly analyzing the boar’s movements: the force of its forelegs, direction of its shoulders, trajectory, center of gravity shifts, stiffness under its frenzy…
Every flaw was clear in her eyes.
As a soldier who had spent years training in mountains and forests, engaging in real survival and capture operations, she had faced bears, wild boars, lone wolves—even tigers in dangerous encounters.
Compared to those—
this was just a drug-crazed farm pig.
The boar charged within three meters, its massive shadow engulfing her.
At the moment its tusks were about to touch her clothes—
Zhou Chaochao twisted her core sharply. Her body slipped sideways like a wisp of smoke, cutting past the boar’s shoulder and neck. Fast yet controlled, the angle precise to the extreme—evading the frontal impact without losing striking distance.
Unable to stop, the boar slammed into a tree trunk, shaking it violently. Dead leaves and broken branches rained down. It howled in pain, thrashing wildly, its tusks slashing through the air, its ferocity multiplying.
The instant Zhou Chaochao landed, she had already turned back, spear pointing forward, her breathing steady, not even a strand of hair out of place.
The boar became completely enraged. It no longer charged blindly, but lowered its body and advanced step by step, a threatening growl rumbling from its throat as it probed for weaknesses.
Even in its drug-induced madness, it retained a sliver of hunting instinct.
Zhou Chaochao retreated in small steps, maintaining a lethal distance, her gaze locked onto its eyes—out here, looking away meant death. Her right hand gripped the spear firmly, her left naturally near her entrenching shovel—offense and defense as one.
Suddenly, the boar exploded forward again, charging at an even crazier speed—this time changing direction mid-charge, predicting her evasion route, sealing both sides with its tusks.
An ordinary person would have had no escape.
But Zhou Chaochao was not ordinary.
At the instant it lunged, she neither dodged nor retreated. She drove her legs down, bending her knees and dropping her body half a foot lower—perfectly avoiding the sweep of its tusks.
At the same time, her wrist exerted force, her core drove the motion, shoulders and back working in perfect coordination—
The spear thrust upward at an angle!
“Pffft—!!”
The spear tip avoided the hard cervical spine and scapula, piercing directly into the soft junction of blood vessels and trachea at the side of the boar’s neck—driving all the way in to the shaft.
Angle, force, position—textbook perfect.
The boar let out a shriek that tore at the ears. Its massive momentum carried it forward, forcing the spear deeper and ripping the wound open further.
Blood sprayed outward, splattering onto leaves and soil, the metallic stench thick in the air.
The enormous body staggered, its limbs convulsing violently, then collapsed with a thunderous crash. Blood frothed from its mouth and nose. After a few final spasms, it went still.
From evasion, to crouch, to strike, to kill—
the entire sequence took less than seven seconds.
Clean. Efficient. Precise. Fatal.
Zhou Chaochao stood where she was, her breathing slightly faster but completely steady. There was no panic on her face—only the cold composure of someone long accustomed to life-and-death.
She stepped forward, grasped the spear shaft with one hand, twisted and pulled—it came free smoothly. Blood dripped from the blade, spreading dark stains into the soil. The movement was fluid, practiced countless times.
She crouched to inspect the boar, her fingers touching its neck and foreleg: deep collar marks, clear needle punctures, stiff, tense muscles—
classic signs of stimulant use.
She stood and looked at the camera again. There was no triumph, no pride—only bone-chilling calm.
Her chest-mounted camera followed her gaze to the boar’s neck. Besides the spear wound, there were collar marks… and needle holes.
Someone had injected it with stimulants.
That was why it had been so violent, so aggressive.
Zhou Chaochao looked directly at the drone camera.
Her face remained expressionless—no joy, no victory, only cold stillness.
“Wild boar,” she said, her voice carrying through the livestream, “shows clear signs of domestication. Long-term collar marks on the neck, injection punctures on the forelegs. This has obviously been injected with stimulants.”
She paused, then spoke word by word:
“Looks like I’ve become an eyesore. Someone doesn’t want me staying on this show.”
“They’re trying to send me off.”
She raised the blood-dripping spear, its tip pointing skyward.
“Unfortunately, I know a bit about hunting.”
She looked at the camera, her gaze sharp as a blade:
“A small wild boar like this is nothing.”
The livestream comments completely lost control.
“!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Seven-second kill?! That’s ‘a bit of skill’?! That’s professional hunting!!”
“Where did Zhou Mumu learn this? I want to be her apprentice!”
“That dodge and strike looked like military technique!!”
“I’ve got goosebumps! That calmness isn’t acting!”
“Compared to her old fragile persona… is this even the same person??”
“The mastermind is panicking! They actually tried to kill her!!”
“#Zhou MumuKillsFrenziedBoarIn7Seconds# trending for sure!!”
At that moment, Lin Weiwei stared at the rapidly exploding trending topic on her hidden backup phone—#Zhou MumuKillsFrenziedBoarHeadOn#—her face as pale as paper, her fingers trembling uncontrollably.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
That boar had been arranged through Wang Qiang—an adult male, tusks sharpened, double-dose stimulants, transported in an iron cage, released at a fixed point—
all to ensure Zhou Mumu would be severely injured on the spot, bleeding out, forced to withdraw from the show.
How could Zhou Mumu… be completely unharmed?
How could she kill a frenzied boar head-on with just a wooden spear?
That Zhou Mumu—the one who had once been timid, clumsy, easily manipulated—
how could she suddenly become so calm, so powerful, so terrifyingly skilled?
Lin Weiwei suddenly lifted her head, staring toward the dark valley deep in the forest. Her heart pounded wildly as a chill shot from her feet to her scalp.
That “Zhou Mumu”…
how had she suddenly become so formidable?
What exactly was she?
Her hands trembled, her face drained of color.
That Zhou Mumu… that Zhou Mumu…
She wasn’t human.
She absolutely wasn’t human.
Her phone vibrated. It was a message from Wang Qiang:
“Plan failed. She’s discovered it. Be careful.”
Lin Weiwei clenched her teeth, nearly crushing the phone in her grip.