Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Guardianship—Two Sides of a Coin

Including the second team and local Tibetan volunteers, there were ten people in total. Over seven days, they had finished collecting all traces along the three transect lines; today was the final day.

It was also the last hundred meters of the final line.

Using the ascent as a reference, the leeward rock formations on the northern face of the third peak of Songcuo Mountain were officially confirmed as the territory of the mother snow leopard.

A drone had captured footage of her building a small nest in a cave near the cliff face. It was lined with dry grass, looking very much like a makeshift maternity ward.

The patrol team set up a simple observation point on a neighboring peak, within a straight-line distance of a hundred meters. They pitched a hidden tent and installed remote cameras and several telescopes.

Although the official test results would take a few days, the evidence was clear: infrared cameras showed her abdomen and mammary glands were enlarged, and combined with the nesting behavior observed by the team, it was virtually certain she was pregnant.

“But it could also be a pseudopregnancy,” Lin Zhihuan explained scientifically from the side. “We’re approaching the snow leopard’s mating season. Usually, after this stage, if a female hasn’t conceived, hormonal changes can trigger obvious pregnancy symptoms when she isn’t actually carrying. That’s a false pregnancy.”

Su Wen took the binoculars. Looking from a distance, the small nest on the surface radiated a sense of warmth—or at least it would have, if it weren’t the middle of deep winter.

“What happens if it’s a false pregnancy?” he asked.

“A false pregnancy would actually be for the best,” Lin Zhihuan replied, adjusting the camera tripod before continuing. “Raising a new generation in this season is far too dangerous for her.”

Su Wen set the binoculars back down. He was now able to handle the cameras comfortably; the daily morning shots he’d been taking were actually turning out quite well.

He sat cross-legged next to Yun Shu, who was busy fine-tuning a camera. “What happens next? We just keep observing?”

“Pretty much,” Song Nan said. “Later on, we’ll rotate shifts with Shao Zi’s group from Team Two for intermittent observation until she successfully gives birth and both mother and cub are safe.”

“Does this count as interfering with the process of nature? Will it affect the survival of wild animals?”

“In a way,” Yun Shu thought for a moment before answering, “it affects things like the balance of the food chain.”

As Song Nan moved to the side, Lin Zhihuan didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the distant peaks, lost in thought. After a long while, he replied: “Actually, in a modern civilized society developing at high speed, humans are affecting their survival every single second.”

“For example, expanding pastures, industrial mining, tourism development…”

“Their living space shrinks because of human progress, leading to conflicts—like before, when snow leopards wandered into human settlements and damaged property.”

“A long time ago, the behavior of wild animals and their survival instincts might have been entirely separate from humans. But in the 21st century, with human development where it is, they are forced to have some connection with us.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Ehhhhh,” Lin Zhihuan pondered for a long time before responding, “At the very least, we must ensure that the actions humans do take are positive ones.”

“Ah,” Su Wen said, realization dawning on him. “So the current rescue and protection work is a form of compensation?”

“If you think of it that way, you’re not wrong. Unregulated poaching nearly wiped snow leopards off the face of the Earth. Now, we are trying our best to maintain the ecological significance of the species.”

“As the apex predator of this region, the snow leopard largely determines the integrity of the local food chain. This is also a way of protecting nature.”

“Will the snow leopards ever know what humans are doing for them?”

The moment he asked this, everyone inside and outside the tent turned to look at him. Their faces wore ambiguous smiles, and Su Wen suddenly felt like an idiot.

It was an easy question to answer, yet hard at the same time. Given the biological barrier between species, a snow leopard was destined never to comprehend human conservation efforts.

“But by the same token,” Lin Zhihuan continued, “they probably don’t understand why their home shrinks every time humans appear.”

Everything has two sides.

“As long as they realize we are saving them and not hurting them when we intervene, that’s enough.”

“Are snow leopards sentient? Do they understand human nature?”

Yun Shu, sitting on the ground with his head propped on one hand, tilted his head to look at him. “What do you think? Do you feel they understand?”

Su Wen raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“Hahahaha—”

The others burst into spontaneous laughter, though it wasn’t mocking.

Time passed faster than expected. By the time they saw the mother snow leopard return to her nest again, it was already 7:00 PM. The temperature dropped drastically; even with the tent shielding them from the wind and snow, the cold began to seep into their bones.

“How about,” Song Nan asked, rubbing his hands together, “we head back for now?”

Everyone agreed. Although night was the peak activity period for snow leopards, it was simply too cold. They left the fixed equipment behind and departed.

…

It was 9:00 PM by the time the off-road vehicle pulled into the patrol station. The moment the car came to a halt, the front door opened.

The rangers stationed there hadn’t slept yet. Hot food had just been placed on the warming table for the returning team. Two women in traditional ethnic dress were sitting on a nearby sofa. Their gazes frequently drifted toward Su Wen, who nodded politely in greeting before starting his meal.

As usual, he ate just enough to stave off the hunger, waiting to go back and finish the leftover braised beef Yun Shu had made yesterday.

Led by Captain Song Nan, the two women approached. One of them held a robe in her hands—a silver-gray garment with intricate patterns that clearly looked like a high-quality piece.

Through Song Nan’s translation, Su Wen understood the situation.

The Mountain God Festival was coming up in a month. These two were residents of Sare Village, but more importantly, they were village officials working with the government to promote local tourism. They had come today to invite Su Wen to participate in the festival.

If possible, they also wanted to invite him to become the local Tourism Ambassador. For a small mountain village, having a famous movie star involved would instantly boost their tourism GDP.

Su Wen remained silent for a long time. He really wanted to ask: Do they not know I’m a washed-up celebrity right now?

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. No one could.

“What do you think, Su Wen?” Song Nan asked with a hopeful smile. “Do you think it’s possible?”

Fearing he might refuse, one of the women added, “We will cover all your travel expenses, and we will also…” After a few seconds of hesitation, she decided: “We will also pay you a relevant fee.”

Su Wen didn’t give a definitive refusal. He was an artist, after all; an event like this, where the line between commercial and public welfare was blurred, needed to be discussed with his agency—especially for a “has-been” actor like him who rarely landed roles anymore.

Of course, those were just excuses. Even if he notified the company now that he wanted to be a tourism ambassador, Su Jiyan would agree. It was essentially a win-win situation. It brought resources to local tourism and gave him exposure. Though the exposure wouldn’t be massive, it was still publicity and could serve as a pre-promotion for the documentary.

Yet, he was still conflicted. What he needed was work—good roles—not just exposure. To him, a good performance was the best publicity. Taking on an ambassadorship before having a solid project felt like putting the cart before the horse.

“Don’t you want to go?”

Yun Shu had already brought out the reheated braised beef; Su Wen had barely eaten anything at the station earlier.

Su Wen shrugged. “Do you think I should go?”

It was a difficult question for Yun Shu to answer, but Su Wen was just thinking out loud. He didn’t expect an answer; he just needed to ask.

Yun Shu sat beside him, quietly watching him finish his meal. Only when Su Wen looked satisfied did he say: “If it makes you uncomfortable, then don’t go.”

“Uncomfortable,” Su Wen repeated. Ultimately, he said nothing more.

He was never the type to give up just because something was “uncomfortable.” Just like every shoot in the past two years—despite the waves of discomfort that hit him whenever he faced a camera, he always chose to persist. On the path he traveled, “uncomfortable” was never an option; there was only “do” or “do not.”

The trending topics from a few days ago had calmed down. Su Wen, who had once occupied the top five spots on the hot list, had once again faded from public discussion. Without actual work to show, and with the entertainment industry moving at its current speed, a “washed-up” actor with declining skills would quickly vanish from sight.

Being an ambassador wouldn’t bring him new film resources. It would just generate a few days of chatter, and some might even assume he had retired from acting.

…

Clack.

The window in the room was bumped open as usual. A large leopard head poked in, sniffing and nudging until it managed to squeeze itself inside. It accidentally left its tail outside, then spun around to grab its tail in its mouth before nudging the window shut.

It had become much more “domesticated” lately. Su Wen had placed a towel at the foot of the bed and told the leopard to wipe its paws before getting on. He’d only said it casually, but the leopard actually seemed to understand; it would rub itself clean every time it climbed up.

Of course, that wasn’t enough. Su Wen manually wiped the leopard down from head to toe before letting it settle.

The silly leopard was likely exhausted from a day of roaming and hunting; it lay down right next to him, curling its front paws to look cute. An adult male snow leopard, whose body and tail combined were almost as long as Su Wen himself, was lying there acting adorable—no aggression on its face, only pure satisfaction with its own “cute” image.

Su Wen always found it strange. This fellow didn’t ask for food or water; it just came over every day to keep him company like a giant plush toy.

Thinking of this, he felt he was being a bit rude. He pulled out his phone and ordered a bunch of dried meat cat snacks online. Just as he was about to pay, he felt that eating cat treats was beneath a snow leopard. He changed the order to fresh, cold-chain salmon. The shipping fee alone cost hundreds of yuan.

Before going to sleep, Song Nan sent a message to the work group.

Starting tomorrow, they would be camping out on the mountain. Everyone was instructed to pack their necessities.

Su Wen stared at the message for two seconds, then looked down at the silly leopard nuzzling his stomach.

Tomorrow, it would come back to an empty room.