Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Mother—You Have to Believe in Her

The makeshift observation tent was hidden beneath a rock wall two hundred meters from the mother snow leopard’s den—a rare spot where snow didn’t accumulate.

Every few days, the mother snow leopard would head out to forage, but she often seemed to return empty-handed. She was visibly thinning by the day, even as her belly grew larger.

After countless nudges from Lin Zhihuan, the testing center finally prioritized their samples. On the fourth day of intensive observation, Lin received the call.

“It’s confirmed, she’s pregnant,” the technician said. “Progesterone levels in several fecal samples from different periods remain high, and PGFM is less than 50. She’s in her second trimester.”

“Considering the time since you sent the samples, it’s been at least two or three weeks. She should be due any week now.”

“But this timing… what’s going on?”

Lin Zhihuan sighed. “You think it’s a bit early too, don’t you?”

“At that altitude? It’s probably -15 or -16°C right now. Why give birth now?” The technician paused before adding, “Is your equipment ready? Are you doing round-the-clock observation? This is a rare specimen for study.”

“We’re all set.”

“We predict she’ll give birth in mid-January, likely between the 15th and 17th. Keep a close watch during that window.”

“Will do.”

…

Despite her heavy belly, the mother snow leopard was still relatively agile. She left the den daily, returning with various items in her mouth. Most were for insulation—dry grass and what looked like animal pelts. The once-bare nest was now lined with a thick, warm cushion.

A drone hovered high above to monitor her hunting movements without startling her. As the team watched her on the screen, Su Wen felt a pang of worry. “Have there been snow leopards that carried to term during this time of year before?”

“Yes, over ten years ago,” Lin Zhihuan said. “But that one was only discovered after the birth. Based on the cub’s age, we estimated it was born in late January.”

Su Wen caught the crucial detail: “Did they survive?”

“They all survived,” Lin said.

“The mother died,” a second voice cut in.

The two responses came almost simultaneously. Several heads, including Su Wen’s, snapped toward Yun Shu.

Su Wen was confused. “How do you know?”

Yun Shu instinctively lowered his eyes. Beside him, Song Nan picked up the thread: “She reached the end of her lifespan, right? By calculation, she would have been nearly twenty. Snow leopards don’t live that long in the wild.”

“No,” Yun Shu’s face was expressionless, his voice calm, as if stating a mundane fact. “She was shot by a hunter.”

The group fell silent. Except for Su Wen, everyone remembered the tragedy from ten years ago. Wildlife protection wasn’t as robust then. Three poachers had gone up the mountain, collaborating with local outlaws. They killed a female snow leopard, skinned her, and carved out her bones.

The crime was discovered during the transaction. The police confiscated the pelt and bones, which were later displayed in a museum alongside other victims of poaching. In the snow mountains of years past, such stories were tragically common—countless snow leopards became ghosts under a poacher’s gun.

No one commented further on that old tragedy. Su Wen looked at Yun Shu. Growing up here, Yun Shu had a unique bond with these creatures. Su Wen thought he sensed a lingering, unspoken sorrow around him.

He didn’t say anything, but he quietly slipped a piece of chocolate from his pocket into Yun Shu’s palm and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. Then, he turned back to the screen with the others.

…

As a pregnant female, the leopard was braver and more resilient than anyone expected. She traversed rocky crags and snowdrifts to find animal carcasses, gnawing on whatever scraps of fur or gristle remained. She faced off against larger males without flinching. She even ventured near human settlements again, only to be forced away by three fierce mastiffs.

She walked the endless ridges of Songcuo Mountain, blending into the white landscape. Hunger didn’t break her; she had a more arduous task ahead. In the life of a snow leopard, there is only survival—but in this bitter January, for this mother, there was something more important: ensuring her cubs lived.

“If she can’t find food, will the station step in?” Su Wen asked. He knew the rules about not interfering with nature or the natural survival of wild animals.

He expected a “no,” but Lin Zhihuan simply smiled. “You have to believe in her.”

“She’s a mother, after all.”

Su Wen understood. There is no force in this world more powerful than a “mother,” even if she is a snow leopard acting on pure instinct.

…

Inside the tent, the phone rang. It was Solang, Dawa’s son. “The leopard came again, but our dogs chased her off.”

The wind howled, rattling the tent. Su Wen couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He huddled behind Yun Shu, finding a bit of shelter from the draft.

Not long after, faint, long whistles drifted up from the base of the mountain, followed by the crack of a whip cutting through the wind. The herders were gathering their yaks and sheep. Through binoculars, they could see the locals working with Tibetan mastiffs to drive the livestock into pens.

Near their houses, two vehicles were parked—they looked like off-road SUVs. Su Wen hadn’t seen them there before.

“That must be Solang’s brother coming home. Probably other relatives too.”

“Oh?” Su Wen handed the binoculars to Yun Shu. “You can see that far? Your eyesight is incredible.”

Yun Shu could not only see but also hear them if he listened closely, though he didn’t elaborate. He simply satisfied Su Wen’s curiosity: “They’re back to prepare for the Mountain God Festival.”

“The one you mentioned? The tourism project?”

“It’s not a tourism project,” Yun Shu explained patiently. “It’s a traditional Luxi festival.”

Legend says the ancestors of the Luxi people came to this bitter, cold land to escape persecution. There was no food or shelter; survival was nearly impossible. The Mountain God, Cuo Songlan, couldn’t bear to see them perish, so he bestowed upon them yaks and sheep, teaching them to herd diligently according to the laws of nature. From then on, the Luxi people flourished. The day before the Beginning of Spring (Lichun) was established as the Mountain God Festival to pray for the prosperity of the tribe.

“Can an outsider like me participate?”

Yun Shu looked at him with a meaningful gaze that Su Wen couldn’t quite decipher. “Of course. You are an honored guest.”

“Haha,” Su Wen gave a dry laugh, feeling oddly shy. “Even a washed-up actor counts?”

Yun Shu turned his gaze back to him. He didn’t speak immediately, and Su Wen felt a bit restless, shifting his gaze to the yaks in the distance.

After a long pause, Yun Shu’s voice rang out—low, but not raspy. “You aren’t a washed-up actor…”

“You are the best actor.”

It had been a long time since Su Wen had been praised like that. Goosebumps broke out across his skin, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, he felt a strange sense of relaxation. The stifling pressure that had been bottled up in his chest for so long seemed to dissipate with the mountain wind.

If he wasn’t afraid of triggering an avalanche, he really would have liked to scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, he just reached out and ruffled Yun Shu’s hair.

…

The tent housed a high-end laptop that could withstand temperatures of -40°C—something Cheng Daozhi had spent a fortune on for this project.

As night fell, the screen showed the mother snow leopard dragging a carcass slightly larger than herself up the mountain. It was a dead blue sheep. Upon closer inspection, half its body had been gnawed away; the flesh was a blurred mess, but no blood flowed. It had clearly been dead for some time.

“Did she hunt it?”

“No, it’s a carcass,” Lin said. On the thermal screen, the sheep was the same temperature as the surrounding rocks. “It looks like it’s been dead for a while.”

“It looks like another leopard’s leftovers,” Song Nan added. “She’s been eating pikas for days. The meat left on this should last her a few days.”

But she didn’t manage to drag the prey back to her den.

Another male snow leopard living on the same mountain had spotted her.

The snow stopped. Under the cover of night, the two leopards faced off. The female dropped the sheep, her ears pinned back, her body in a high-alert defensive crouch. The male, positioned higher than her, lowered his front legs, looking ready to strike at any moment.

It looked like a brutal fight was brewing. The team held their breath, watching the screen where two pairs of glowing eyes refused to back down. Faint roars could be heard through the audio feed.

Against a prime male, a female only a week away from giving birth stood little chance. Yet she seemed determined to stand her ground. It wasn’t a wise choice.

Another roar. The male opened his mouth wide, baring his fangs as if ready to tear her apart. The female didn’t waver. Though she was smaller, she hissed and bared her teeth, ready to fight to the end.

One… Two… Three…

The female lunged forward, and the male followed with a pounce. But the expected collision didn’t happen.

The female used the opening to dodge to the side, then leapt gracefully away. The male tumbled past her due to his failed pounce. In that instant, the female exploded with power and speed, grabbing the sheep carcass and bolting once more.

The team in the tent cheered in hushed voices. She had done it! She had successfully made off with the prey.

But the cheers were premature.

Beep, beep, beep.

An infrared thermal camera in the drone’s blind spot was triggered. The male leopard had caught up. This time, the female held the high ground, but she appeared more vulnerable. The male had no intention of letting her steal his meal; he hissed a warning.

The female refused to let go.

Losing patience and confident in his strength, the male attacked.

A long time later, the female returned to her den. The prey had been taken back, but she had escaped. Under the night vision, she lay in the nest, slowly licking a wound on her front paw. It was a badge of lonely courage.

At least she had eaten pikas. But she was going to be hungry again.

…

That night, despite the howling wind and the distant animal calls, Su Wen couldn’t sleep. He unzipped his sleeping bag and lay on his back, his mind in a state of confusion.

Beside him, Yun Shu seemed to have been woken by his movements. He pulled his own blanket over Su Wen and rolled onto his side to face him. It was the middle of the night; they were very close, their voices low as they whispered.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” Yun Shu said. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you cold?”

Sensing the heat source so close to him, Su Wen let out a chuckle. “With a heater like you next to me, how could I be cold?”

Yun Shu didn’t say anything, but he scooted a bit closer. The tent returned to its symphony of snoring, wind, and wild calls.

Su Wen sighed. “Yun Shu.”

“I’m here.”

“Do you think she and her cubs will survive?”

“Do you believe in her?”

Su Wen thought for a long time before replying, “I do.”