Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Forgetting is Because You Don’t Care

“What’s wrong?”

Su Wen sat back in his chair, arms crossed, face expressionless. He simply stared at Yun Shu without saying a word.

Having lied just moments ago, Yun Shu felt his skin crawl under the scrutiny. He felt as though he would be exposed at any second and had no idea how to face him. He could only clasp his hands tightly in front of him, looking like a criminal awaiting sentencing.

After a while, Su Wen stood up and began rummaging through his pockets for something. Finding nothing, he turned his gaze back to Yun Shu.

Yun Shu looked up abruptly, his hair flying back with the sudden movement.

Su Wen froze for two seconds, his attention captured by Yun Shu’s ear, momentarily forgetting what he had intended to ask. “What happened to your ear?”

The tip of the ear was missing a piece, leaving a jagged scar that didn’t look natural.

“Oh,” Yun Shu sighed in relief, touching the spot. He paused for a beat before saying, “I fell once and got cut by a piece of protruding scrap metal on the ground.”

Su Wen: “…”

A few seconds later: “Who are you trying to kid?”

But he couldn’t be bothered to press further. “Got any cigarettes?”

Yun Shu turned, opened a cabinet, and handed over two packs.

Su Wen took them without a word and headed for the door. Yun Shu followed behind, asking, “Going outside to smoke?”

“Yeah.”

Yun Shu followed him out.

It wasn’t snowing, but a thick layer had accumulated overnight. The two stood under the eaves. In the distance, from the pastures across the mountains, the faint sounds of barking dogs and shepherds’ whistles could be heard.

Su Wen put a cigarette in his mouth and searched for a lighter for a while to no avail. In a flash, Yun Shu pulled one out.

For some reason, a surge of inexplicable irritation rose in Su Wen’s chest, and he snatched the lighter away.

Yun Shu looked over, blinking. He had a cigarette in his mouth but hadn’t lit it yet; he looked quite innocent.

Su Wen gave a soft snort. “I thought you didn’t smoke?”

Yun Shu leaned in slightly, tilting his head toward him with a curved smile. “Is it not allowed?”

A dark-skinned man nearly 190cm tall—why is he acting cute?

Su Wen reached out, grabbing the back of Yun Shu’s neck to pull his head closer. He leaned down, bringing his own cigarette toward the other’s.

The tips met, glowing and fading. Su Wen kept his eyes lowered as he lit Yun Shu’s cigarette with his own.

Yun Shu’s gaze fell on the small mole beneath Su Wen’s eye; his heart skipped a beat. Smoke rose, quickly dispersing between them.

Su Wen removed the cigarette, holding it between his fingers. He crossed his arms and looked at Yun Shu’s dazed expression, a triumphant smirk on his lips. “Not going to puff?”

Yun Shu reached back to flick the ash into a nearby bin before taking a drag. His heart was pounding against his ribs. He suppressed the urge to lung forward, standing still instead. Though he had a thousand things to say, he only took a deep breath of smoke.

Su Wen watched him for a long time, his gaze fixed on Yun Shu’s face, searching for something.

A dark green truck—a postal vehicle—drove by on the national highway a hundred meters away. As the green shadow vanished from sight, he asked, “Do you eat salmon?”

“Is there salmon in the snowy mountains?”

Su Wen turned to Yun Shu and arched an eyebrow. “What do you think? Will there be?”

“Of course.”

Across three provinces, by land and air, via plane, truck, and motorcycle—this sashimi-grade salmon had finally appeared before them after days of travel.

Su Wen took a bite and looked at Yun Shu. “How is it?”

Yun Shu replied, “It’s good,” but in truth, he ate anything. As long as it wasn’t repulsive, he’d finish it and say it was “good.” If he were really asked for a critique, he wouldn’t know where to start.

As they ate, a sudden thought struck Su Wen. “Previously…”

“That person—the one you said you liked,” he continued, meeting Yun Shu’s confused gaze with complete poise. “Did he ever give you salmon?”

Yun Shu nearly choked on the fish he hadn’t swallowed yet. He didn’t understand why this was suddenly being brought up. After a long pause, he replied, “Not in the past.”

Su Wen picked up a piece with his chopsticks; the meat was firm and vibrant—a rare find.

“So, will there be in the future?” he asked.

Yun Shu was stunned. “There… probably will be?”

“Do you like him because of that?”

Yun Shu froze. Long ago, he had been asked this question as well.

The awakening of love usually happens early for some and late for others. Based on the “puberty” of children his age, he should have developed feelings for a pretty girl in class during middle school. This feeling is often baseless—scientifically, it’s just hormones.

Yun Shu didn’t have those hormonal triggers, so he never experienced that “heart-fluttering” sensation. For a snow leopard, there is no “love” to speak of; when mating season arrives, you find a partner, spend time together, and then part ways until the next cycle.

Since becoming human, he has struggled to absorb human behavior and emotions. He didn’t know what love was; he just stubbornly chased after Su Wen.

It wasn’t until they met again after being apart that he heard his own heartbeat. He felt a strange emotion erupting within him—an indescribable joy. He wanted to see him every day, hoping Su Wen would feel that same happiness when seeing him.

He had once asked Su Wen: What is love like?

Su Wen had said: “Maybe it’s just wanting to be close, instinctively seeking them out, wanting to be together now and in the future, spending your life with the one you like.”

Despite his short time as a human, Yun Shu quickly understood the emotion of “love.” His stubborn pursuit of Su Wen transformed into “loving Su Wen” as a fundamental part of his being. As time passed, this love turned greedy; he hoped Su Wen would love him back.

Then, he confessed—on the eve of his 17th birthday.

Su Wen had looked at him, seemingly without joy or excitement: “Do you like me because you have expectations of me?”

After a long silence, Yun Shu had replied: “Does love need a reason like that?”

…

After a few pieces of salmon, Su Wen grew tired of it and put down his chopsticks. “I don’t know.”

“Why the sudden question?”

“Emmmmm,” Su Wen looked at him, a playful smile appearing on his face. “I want to know more about you. Is that not allowed?”

Yun Shu also put down his chopsticks, his ears burning. “It’s allowed.”

Su Wen reached out and pinched Yun Shu’s bright red ear. He suddenly felt like Yun Shu was a protagonist in some idol drama, full of unrequited passion.

“If he doesn’t like you, isn’t your love wasted?”

Yun Shu paused, instinctively averting his gaze. “Do you think… he doesn’t like me?”

“Has he ever said he likes you?”

No.

“He said,” Yun Shu met Su Wen’s searching eyes, “that the next time we meet, he would tell me.”

“And have you met?”

After two seconds of hesitation, he replied, “Yes.”

“And did he tell you?”

“He forgot.”

Su Wen: “…”

“Do you know why he forgot?”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t care.”

“Doesn’t care?”

“Right,” Su Wen said. “People only forget when they don’t care. If they cared, they’d remember clearly even if the sky was falling.”

Yun Shu remained silent for a long time—so long that Su Wen thought he had turned into a mute.

“Then,” he asked, “do you remember things from the past?”

“The past?” Su Wen thought for a moment. “I started acting very early. I remember my first role; I played the lead actress’s son. I was acting alongside my own mother, so I was her son both on and off-screen. Hahaha.”

“Besides acting, what about your friends?”

“Friends?”

“I was always either acting or on my way to act. Sometimes I’d only be at school for a few days. There was almost no one who could go from being a classmate to a friend.”

“You don’t have friends?”

“Yeah. Making friends is a hassle, isn’t it?”

Yun Shu didn’t know what expression to make. Su Wen looked so sincere, without a hint of a lie or a joke.

He could only reply fruitlessly: “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that one person existed.”

“Yun Shu,” Su Wen felt an odd urge to argue, “unless there’s an extreme circumstance, a person doesn’t forget someone important.”

“If they are forgotten, it means they weren’t important.”

“So you think he isn’t important, then?”

Su Wen reached out and gently wiped away a tear that had escaped Yun Shu’s cheek. “I’m saying that you aren’t important to him.”

…

The snow leopard seemed a bit dejected.

Su Wen’s intention to scold it for running off vanished; he was worried there was something wrong with its wounds. He checked carefully—nothing. The wounds were well-treated, no inflammation or pus, and they were beginning to heal.

It was a good sign. It just looked like it had been dumped by a female snow leopard.

How pathetic.

Su Wen held a piece of salmon to its mouth. The leopard blinked and turned its head away.

This guy!

Su Wen was getting annoyed but kept his voice low and coaxing. “This is something you’ve never had. You really won’t try it?”

“Tasty meat~”

“Won’t you try some?”

Su Wen was convinced this snow leopard understood human nature. For instance, after a bit of coaxing, it began to eat the meat earnestly—and it seemed to love it. Perhaps it was hungry; after dragging its battered body around all day, it might not have caught any prey.

Su Wen gently rubbed its head. It was fluffy and felt great. The leopard purred occasionally, its face moving rhythmically as it chewed. It was adorable.

Once full, the leopard placed its paws on Su Wen’s lap and crawled up, looking at him with blinking eyes. Its tail swept across the floor twice before resting.

Su Wen pinched its notched ear.

It really was like a child.