Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Friends — You Actually Followed Me Offline?

Song Haicheng, 36 years old, was part of the first generation to hit the internet in the early 21st century.

Normally, his level of acceptance was as high as Mount Everest—or at least a bit higher than this Songcuo Mountain. But when he woke up this morning, it took him a full fifteen minutes to process why two grown men were sleeping so tightly embraced.

Was this logical? Would Guan Yu and Zhang Fei sleep like that?

He sat there, staring at the sight of two sleeping bags merged into one, with the occupants entwined, trying to digest it. Conclusion: Guan Yu and Zhang Fei definitely would not.

Not long after, the two huddlers woke up. The one being held woke up first, followed immediately by the one doing the holding.

Su Wen opened his eyes, sat up, and rubbed his head, looking a bit dazed from sleep. Yun Shu sat up as well, looking at him with concern: “Do you feel unwell?”

After a few seconds of recovery, Su Wen asked, “Is there an oxygen cylinder?”

Song Haicheng, who had been sitting cross-legged with his chin in his hand watching them, reached into a nearby bag and handed over a canister. Yun Shu took it, opened it, and held it to Su Wen’s nose and mouth.

Song Haicheng reached out as if to say something, but hesitated.

After a few breaths, Su Wen looked at him: “What’s up, Brother Song?”

“Xiao Zhang—ah, no,” he corrected himself quickly, “Xiao Su, how are you feeling? You okay?”

Su Wen, still groggy, replied, “I’m alright.”

“Um,” Song Haicheng’s eyes fell on Yun Shu’s hand, which was still resting on Su Wen. He finally couldn’t help himself. “What exactly is the relationship between you two?”

Su Wen blinked and looked back at Yun Shu. Yun Shu, still holding the oxygen canister, stared at him blankly, seemingly waiting for him to speak.

After a moment, Su Wen withdrew his gaze and gave a light chuckle. “Friends. Why?”

“Oh, oh… friends. Friends. Right,” Song Haicheng breathed a sigh of relief. Just friends.

He stood up to leave the tent. “Pack your things. After breakfast, head back down the mountain with Dr. Lin and the others.”

“Okay,” Su Wen replied while putting on his jacket. “Understood.”

When he turned back, Yun Shu was staring at him fixedly, his eyes unblinking, looking as if his soul had left his body. Su Wen waved a hand in front of his face. “What are you dazing about?”

…

This state of affairs continued all the way down the mountain.

While hiking down, Yun Shu kept staring at Su Wen as if he’d been possessed. Because he wasn’t watching the path, he tripped on a piece of debris hidden under the snow and fell straight to his knees.

Su Wen was speechless. “I told you to watch where you’re going. Are you hurt?”

He didn’t seem injured; his pants were just damp with snow. Yun Shu didn’t say anything, nor did he use Su Wen’s extended hand to get up. He just knelt there, looking up at him, and asked after a long pause: “What… is our relationship?”

Su Wen blinked. “Friends. What did you think it was?”

Yun Shu didn’t answer immediately. A moment later, he asked, “Don’t you find making friends to be a hassle?”

Su Wen leaned down and pinched his cheek. “Emm, making friends with you isn’t a hassle. How about it? Do you disagree?”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

At that exact moment, as the north wind howled past, Yun Shu looked at him, his heart hammering against his ribs. Even though it was “just friends,” he didn’t know why he felt this way. It was… it was just… completely pathetic.

“Oh, well,” Su Wen straightened up. “If you don’t agree, then forget it.”

He turned to leave, but was instantly grabbed. “Wait.”

Su Wen looked back. Yun Shu held his arm, eyes cast awkwardly to the ground. Behind his mask, his expression was hidden, but his exposed ears were turning a deep, blood-red. “I didn’t say I disagreed.”

Su Wen froze for two seconds before laughing. He threw an arm around Yun Shu’s shoulder. “I knew it.”

…

“What’s with your ears?” Inside the car, Lin Zhihuan noticed the abnormal redness the moment she sat in the back. “Frostbite?”

Before Yun Shu could answer, Su Wen spoke up: “No, it’s not frostbite.” He even reached out to touch one. Yun Shu dodged instinctively, covering his ears and looking at Su Wen with wide, startled eyes.

Su Wen was confused. “What kind of reaction is that?”

Lin Zhihuan teased, “He’s shy.”

Yun Shu turned back instantly: “I am not!”

“Hahahaha—”

It was rare to see Yun Shu so flustered. In reality, he was someone who rarely let his emotions show; he almost never got angry and rarely seemed overly excited. Back in college, many people had confessed to him, but he would just nod and decline, the events leaving no ripples in his psychological state.

When Lin Zhihuan was a graduate student, she didn’t pay much attention to the “campus legends,” but she remembered Yun Shu instantly. Back then, she was a volunteer coordinating freshmen. Yun Shu followed every instruction perfectly but didn’t say a single word, like a mute.

He had the face of a playboy—tan skin and ash-blonde hair. Anyone would look at him and think he was a non-mainstream heartbreaker who was constantly looking for a girlfriend, but never a long-term one. Lin Zhihuan had even made a bet with a classmate on whether he would appear on the “Confession Wall.”

She won. The wall was flooded with people looking for him, but no one ever managed to have a deep conversation with him. In the dorms, he had no close friends. Every day was spent either in class or in the library, doing nothing else. Later, when freshmen tried to find him on the wall, people would reply: The senior is busy with his career; the senior doesn’t date.

When she started her PhD, her supervisor introduced her to the new graduate students. He had changed a lot by then—less green, more cheerful—but he still didn’t date. Being in the same field, they became close friends. That’s when Lin Zhihuan realized the guy wasn’t just studying; he was a “fanboy.” His phone wallpaper was always the same person.

Leaning against the window, Lin Zhihuan’s mind was full of that wallpaper. Her gaze drifted to the man in the passenger seat. The two of them were chatting, and Su Wen was laughing.

With one look, she remembered.

“Hey, Yun Shu,” she adjusted her posture and leaned forward. “That movie star you used to follow offline all the time… wasn’t it Su Wen?”

Su Wen went blank for a second. Yun Shu continued driving calmly. “Yes.”

Su Wen was shocked. “For real?”

Yun Shu glanced at him and quickly looked back at the road. “I told you that at the very beginning.”

“Oh…”

He remembered now. At the time, he had thought this guy was just a smooth-talking scammer—not a bad person, but too familiar for comfort. Back then, Su Wen had suffered through several box-office flops and hadn’t been offered a role in a long time. Every time he heard the title “Golden Dragon Best Actor,” it felt like a mockery.

It was indeed ironic. Who would have thought a Best Actor would lose his ability to act so completely, becoming a “sinkhole” for talent?

“Did you really follow me offline?”

That night, watching Yun Shu tidy up the dishes, Su Wen finally couldn’t contain his curiosity. Yun Shu turned around, looking at him with eyes full of complex, unnameable emotions. “Did you forget?”

Su Wen avoided his gaze. For a long time, he had chosen to evade his fans—even those who supported him after his fall from grace. He was terrified to face them. He didn’t even dare go online; he just stayed home staring at his old performances, spiraling into self-doubt.

When his manager left him and hinted online that he was retiring, Su Wen didn’t actually have that plan, but he received an email titled Statement of Retirement. The internet was in an uproar; haters mocked him, fans defended him, but Su Wen never clarified anything.

During that time, he lost a massive number of fans. Even his sister, Su Jiyan, was ready to give up on him. He felt that perhaps being abandoned was the right outcome.

He wandered the streets alone with a mask on. Posters he once endorsed were being torn down. He sat outside a milk tea shop and watched the staff take down his poster to replace it with a newcomer—the person his manager intended to use to replace him.

The staff tossed his poster aside like trash. Suddenly, another employee rushed out, looking like he’d stolen a moment from work; he hadn’t even taken off his gloves or mask. He said something to the staff, pulled off his plastic gloves, and picked up the poster. He meticulously wiped the dust off it, rolled it up carefully, and tucked it into an empty poster tube.

Su Wen had heard the staff member ask: “Do you actually like him?”

The person didn’t look back while putting the poster away. “Yeah. What of it?”

“But isn’t he…?” The staff member seemed ready to list a dozen scandals, but eventually just scoffed, “You fans really like pressing your warm faces against a cold butt, don’t you?”

Su Wen had watched from afar, wanting to know the answer but terrified to hear it. But the person just smiled and said nothing, even helping to take down and store another poster. Su Wen wanted to go up and say something—at least to tell him not to let himself be mocked just for being a fan.

But he did nothing.

A few minutes later, that person came back out with a cup of coffee. He stood before Su Wen and, without a word, placed the coffee in front of him.

When their eyes met, Su Wen saw his eyes—a very unique grey with a hint of light green, like a rare gemstone.

He had seen those eyes many times: at every roadside promotion for his flop movies, when he was being publicly questioned about his acting, and when he was being told to leave the industry.

He froze. Looking at Yun Shu now, those grey-green eyes were glowing with a mysterious light.

Su Wen’s heart skipped a beat.