Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 40

Chapter 40: The Substitute—Do You Like Two People?

Yun Shu: “…”

Su Wen: “…”

It was just a joke… Just a random thought… But it actually—hit the mark.

The expression on Su Wen’s face stiffened, though behind his mask, it wasn’t visible. “You… this…”

Yun Shu gave him a strange look over his shoulder but said nothing. During the long silence that followed, Su Wen only felt the hands gripping his thighs suddenly tighten for a fleeting second.

Tiny flecks of snow began to drift from the sky. It wasn’t a heavy snowfall, but it was enough to make staying out any longer a bad idea.

Yun Shu looked back again, staring at him as if he had reached a momentous decision. “Actually… that person… um…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Su Wen clapped a hand over his mouth.

He truly couldn’t understand what was going on in this guy’s head anymore. Truth be told, he had never even seen this so-called “person he liked”—not even a photo. It was just Yun Shu pining away in unrequited love.

And yet, while pining, he had the audacity to admit he liked Su Wen too.

In this world, “scumbags” who so openly admit to liking two people at once are a rare breed. Unless, of course, you’re looking at the top three tropes on the web-novel charts: Substitute Literature.

A substitute…? A stand-in.

The realization hit Su Wen like a lightning bolt. Since he’d arrived, this guy had been incredibly attentive—way beyond the call of duty for a “partner.” Cooking for him, keeping him warm, going out of his way to get him things that didn’t even exist on the snow mountain.

And the kicker! He was constantly flaunting those chest and abdominal muscles!

Any normal person—even a man—would inevitably feel a spark. No one could withstand such a concentrated, deliberate campaign of seduction. This guy had even confessed his love while drunk.

Yet, when faced with Su Wen’s own indirect probes, he had stammered, unable to say a word—neither a rejection nor an acceptance.

Based on Su Wen’s years of analyzing character psychology, this behavior usually meant one thing: he couldn’t bear to let go of the one in front of him, but he couldn’t forget the one from the past.

Ah, he’s preparing to have his cake and eat it too.

What happens when that other person comes back? Su Wen would just be the idiot who pushed his way in knowing the other guy had someone else.

The trending searches would probably explode: #FamousActorFallsForRangerPartnerDuringDocumentaryFilming, #InvestigationRevealsRangerAlreadyHasABoyfriendWhoLooksExactlyLikeTheActor, #ActorAsTheThirdWheel, #SubstituteTropes.

He’d be famous again—though for all the wrong reasons.

Su Wen had never considered this problem before. He could accept that his partner had loved someone else in the past. That wasn’t a matter of principle. It’s normal for people to have feelings for others, past or future.

But if that “other person” was so similar to him that he was merely a “substitute”… that was a different story.

Especially with someone like Yun Shu, who constantly talked about his “beloved.” He didn’t look like he was acting, which meant those words came from a place of genuine emotion. And his feelings for Su Wen were built right on top of those emotions.

The journey back was spent in total silence.

…

It wasn’t until they were sitting on the sofa at home, with the heater radiating warmth and the ice on their clothes melting, that the silence grew heavy.

Su Wen leaned back against the somewhat uncomfortable wooden sofa, his eyes following Yun Shu’s every move. He watched him stoke the fire, then clean up the slush that hadn’t fully melted on the floor.

Yun Shu handed him a dry towel to wipe his face, then picked up the mask and scarf Su Wen had tossed aside and hung them on the rack. Everything was normal—a habit of care.

After a long quiet spell, Yun Shu broke the silence. “What do you want for dinner?”

Su Wen looked at him, then at himself. That “person he likes” popped into his head again. Su Wen, who had been single in his memory for so long that he had zero romantic experience and tended to look greasy in idol dramas, was experiencing the “internal conflict” of a protagonist for the first time.

He used to think that liking someone was simple: if you like them, you should be together; if you like them, you go for it. Faced with pure hormones, who cares what kind of person they are, or if they have some “White Moonlight” or someone else they love? If you like them and you get them, that’s all that matters. A “forced melon” might not be sweet, but it quenches your thirst.

But the truth was, as Yun Shu mentioned that person over and over, Su Wen’s “self-centered romanticism” had slowly crumbled.

The first time, he thought: Yun Shu has someone he likes but fell for me anyway; that’s just my irresistible charm. The second time, he thought: He still likes that person, but they’re in the past. Real feelings are the ones you can touch; someone living in a memory is no different from being dead.

But now, that “beloved” had been subtly etched into his own mind. Everything he thought about, every romance or partner he envisioned, was now linked to that mystery person.

So, the question returned to its primal form: Who does Yun Shu actually like? That person? Me? Or “me” because I’m so similar to that person?

Su Wen didn’t answer the dinner question. He turned to look at him, his mind a tangled mess. He hadn’t sorted it out himself, but there was one thing he desperately wanted to know: “Do you have a photo of the person you like?”

Yun Shu’s reaction was expected. He froze, seemingly not understanding the question at first. After a while, he replied hesitantly, “I do.”

“Oh,” Su Wen’s tone was flat, as if asking for a pair of chopsticks or a pen. “Then let me see it.”

The air congealed again. Yun Shu just sat there, his gaze fixed on Su Wen, without any other reaction. He didn’t even move to get his phone.

Su Wen found it hard to understand why—just as he didn’t understand why he cared about this person so much. Like a lunatic.

After a long standoff, Su Wen was the first to surrender. “Fine, fine. If they’re that precious, forget it.”

He stood up, grabbed his phone from the table, and prepared to head to his room. With his hand on the doorknob, before turning it, he looked back at Yun Shu.

Their eyes met. Su Wen couldn’t read the emotions in the depths of Yun Shu’s gaze.

His grip on the handle tightened, but the door remained closed. Su Wen asked him: “Yun Shu, do you like two people at once?”

Yun Shu’s lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, nothing came out. Only two crystal-clear teardrops rolled down his cheeks and fell onto the sofa.

He looked aggrieved, but Su Wen didn’t know why. Those two tears felt like a confirmation, as if Su Wen had hit a nerve.

But Su Wen didn’t think he needed to feel aggrieved. He wasn’t being sarcastic; as he always believed, liking more than one person wasn’t a huge problem.

He sighed and finally suppressed the question he wanted to ask even more. He turned the handle, pushed the door open, and entered his room.

With a click, the door closed. Silence returned.

Yun Shu stood up and moved toward the door inch by inch. He reached out, his hand hovering over the handle, but in the end, his strength failed him and he let go.

Inside the room, Su Wen pulled back the curtain, leaving a crack in the window for the snow leopard as usual.

Yun Shu clutched at his chest. His heart was thumping, but it didn’t feel like a sign of life; instead, it felt twisted, as if someone were squeezing it in their palm. Yet, just as he wished that person would squeeze a little harder, the hand let go, leaving his heart to beat aimlessly in the void.

Yun Shu knelt on the floor, his forehead against the door. This wasn’t how he imagined it. He didn’t want Su Wen to be sad, and he didn’t want to make him angry.

The doctor said that more contact with things from the past might help him remember.

Memories were islands in Su Wen’s mind, forming his entire past. But everything related to Yun Shu had sunk into the deep sea, becoming a forbidden zone—the least important thing in this ocean. No different from a grain of sand discarded on a beach.

He and everything related to him had, on some day—perhaps in an hour, a minute, or a single moment—been discarded by Su Wen. Thrown to the ground, part of the things no longer cared for.

Yun Shu still dreamed of those islands rising above the waves, but in Su Wen’s mind, the parts that did surface had become new islands. Su Wen welcomed these new islands with joy, while the past remained buried in the abyss.

Perhaps the sunken island would disappear completely with time, replaced by the new. Or perhaps the new island would sink too, leaving Yun Shu alone to guard this deep-sea graveyard when the next one formed.

Snow leopards are solitary animals. Aside from their time with their mothers, they are alone. After becoming solitary, he no longer needed a protector. But one day, he found someone he craved—someone he wanted to be near, to see every day, someone he wanted in his future.

Yet, after becoming a part of his life, that person had cast him away into a place where he was no longer seen.

His phone from many years ago, no matter how well-protected, was now old and battered. Even the gallery function, which didn’t require internet, took a minute or two to buffer. After the screen went black yet again, Yun Shu stubbornly swiped right until that familiar smiling face appeared on the screen once more.

Drip.

A tear hit the screen. Yun Shu frantically wiped it with his sleeve, causing the photos to slide rapidly. After a long time, Yun Shu turned off the screen, stood up, and walked out. He stood by the courtyard wall, furthest from Su Wen’s room.

He took out his phone, scrolled to a number, and without further hesitation, dialed it.

The call connected quickly, and a confused female voice came from the other end:

“Xiao Shu?” “Did something happen to Wen-wen?”