Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Filming — Because of the Person I Love

Documentaries don’t impose as many demands on actors as film or television productions do. Among the series of precautions mentioned by Cheng Daozhi, only one was truly important to Su Wen.

“Don’t go looking for the camera. Don’t ‘act.’ You need to cast aside your identity as an actor and truly immerse yourself in the snowy mountains.”

“Just be yourself. Be natural.”

Su Wen nodded in agreement. He then popped a tablet into his mouth and tilted his head back, washing it down with half a bottle of water.

“What are you taking?”

“Vitamins.”

“Starting now.”

With the call of “ACTION,” the documentary officially entered its filming state.

In addition to two fixed camera positions nearby, a cameraman followed them throughout the process.

Su Wen instinctively clenched his fists, the sharp pain of his nails digging into his palms snapping him into focus. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and stepped forward.

Standing before him, besides Yun Shu, were two rangers for this shoot.

A tanned man wearing a knit cap—not particularly tall, with a simple, honest smile—was the first to introduce himself: “Song Nan, captain of the patrol team.”

As the cameraman moved from behind his ear to his front, Su Wen instinctively turned his face away before catching himself. He forced a smile and reached out to shake Song Nan’s hand. “Su Wen.”

A woman beside them, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and exuding a highly intellectual aura, introduced herself next: “Lin Zhihuan, animal researcher.”

The camera locked onto her position. Having not faced a lens directly for nearly a year and a half, Su Wen’s body went rigid almost by instinct.

Outside the frame, Cheng Daozhi stood not far away, gesturing: What’s the matter?

Before he could react, Yun Shu shifted from Song Nan’s side to Su Wen’s, blocking half the camera’s view.

In a blind spot for the lens, he reached behind and gently squeezed Su Wen’s hand.

Su Wen snapped out of it immediately. He stepped forward, shook Lin Zhihuan’s hand, and greeted her: “Hello.”

The atmosphere for the first shoot wasn’t great, but fortunately, everyone was easygoing and didn’t blame him for his lapse in etiquette.

Now acting as a ranger, Su Wen followed the three of them to learn the basics of the job.

From mountain patrols and glacier monitoring to plant protection—the most crucial task was “animal protection.”

Song Nan’s lecture was interrupted by an urgent phone call just as he reached that point.

It was a herdsman on the other end.

After hanging up, he looked at the group. “Pack your gear. Something bit one of Dawa’s sheep.”

…

The group piled into an off-road vehicle. The cameraman mounted a camera on the seatback, facing Su Wen directly.

Yun Shu leaned in, lowering his voice to whisper in his ear, “Do you want to switch seats?”

Su Wen blinked and looked at him. “It’s fine.”

In truth, it really was fine—it was just a lens. Besides, even if he avoided this one, there was another in the front, and the filming would continue. He couldn’t hide forever.

Su Wen suppressed the inexplicable wave of discomfort. Having not filmed for a long time, the feeling was actually more severe than when he was an active actor.

Luckily, no acting was required. No one was there to tell him what to do; everything was left to his own free will.

He detached himself from the concept of “filming” and tried his best to adapt to the identity of a “ranger.”

The sky wasn’t fully bright yet as the vehicle bumped and sped toward Dawa’s home.

As Song Nan drove, he explained Dawa’s situation. For Su Wen’s benefit—since he was new and knew nothing—Song Nan elaborated on details he would normally skip.

Song Nan wasn’t a local, but he had picked up a bit of the regional accent.

“Dawa’s pasture is on the east side of the village, right against the snow mountain. It’s the most vulnerable spot in the whole village.”

“In the last two years, wild beasts—snow leopards, wolves—have eaten at least dozens of his sheep.”

“But for the past couple of years, the snow leopards in that area moved elsewhere. This time, it’s probably a wolf.”

However, Song Nan’s prediction was clearly wrong.

This attack hadn’t happened in the pasture; it happened in the sheep pen.

The pen had been breached, and all the sheep had been driven out into the pasture, where Dawa’s son was now watching them.

Dawa was a middle-aged man who looked weathered by time, though his actual age was likely younger than he appeared—probably late forties.

He stood to one side, devastated, looking at a sheep in the pen that had been gnawed down to half its body.

He spoke in his native tongue, which Su Wen couldn’t understand, so Yun Shu translated from the side.

“He says this isn’t the original snow leopard. The old one only ate sheep in the pasture.”

“This one isn’t satisfied with the pasture!”

“Now it’s coming right into the home!!”

Song Nan interrupted him. “Dawa, are you sure it’s a snow leopard?”

“How could I be wrong? It just left! I came out the moment I heard the noise. It didn’t clear the fence on the first try—it took three jumps to get out.”

“My sheep are terrified!”

“The New Year is coming. Sheep are our greatest asset. Without them, how are we supposed to get through the winter?”

Yun Shu pulled documents from his bag. “Report the losses later. The government will cover it.”

The words didn’t do much to ease Dawa’s sorrow. He was a herdsman; livestock was his lifeblood and his wallet.

It was indeed a snow leopard. Among the scattered wool on the ground, the most prominent were grey hairs tipped with black. They were snow leopard hairs—the kind Su Wen was most familiar with.

He helped Lin Zhihuan collect the samples. “Does this happen often?”

“No,” Lin Zhihuan said. “Based on previous studies of snow leopard habitats, most of them intentionally avoid human territory.”

“Incidents of attacking livestock in villages don’t even happen once every two or three years.”

The snow leopard had left many traces: fur everywhere and residual paw prints. The sheep pen had been smashed, likely caused by the panicked sheep trying to flee the leopard.

“You said the leopard just left?” Song Nan asked.

“Right before you arrived. It ran off, and then you guys showed up.”

Dawa stood in the pen, his eyes filled with misery and helplessness.

The group sighed. Song Nan stepped forward. “We’ll help you reinforce the structure later. The government will reimburse you for the money.”

“Sigh,” Dawa let out a long breath and said no more.

“Which direction did the leopard run?”

Su Wen asked the question. Dawa likely didn’t understand much Mandarin, as it took him a while to process the words.

Finally, with Yun Shu’s help, he pointed toward the mountains behind them. “There, Songcuo Mountain. That leopard was very fat; you could tell it’s been eating well.”

Once the exchange ended, Yun Shu told Dawa the losses would be compensated at market price, likely amounting to several thousand yuan. The patrol station would also handle the repairs.

This brightened Dawa’s mood considerably. He even found the time to focus on Su Wen.

“Are you a new official here?” He glanced behind Su Wen at the three people carrying cameras. “Is there some event? Why didn’t the village chief notify us?”

Yun Shu explained on his behalf: “No, he’s a volunteer. The village chief mentioned this before—they’re filming a documentary. It won’t bother you, and it’s a good thing for the community.”

“Oh, oh,” Dawa replied as if having an epiphany. “Does that mean we’re going to be on TV?”

Upon receiving a positive answer, he looked somewhat regretful. “What a pity. If I’d known, I would have dressed better. These rags are embarrassing.”

…

By the time the repairs and evidence collection were finished, lunch had already passed.

Dawa thanked them repeatedly and tried to pull them into his house, insisting on hosting them.

They declined. The herdsmen in the village weren’t wealthy, and the patrol station was government-funded; they couldn’t regularly take things from the people. If they did it once, there would be a second time. It was better to refuse from the start.

Refused, Dawa didn’t insist. He simply spoke in his native tongue as he saw them off.

When it was Su Wen’s turn, he specifically used Mandarin to thank him: “Thank you, thank you all.”

“Ge? Su Wen? Su Wen?”

Su Wen had been silent for a long time. Even when the person next to him called, his reaction was slow.

He had almost forgotten he was filming a documentary.

“Were you scared?”

As Yun Shu said this, Song Nan in the rearview mirror and Lin Zhihuan in the front seat both followed his gaze toward Su Wen.

Su Wen avoided their eyes and replied, “No.”

He looked exhausted, so Yun Shu didn’t press further.

Song Nan withdrew his gaze from the mirror. “Have you seen a snow leopard before?”

Su Wen’s memory was a blank. Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t. “I’ve never seen a wild one. Does that count?”

“Hahaha,” Lin Zhihuan laughed brightly. “Of course it counts.”

“We once filmed a snow leopard hunting blue sheep on a cliff in the Aluoqing Mountains. It was breathtaking.”

“Are we going back there?”

“In the next few days, we’ll be searching for leopard traces on the surrounding mountains. We’ll send them to the testing center to see if it’s the same leopard,” Lin Zhihuan explained, adding, “This helps analyze their behavior. We can see if environmental factors are causing unconventional behavior, which makes it easier for us to carry out protection actions.”

Su Wen understood. “Like a snow leopard entering human settlements—that’s unconventional, right?”

“Exactly. Because snow leopards generally don’t approach humans.”

Beside him, Yun Shu draped an arm over his shoulder. Su Wen quietly moved it away and asked, “What is it?”

Yun Shu tilted his head closer. “You can just ask me about these things. I know quite a bit about snow leopards.”

“Mhm.”

In the front, Lin Zhihuan smiled and turned around. “Yun Shu really does know them. After all, he’s been here for a year. So, when do you plan on going back?”

Yun Shu leaned back against the seat. “Yeah, I’ll head back once the filming is over.”

“Fair enough. But you took a leave of absence right after joining the project—your supervisor was pretty furious.”

“Didn’t he support me when I said I was going back to Xiping?”

“Probably because your peers aren’t as useful as you?”

“Hahahahaha.”

“But I’ve wanted to ask since the first time I met you,” Lin Zhihuan said.

“Ask what?”

“Why did you travel over two thousand kilometers to Linzhou for university?”

Yun Shu turned his head to look at Su Wen. The filming for the day had slowed, and Su Wen was no longer concerned with “interaction.” He was staring out the window at the jagged, steep rock walls, his expression calm, lost in thought.

After a long silence, Yun Shu let out a soft chuckle. Looking at Su Wen, he said:

“Because the person I love is in Linzhou.”