Why is This Clingy Snow Leopard Acting So Innocent? - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Lens — Getting Close to Yun Shu

Halfway up Songcuo Mountain, Su Wen stared at the jagged rocks in the distance. “Is this the last sector?”

The patrol station sat at the foot of Songcuo. Because it was so close, they hadn’t bothered setting up a camp on the mountain, choosing instead to hike up and down every day.

The benefit: a decent bed. The downside: it was exhausting.

In front of him, Song Nan caught his look of soul-crushing fatigue and let out a hearty laugh. “How’s it going, Su Wen? Still hanging in there?”

Su Wen took the oxygen cylinder Yun Shu handed him, took a deep breath, and replied, “I’m fine.”

This was his first time climbing a snow mountain. Although they had only stayed on the mid-slopes, he had been climbing for five or six days straight. The fact that he hadn’t collapsed yet had exceeded everyone’s expectations.

A few days ago, Song Nan and Cheng Daozhi had suggested he only show up for the first and last days to get the necessary footage. He had refused.

Because of that, the team’s impression of him had improved significantly. He wasn’t the high-maintenance, delicate diva the internet claimed he was; he was actually quite resilient.

Songcuo Mountain was high, with complex terrain and protruding rocks. With the frequent snowfall, the snow leopard’s unique coat blended perfectly with the stones, making them nearly impossible to spot.

Lin Zhihuan had divided the area around Dawa’s pasture into six sectors. One sector a day. They searched for tracks, scat, fur, urine markings, and various claw marks.

Song Nan surveyed the desolate landscape. “Don’t worry, today is the last one. Tomorrow everyone rests. Unless there’s an ‘accident,’ the next few days will just be waiting for test results. The intensity will drop.”

Usually, as soon as someone says “unless there’s an accident,” the curse of the accident is triggered.

…

By the time the off-road vehicle pulled into the patrol station courtyard, the sky was pitch black.

Before they even stepped inside, Yu Shao, who was on duty, handed over a camera—the station’s spare.

“What’s this?”

“Dawa’s son brought it over. Said you asked for it. Probably footage of the snow leopard he just caught.”

When they had passed Dawa’s pasture earlier, they had given the son a camera and told him to film anything he saw. It seemed he had delivered.

After dinner, the group gathered around the computer in the duty room. The cursor spun for less than a minute before the shaky footage appeared.

It was clear Dawa’s son was a novice. The frame jittered through shots of sheep, yaks, and withered mountain slopes. Su Wen blinked, seeing nothing special.

Just as he was about to get up and leave, Yun Shu grabbed his arm and pointed to the very corner of the screen.

Su Wen followed his finger.

A snow leopard’s head flashed through the sheep in the corner. A second later, the barking of a Tibetan Mastiff erupted from the speakers. The scene shifted; the snow leopard, moving with a strangely heavy gait, retreated into the distance.

It didn’t go far—perhaps hindered by its body. After escaping the dog, it circled the flock and stood on a rocky ledge, watching the sheep. The camera stayed fixed on it for minutes until, realizing the chance for a kill was gone, the leopard leaped behind a boulder and vanished.

The video ended.

“Does that look a bit strange to anyone?” Liang Lin, another ranger, asked.

Su Wen voiced his doubt directly: “Its belly?”

Lin Zhihuan stared at the screen for a long time, scrubbing the cursor back and forth before freezing the frame on the leopard’s retreating figure.

The leopard wasn’t particularly muscular, and its long tail dragged slightly. It looked… off. Setting aside the fluffy fur, the animal looked thin, yet its belly had a distinct bulge.

“It almost looks pregnant.”

Lin Zhihuan propped her chin on her hand. From every angle, it didn’t look like simple fat or thick fur. “Mid-term, maybe. We need the testing center to confirm,” she looked at Song Nan. “We need to find her. She won’t go far in that condition; she’s likely near that pasture.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Song Nan looked at the others. “Rest tomorrow. We head out to find her the day after. Thoughts?”

“Will we be camping out there?” Yun Shu asked.

“Let’s search first,” Song Nan replied. “We need to check the infrared cameras to see where she plans to give birth. Then we’ll set up camp nearby.”

Yun Shu leaned in and whispered to Su Wen, “Do you want an extra day off?”

“I don’t mind. Whatever the group decides.”

“We’re good with that plan,” the others agreed.

“Alright,” Song Nan said. “The four of us will go.”

…

It was 9:30 PM by the time the meeting ended. Su Wen was about to follow Yun Shu back when Cheng Daozhi called out to him.

“Su Wen.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“Come here a second. I need to talk to you.”

Cheng Daozhi looked unusually serious. Once the door was closed and they were alone, Su Wen asked, “What is it?”

Cheng Daozhi navigated around the equipment and turned her laptop toward him. “There’s a problem with your footage.”

Su Wen froze, his eyes scanning the screen. It was the footage of them collecting traces on the mountain. Everything looked normal.

Just as he was about to say “It looks fine,” the video showed him catching sight of the camera and immediately snapping his head away.

Su Wen went rigid.

Cheng Daozhi saw his reaction and knew he understood. She turned the laptop back and sat opposite him. After a few minutes of silence, she said, “I thought your problem would be searching for the lens or subconsciously acting.”

“I watched that movie of yours that flopped. There, you looked like you were forcing yourself to find the camera.”

“But this is different,” she said, puzzled. “Why are you avoiding the lens?”

She looked at him with genuine confusion. “Are you just tired? Or is it the online hate getting to you?”

The analysis was well-reasoned. Since his box-office disaster four years ago—a romance film rated 2.7—Su Wen’s career had been in a freefall. After two more failures in sci-fi and crime genres, he had officially fallen from grace. From a “Golden Dragon Best Actor” to a washed-up actor with “no talent.”

Though he hated it, he couldn’t argue with the labels: Degraded Acting, Dead-fish Eyes, Industry Plant, Sister-Leech…

He didn’t know how to answer. After a long silence, he could only say, “I’m sorry.”

Cheng Daozhi hesitated, swallowing the words she wanted to say. She sighed. “Get some real rest tomorrow. You have to overcome this.”

“This film centers on you. If we have to cut all these shots, there’s no story left. It’ll be a nightmare for the editors, and the quality will suffer. Do you understand?”

Su Wen kept his head down. “I understand.”

“Go on then,” Cheng Daozhi added as an afterthought. “Work on your chemistry with Yun Shu. Try to get closer to him. If you’re comfortable with him, you might stop worrying about the camera so much.”

“Okay.”

…

Su Wen pushed aside the curtain and stepped out. The door shut behind him, but he could still hear the voices inside—they didn’t realize he was still there.

“What a waste of time!” “So many frames ruined.” “Total waste of film.” “Cheng-jie is crazy for hiring him.” “Must be nice to have connections.”

He pulled a cigarette from his pack, put it in his mouth, and lit it.

As he walked out the gate, the cherry of his cigarette glowing in the dark, he looked up to see Yun Shu leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking down in thought. Hearing the noise, Yun Shu looked up and flashed a tired smile. “Done talking?”

“Yeah,” Su Wen crushed the cigarette and tossed it into a corner bin. He walked over. “Didn’t I tell you to go back first?”

It was pitch black outside. Winter was deepening, and the temperature had dropped another few degrees. It was both dark and freezing.

As they walked into the deeper night, Yun Shu’s soft chuckle broke the silence. “Would you really dare walk this path alone at night?”

Su Wen shrugged. “I have a flashlight, don’t I?”

“Haha,” Yun Shu laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh?” Su Wen didn’t believe him. “Aren’t you a local?”

“Does being a local make me immune to the dark?”

“I just thought you’d be used to it.”

“It’s always better to have someone to walk with.”

“Your parents must have been patient,” Su Wen remarked casually.

Yun Shu looked indifferent. “They didn’t care.”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. “At least I have the person I love staying with me.”

Su Wen didn’t bite on the topic. He simply said, “Then that person is quite kind.”

Yun Shu’s gaze fell on his face through the darkness. A soft laugh followed. “Yes. He is very kind.”

They walked in silence until they were a few steps from Yun Shu’s home. Remembering Cheng Daozhi’s words, Su Wen asked, “How do you plan to spend your day off tomorrow? Sleeping all day?”

Yun Shu opened the courtyard gate and countered, “What about you? How do you plan to rest?”

Su Wen couldn’t say. He was only thinking about how to “work on their chemistry,” but that felt abstract. Does just sitting together count?

When no answer came, Yun Shu took a bag off his back and pulled out an object wrapped in black non-woven fabric. It looked like a DSLR.

“What’s that?” Su Wen asked curiously.

Yun Shu unzipped it and held it up. It was indeed a camera. “A camera.”

Su Wen was confused. “Is it… yours?”

Yun Shu shrugged. “Photographer Chen’s. He had a spare, so I borrowed it.”

“Oh,” Su Wen replied habitually. Then he asked, “Are we filming tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Yun Shu’s eyes swept over him and pulled back within seconds.

“Filming you.”