I Understood Animal Speech from the Start, and National Treasures Lined Up to Follow Me

Qin Mu drove back to his hometown, to a little village at the foot of the Qinling Mountains that was almost forgotten.

The old house his grandfather left him came with three mu of land and half a hillside, enough to turn into a small ecological farm.

He had planned to raise a few chickens and ducks, grow some organic vegetables, and enjoy a life without KPIs.

Then, while repairing the woodshed, he accidentally touched a dark bluish-green stone embedded at the foot of the wall.

A “ding” rang in his head. He thought he was having a stroke.

But he wasn’t.

From that day on, he could hear animals talking.

The old hen in the yard cursed him out for scattering stale grain. The wildcat on the back hill complained that the eaves over his house let in the wind.

He thought stress was making him hallucinate, until one morning he heard a faint voice from the back hill: “I’m so hungry, so cold. Where’s Mama?”

Following the sound, he found a leopard cub curled up in the grass, so thin that every rib showed.

After hesitating for three seconds, Qin Mu tucked the cub into his arms and brought it home.

He fed it milk, kept it warm, and got up three times in the middle of the night to check if it was still breathing. Once the little leopard had recovered, its first complete sentence was: “This two-legged one is so warm. It’s much comfier than a crack in the rocks.”

That was when things started spiraling out of control.

The cub’s scent lingered in the yard. Three days later, a pregnant golden snub-nosed monkey climbed over the wall and boldly took over his tool shed as a maternity ward. Qin Mu heard her tell the baby in her belly, “It’s safe here. That two-legged one isn’t mean.”

Next came a pair of crested ibises. They thought the wind on the mountain was too strong and built a nest right on the rack where he dried grain.