The Real Young Master Becomes a Police Station Celebrity Thanks to His Animal Language Ability - Reviews

The dialogue in this section is sharp enough to cut and I want to talk about how each character's voice is instantly recognizable. Hu Xiuchun's dialogue is all panic and deflection. "I—I don't recognize the person in the photo" — the stutter, the hesitation, the immediate lie. Then she pivots hard: "Officer, the Zhang family put me up to all of this." Classic blame-shifting. And then the most telling line: "I spend money freely, but I only get 30,000 yuan a month." She's not confessing — she's negotiating her own sentence in real time, trying to paint herself as a victim of her own expenses rather than a criminal architect. Su Zhisheng's dialogue is almost nonexistent but when he speaks, it lands like a hammer. "Guess what I already know?" He doesn't need to explain himself. He doesn't need to gloat (though he does smile deliberately). His power is in what he doesn't say. The text says he "smiled, deliberately provoking his stepmother" — that's not dialogue, that's action, and it's more powerful than any speech he could give. Su Jingye's internal monologue is where the author really shows off. "That ungrateful brat Su Zhisheng has no idea how much the Su family has done for him behind the scenes." The word "ungrateful" — that's the key. This man has been exposed as a criminal, his engagement banquet is destroyed, his wife is in custody, and his first thought is that his son is UNGRATEFUL. The narcissism is so complete it loops back around to being almost cartoonish, except the story never treats it as funny. It treats it as terrifying. The police announcements are written in this dry, bureaucratic voice that contrasts perfectly with everything else: "Mr. Su, the adopted son of the Su family, is a special consultant to the police department and provided crucial clues for this case. Netizens are urged not to believe or spread rumors..." This is the voice of institutional authority, and it's deliberately flat. It doesn't need drama. It just states facts and the entire online narrative collapses. And the netizens' dialogue — the gossip, the speculation, the whiplash from hating Su Zhisheng to praising him — feels authentically chaotic. "Come to think of it, what exactly happened for the head of the Su family to publicly disown his adopted son?" This is how real people process drama: retroactively, selectively, and with zero consistency.

I need to talk about Liu Meiling because she's the emotional core of this entire section and she barely appears in it. She's dead. She's been dead the whole time. But every character's actions in these chapters are shaped by what they did to her, and that's what makes her presence so heavy. The text reveals her story in fragments — she was lured by false promises, trapped by debt, exploited by Hu Xiuchun and Wang Hao, poached by the Zhang family, and then strangled when she tried to fight back. The most devastating line is probably: "Liu Meiling barely earned any money. She had wanted to find a legitimate job to repay her debt, but the income from honest work wasn't nearly enough to cover the loan payments." That's not a plot point — that's a life. That's a person who wanted to do the right thing and the system wouldn't let her. What broke my heart was the contrast between how the internet treats this story and how Liu Meiling actually experienced it. Netizens are gossiping about the engagement banquet, speculating about family drama, enjoying the spectacle. Meanwhile, a young woman died alone because she couldn't escape a debt that was designed to be unpayable. The text says the promised "star-making" lead role "turned out to be a shoddy, under-the-table production" that "never even aired." She was promised fame and given exploitation. She was promised a career and given a death sentence. And Su Zhisheng — he's the one who uncovers all of this. He's the one who listens to the snake, recovers the phones, sits through the interrogation. He's not doing it for glory. The text never shows him seeking credit. He just... does it. While his family is bathing in pomelo leaves and plotting revenge, he's in an interrogation room helping the police build a case that will put the people who killed Liu Meiling behind bars. The emotional arc here isn't about romance or friendship — it's about justice for someone who can't speak for herself. And the fact that the story gives us this entire criminal enterprise but only one name for the victim — Liu Meiling — that's the author making a deliberate choice. She matters. The others are just obstacles.

There's this one moment — Su Zhisheng is standing in a narrow alley between the interview storefront and the beauty salon, pulling beef jerky out of his bag to negotiate with rats. The alley reeks of garbage, few people go there, the street noise provides sound insulation. He's crouched down talking to rodents like it's the most normal thing in the world, and honestly? That's what makes the scene work so well. The author doesn't treat it as bizarre. The rats haggle. They ask about poison. They want more jerky as payment. It's mundane in the most extraordinary way. And the visual contrast! You've got this busy commercial street full of pedestrians, bright lights, the whole atmosphere of a normal city day. Then two meters into a quiet alley behind a trash bin, everything changes. The rats are eating half-eaten fried chicken that was tossed because the assistant was called away to buy painkillers. The patient is rotting in a basement. The world feels layered, like there's a hidden underneath the surface that most people never see. The police station scene was also vivid — wailing, outcries, the lawyer's exasperation, the mother fixing her hair even at a moment like that. These small details make the world feel lived-in. People are performative even in grief. The brother's indifference, the mother's calculated appearance — it's all so human. The pet hospital with the German Shepherd police dog saying "rabbit leg, rabbit leg" — these moments ground the story in a tangible reality. Even though Su Zhisheng has this supernatural ability, the world around him feels incredibly concrete and real. You can smell the alley, hear the street, feel the awkwardness of a police station waiting room.

I need to talk about Hu Xiuchun because this woman is a whole mood and also deeply, deeply tragic. Let's be real—she came into this family as a mistress, a woman who had to hide in the gutter and pray to replace the first wife. And what did she get? A smaller portrait. That's it. That's her legacy. The family photo literally shows her as inferior. She spent years being subservient to the fake young master, taking orders from the boy she was supposed to be raising as her own tool. And now her beauty salon investment is gone, her husband is punishing her financially, and she's still trying to scheme her way to relevance. The line that broke me was when she thought: "If she couldn't touch the dead first wife's eldest son or the fake son, couldn't she at least touch her youngest son?!" That's not just revenge—that's a woman who has been powerless her entire life lashing out at the only person she CAN control. She's not evil for the sake of being evil. She's evil because she was made small for so long and now she's trying to make someone else small too. And Su Mingjie! Oh my god, Su Mingjie. The way he looks at Hu Xiuchun—with pure contempt, thinking she's "good for nothing but sabotage"—while simultaneously using her. He drafted that apology himself because he realized she couldn't be trusted to do it right. The fake young master who's actually the real son's rival, playing the innocent victim online while secretly plotting to ensure Su Zhisheng never comes home. Their dynamic is so toxic it's almost beautiful. He needs her money and connections, she needs his approval, and neither of them actually sees the other as human. Then there's Su Zhisheng and his adoptive mother Su Yingmei. The scene where she pulls out that yellow sweater she knitted—"By this winter, you'll be able to wear it"—and he's just sitting there holding her hand like he's memorizing warmth. That's the only pure relationship in this entire novel. Everyone else is calculating. Everyone else is using. But those two? They just love each other. And it hurts because we all know the Su family is going to try to tear that apart.

I'm not okay. I am genuinely not okay right now. Let me just sit with this for a second because I need to process what I just read. Su Yingmei knitting a yellow sweater. In August. For winter. She only had time to finish one before the surgery, and she's holding it like it's the most important thing in the world because it IS. It's her way of saying "I will be there for you even when I'm not." She's going into surgery with a high success rate but both of them know it's still a risk, and instead of crying or panicking, she's thinking about what her son will wear next winter. And Su Zhisheng's reaction—"I ordered some congee. I'll keep it in a thermos. You can eat it whenever you're hungry." He doesn't have grand words. He doesn't say "I love you" or "don't be scared." He just makes sure she's fed. That's their love language. Practical, quiet, devastating. Then immediately after, Su Mingjie's apology hits Su Zhisheng's phone. The contrast is so brutal I actually had to put the book down. One moment: a mother and son holding hands in a hospital, planning for winter together. Next moment: the fake brother weaponizing the family's image while the adoptive mother's life hangs in the balance. The author didn't even give Su Zhisheng a moment to breathe before stabbing him in the back with a Weibo notification. "A lawn engagement banquet... that means I'll have lots of small animals to work with." I read that line three times. This is a man who has been wronged, who has watched his family be threatened, who has been publicly humiliated—and his response isn't to cry or rage. It's to plan. Cold, calculated, almost artistic revenge. And I can't look away. I want to see what he does. I want to see that banquet burn. The emotional arc here is masterful. The author lets you have a moment of tenderness and then immediately shatters it, which is exactly what Su Zhisheng's life has been. Sweet moments stolen, then taken away. But this time—he's not going to just take it. This time he's bringing the bees.

Let me just lay out the stakes because they are INSANE and I need you to understand why this is working so well. Hu Xiuchun: she's lost her investment, her husband's money, and her social standing. If she can't get Su Zhisheng back into the family fold, she's completely exposed. She's gambling that manipulating him will restore her position. If she fails, she has nothing. Su Mingjie: his entire identity is a performance. If Su Zhisheng exposes him at the engagement banquet, he loses everything—his name, his wealth, his place in the Wei family alliance. He's already one misstep away from total ruin, which is why he's so aggressive about controlling the narrative. His stakes are existential. Su Zhisheng: his adoptive mother is going into surgery. His brother is publicly humiliating him. The fake young master is plotting against him. And yet—he's not panicking. He's planning. The stakes for him are personal, not financial. He doesn't care about the Su family's money. He cares about protecting his mother and making sure they never tear him away from her. Xing Tianwei: he's connecting this case to his father's life work—cracking the G Province child trafficking ring. If he fails, another piece of his father's legacy dies with him. But also, if he succeeds, he might uncover something that implicates powerful people. The stakes here are professional and deeply personal. And the engagement banquet—that's the pressure cooker. Everyone is converging on that event. Su Mingjie wants to cement his position. Su Zhisheng wants to destroy it. Hu Xiuchun wants to survive it. Xing Tianwei is probably going to show up and turn everything upside down. The author has been building to this moment for chapters and I can feel the tension like a rubber band about to snap. What I love is that nobody knows what the others are planning. Su Mingjie thinks he's outsmarting everyone. Hu Xiuchun thinks she's playing both sons. Xing Tianwei thinks he's just gathering evidence. But Su Zhisheng? He's the one who's been quiet the longest. And that's why he's the most dangerous person in the room. The banquet is going to be a bloodbath. Not literal blood—though Zhang Weilong is already dead—but social blood. reputational blood. I am so ready.

The stakes in this section are insane and I need to process. On one level, you have a murder investigation. Someone is dead, the killer is on the run (though caught at customs), and there's an organized prostitution ring tied to the hotel. That's heavy. But the author layers it with personal stakes that make it hit even harder. Su Zhisheng walks into his brother's engagement banquet and immediately clashes with his own father. The power dynamic is fascinating—Su Jingye is the head of the family, but Su Zhisheng holds all the actual leverage because he's a special police consultant. When he tells his stepmother Hu Xiuchun she's "the one who most needs to stay," that's not just a police procedure. That's a son telling his mother: I know what you did, and I'm not done with you. And then there's Su Mingjie. The fake young master. Su Zhisheng literally had a scheduled social media post ready to expose him that night. He canceled it, not out of mercy, but because he's strategic—he wants to finish the murder case first, nail his stepmother, and THEN deal with the fake identity scandal. The fact that he's juggling multiple investigations simultaneously while maintaining his cover at his own family's event shows how high the pressure is. Wei Lingfeng's calmness during the panic added another layer. While everyone else is screaming and blaming the hotel, he's steadying Su Mingjie. Su Zhisheng notices this and remembers their close relationship. He knows that exposing Su Mingjie will hurt Wei Lingfeng too, and that complicates things. The personal relationships make the investigation messier, which makes it more tense. The snake scene was a different kind of stakes—personal fear vs. duty. Su Zhisheng is terrified of snakes but feeds one anyway because the case depends on it. That's a microcosm of everything he's dealing with: fear, duty, and the choice to push forward regardless. The author never lets you forget that every investigation decision has personal consequences. That's what makes the tension so sustainable.

Let me just say this: the pacing in these chapters is absolutely ruthless and I am here for it. You start with Su Zhisheng flashing his badge and reading rights to his own father—maximum drama, maximum tension. The engagement banquet is happening, everyone's dressed up, Su Mingjie is literally thinking about how he can change clothes and continue the celebration. And then—BAM. The cleaning cart. The body. Screams. The author doesn't give you a single breath between the family confrontation and the murder reveal. It's one scene bleeding into the next, and it works so well because the engagement banquet guests are still panicking while the police are already moving into investigation mode. Two storylines happening simultaneously in the same space, and the contrast is delicious. What I loved most is how the author uses the guests' reactions to control the pacing. The nobles complaining about the hotel, making snide remarks about Su Mingjie's "unbeatable legend" engagement, wanting to leave—these moments of petty gossip actually serve as a pressure release valve. After the body reveal, you get these snarky comments that let the reader exhale before diving back into the investigation. Then the chapter shifts into pure procedural mode: surveillance footage, checkout records, the killer's escape route, the missing phones. This is where some books would drag, but the author keeps it tight by layering in the animal clue-gathering scene. The snake sequence is basically a comedic relief break that also advances the plot. Genius. And the ending? Su Zhisheng getting the location from the snake, the moon reflecting off the bald guy's head like a "little night-light"—it's vivid, it's funny, and it propels the investigation forward. The chapter ends right when the search is about to begin, which is a perfect hook. I wanted to immediately read the next part. One minor note: the transition from the hotel investigation to the outdoor search felt slightly abrupt, but honestly, the energy carried it well enough.

Okay, I need to talk about Xing Tianwei because this guy is EVERYTHING. On the surface, he's all business—cool features, no-nonsense attitude, the kind of captain who makes new recruits nervous just by existing in the same room. But then you see these tiny moments that completely dismantle that image. Like when he stands far away from Su Zhisheng while they're talking to the orange cat, and his explanation is literally 'I didn't want to come closer in case I scared the cat away.' I literally screamed. This man is so intensely aware of his own intimidating presence that he actively removes himself from situations to protect the mission. That's not coldness—that's considered, deliberate kindness wrapped in a very stern package. And then there's the mental health guidance bit. The man literally says 'Don't put too much pressure on yourself' to a rookie on their first field assignment. Zhang Zhengyang was right to sing his praises. Xing Tianwei is the type of mentor who notices things before you even realize you're struggling with them. The dynamic between them is so well-written because it's not forced friendship. It's professional respect that slowly reveals layers. Su Zhisheng starts off visibly nervous—'his face flushed slightly' when teased, clearly intimidated—but by the end of these chapters, he's holding his own, making independent deductions, and even gently roasting his captain's unpopularity with animals. That growth arc is subtle but real. What really got me though is how Xing Tianwei treats Su Zhisheng's unique ability not as a gimmick but as legitimate expertise. He doesn't patronize him for being young or an undergraduate. He gives him real responsibility. 'This is your first task since joining the force. I'll personally accompany you.' That's trust, not babysitting.

I'm not even going to pretend I didn't laugh out loud at some of these animal lines. The sparrow: 'Chirp chirp! Your human ATM is about to come online~' — this bird has more personality than half the side characters in this book and I am here for it. The husky: 'I am definitely my owner's biological son! He buries bones, and I bury bones — that's heredity!' and then the squirrel immediately correcting it: 'Stupid dog, your owner is burying a BODY!' This exchange is genuinely funny AND it delivers a massive plot reveal. The author is using animal dialogue to do double duty — comedy and exposition at the same time. That's skilled writing. Su Zhisheng himself has a great voice. His line 'I think he just lost control of the dosage since it's been so long since he last touched a mango. He tried to harm me but nearly ended up killing himself instead. Honestly, I find it hilarious.' — said with a smile while his accusers are losing their minds. That's cold. That's calculated. That's a protagonist who has already processed the fact that these people are not his family and is operating purely on self-interest now. The stepmother's message is also brilliantly written: 'Sure, Zhang Weilong plays around a bit, but what man doesn't stray?' This is such a realistic toxic-parent line — the casual normalization of infidelity, the assumption that Su Zhisheng will just accept whatever is handed to him. And Su Zhisheng's response? '…' Two dots. That silence says everything. The narrative voice itself is sharp and slightly irreverent. It doesn't take itself too seriously but it also doesn't dumb down the stakes. When the squirrel says 'Why make a little pinecone toy look so realistic' — the indignation in that line is so perfectly captured.

"Your adoptive mother is still in the hospital. She'll need money for follow-up recovery care." That's it. That's the whole message. No extra fluff, no dramatic declaration. Just a transfer of ten thousand yuan with a note. And Su Zhisheng's reaction? He tries to refuse because he's already set aside money. Classic Su Zhisheng — always putting others first, always trying to be independent. But then Xing Tianwei reframes it: this isn't a gift, it's an advance payment for his adoptive mother to serve as an informant. Brilliant. He gives Su Zhisheng an out that lets him accept without feeling like he's being pitied. This guy radiates that aloof, untouchable energy — immaculate uniform, cool features, keeps people at arm's length. But the warmth he shows Su Zhisheng? It's there. It's just expressed in actions, not words. And I think that's what makes their dynamic so compelling. Xing Tianwei doesn't need to say "I care about you" because he keeps finding ways to help. Then there's Gao Lijian — the burly, introverted roommate who seems like he could wrestle a bear but actually just wants to buy his friend milk tea. The contrast between his rugged appearance and his gentle, slightly naive personality is adorable. He trusts Su Zhisheng enough to ask him to verify a job opportunity, and Su Zhisheng always thinks three steps ahead. Their friendship feels genuine, not manufactured. Gao Lijian isn't just a side character for comic relief; he's someone who genuinely values Su Zhisheng's judgment. And the fake young master? The text says Su Zhisheng is letting him "dig his own grave." That tells me everything I need to know about Su Zhisheng's patience and strategic mind. He's not impulsive. He waits. He watches. And when the time is right, he strikes.

Okay, I need to talk about this one moment with Xing Tianwei because it genuinely got me. So Su Zhisheng is out there looking for clues, and this rat snake shows up and starts making demands for jerky. Su Zhisheng is clearly terrified of snakes—his heart is pounding like a drum—but he still pushes through and feeds it. And Xing Tianwei? He's standing right there. He COULD have helped. He's not afraid of snakes at all. But he doesn't interfere. Not once. The text literally says: "It wasn't coldness—it was trust." And I just... wow. That's such a quiet way to show their relationship. Xing Tianwei isn't some overprotective type who swoops in every time Su Zhisheng struggles. He trusts him to handle his own fears. He ensures safety from a distance but lets Su Zhisheng face what he needs to face. That's not neglect—that's respect. And it contrasts so beautifully with Su Zhisheng's actual family dynamics. His father Su Jingye is all talk and no power, just standing there awkwardly. His stepmother Hu Xiuchun is full of venom but can't do anything against Su Zhisheng. Meanwhile, Xing Tianwei—who isn't even family—shows more genuine care by believing in Su Zhisheng's capabilities than anyone in his blood family ever has. I also loved how Su Zhisheng's interaction with the snake revealed something about HIM. He's scared, sure, but he doesn't run. He negotiates. He makes a deal. And then there's this moment where after feeding the snake, "the pressure in his chest slowly began to ease" and he felt "a strange sense of satisfaction, like feeding a pet." That's such a human detail. He's a vet major—he's comfortable with animals even when they scare him. The fear doesn't disappear, but it becomes manageable when he's doing something meaningful. The snake itself was hilarious though. All that talk about how brave Su Zhisheng is, and then immediately admitting he only stayed hidden because an owl was watching. Total coward. Total survivor. I related to that snake on a spiritual level.