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

I keep thinking about the shrike and its 'thorny dining table.' This bird impales its prey on thorns and tears the meat apart—it's called a butcher bird for a reason. And then this woman sharpens a hairpin to use as a weapon, trying to 'skewer' Hu Xiuchun. The parallel is too perfect to ignore. The hairpin itself is such a loaded object. It's something a woman would wear to keep her hair neat—Zhou's mother had taken time to fix her hair after losing her older son, maintaining composure. But after losing her younger son too, that same grooming ritual couldn't hold. The hairpin goes from accessory to weapon. Beauty to violence. Order to chaos. And Su Zhisheng, who understands the shrike's language and feeds it beef jerky— he's the only character who seems to exist outside this cycle of thorns and skewering. He warns the police, saves his enemy, and then befriends a bird. His moral clarity stands in stark contrast to everyone else's corruption. The fake young master's engagement banquet is another symbol—this performative celebration built on plastic surgery loans and deception. A wedding meant to unite two families is actually a cover for Hu Xiuchun's scams. The 'happy occasion' is rotten to its core. "If any bird tries to peck you, I'll turn them into skewers!" The shrike says this protectively, but it's also describing exactly what it does to its prey. Protection and violence are the same thing in this world.

There's something deeply symbolic about a dead body being hidden in a cleaning cart at an engagement banquet, and I can't stop thinking about it. A cleaning cart is meant for hiding messes. It's literally designed to make things disappear, to sweep things under the rug so everything looks tidy and presentable. And what do you have at this engagement banquet? A family built on lies. Su Mingjie is a fake young master. The Su family is full of hidden crimes and shady dealings. The hotel itself is running an organized prostitution ring. The body in the cart isn't just a plot device—it's the physical manifestation of everything this family has been trying to clean up and conceal. The text says the killer hid the body in the cart "to buy himself a little time." But the Su family has been buying time for years. Hu Xiuchun ordered people to "stop taking clients" and maintain a low profile, but the loans kept piling up. The appearance of purity and wealth is just a cart full of rot. I also found the animal scenes rich with meaning. Su Zhisheng, a veterinary student who can communicate with animals, is the only one who can truly "see" what's hidden. The owl, the snake, the hedgehogs—they're all witnesses to things humans choose to ignore. The snake especially struck me: it calls itself a "coward" and a "survivor," hiding from the owl while waiting for the right moment. That's basically the survival strategy of everyone in this story—the guests pretending nothing happened, the hotel staff looking the other way, Su Zhisheng choosing to investigate the murder before exposing the fake young master because he knows when to strike and when to wait. The moon reflecting off the bald killer's head as a "little night-light" is another image that lingers. Light revealing darkness. The truth can't stay buried forever, no matter how deep you dig.

I need to talk about Su Yingmei because WOW. This woman is the emotional anchor of the entire story and I'm not even being dramatic. Here's this poor woman lying in a hospital bed, having just undergone or about to undergo major surgery, and what does she worry about? Not her own health — she worries that Su Zhisheng 'didn't agree to some condition' when he got that 300,000 yuan. She immediately assumes he sold himself out somehow. Her first instinct isn't gratitude, it's fear for her son's dignity. And then there's the scene where she starts knitting because the daily injections are boring. She measures his waist and says 'you've lost weight. What a lousy excuse for a wealthy family — all they're good for is tormenting people.' She's been his only real family through everything, and she still notices he's lost weight before she notices he has money. Meanwhile the Su family — the biological family that abandoned him — treats him like furniture. His 'father' Su Jingye is more concerned about face and the engagement alliance than actually judging who did what. The stepmother's line 'Xiaojie is your lucky charm' is so casually cruel it made my blood boil. They see him as a transaction, a bargaining chip, a reputation management problem. Su Zhisheng's relationship with his adoptive mother is the only pure thing in this story. Everything else is calculated. He leaves the Su family not just for freedom but so she can have her surgery. He doesn't block his 'family' on WeChat because he's planning his revenge. But with his mother? He genuinely smiles. He brings her yarn. He pats her hand and tells her to relax. That contrast is everything.

"Meow, is this a peace offering? This one isn't that petty of a cat. I suppose I'll generously forgive you!" I am deceased. The orange tabby's voice is the funniest thing I've read all year. First of all, the self-referential 'this one'—it's giving ancient Chinese emperor energy mixed with a completely unprincipled food beggar. One moment it's indignantly refusing to be petted, and two dried fish later it's rolling on its back exposing its belly like 'MEOW~ IT'S DELICIOUS. THIS ONE WANTS MORE…' And the author's choice to make the cat's memory entirely transactional is genius. Su Zhisheng asks if it remembers Wang Hao, and the cat's response is basically 'Oh, THAT guy? Yeah, he stopped feeding me so I remembered him.' Not 'I noticed he was suspicious,' not 'I overheard something concerning.' Just pure, unfiltered greed. 'You fickle, heartless little cat!' Su Zhisheng mutters internally, and I was right there with him. But what's really impressive is how each character's voice is distinct. The night herons speak in this clipped, almost bureaucratic way—'Caw caw' as their verbal tic, but their actual dialogue is surprisingly analytical. They discuss the murder like gossiping neighbors who happen to be aerial surveillance drones. 'Even if that body in the cleaning cart is discovered and the police come to seal off the scene, we'll still fly in and help you bomb Su Mingjie.' The casual violence of 'bomb Su Mingjie' while talking about droppings is comedy gold. Xing Tianwei's dialogue is spare and functional—every sentence carries weight, never wasted. Su Zhisheng's internal monologue is where the humor lives, and it's consistently witty without being overwrought. The contrast between the deadpan police procedural voice and the absurd animal dialogue creates this perfect tonal balance.

I need to discuss how this author handles scene transitions because it is genuinely one of the most skilled things I've read in this genre. Let me walk through it. We open with Hu Xiuchun seething over the family portrait. That's personal, intimate, character-driven. Then we cut to the police station—Xing Tianwei, cold and professional, connecting dots about child trafficking. That's plot-driven, procedural, wide-angle. Then we cut to the luxury hospital where Su Mingjie is performing repentance for his father. That's family drama, manipulative, theatrical. Then we cut to the PUBLIC hospital where Su Zhisheng is waiting for his adoptive mother's surgery. That's raw, real, vulnerable. Do you see what happened there? The author just took us from the richest room in the city to the most basic hospital ward in four paragraphs. The contrast isn't accidental—it's the entire point. Su Mingjie has everything and uses it to lie. Su Zhisheng has nothing and tells the truth by existing. The pacing forces you to feel the inequality without ever stating it outright. And then the Weibo notification. Right when you're emotionally invested in Su Zhisheng and his mother, BAM—Su Mingjie strikes. The author knows exactly when to hurt you. The surgery scene gives you hope (she's coming out!), and then the phone buzzes with betrayal. It's like the author is whispering "you thought this was the calm before the storm? no, this IS the storm." The chapter structure here is basically a rollercoaster designed by someone who hates you. Every time you settle into an emotional frequency, the author shifts gears so hard you get whiplash. And I am HERE for it. I stayed up until 2 AM reading this and I have zero regrets.

The stakes in these chapters are absolutely relentless and I love it. Let me count: a woman is dead from medical malpractice, her son disappeared (possibly dead), her daughter-in-law is a fraud, Hu Xiuchun gets stabbed at a police station, the Su family's engagement is threatened, and Su Zhisheng is being investigated for reporting the crime. Everyone is either attacking or defending, and nobody is safe. What makes this work so well is that the conflicts keep escalating organically. It starts with a beauty salon dispute, escalates to a murder attempt, then explodes into family politics. Each scene raises the temperature. The moment Hu Xiuchun sees Su Zhisheng at the police station and her mind races to 'could this be about the nanny child-switching case?'—that's when you know the old sins are catching up. "Pay for my child's life with your own!" Zhou's mother screaming this while being restrained is the emotional peak of the violence. She's lost both sons and her only recourse is a hairpin and pure rage. The police station setting makes it even more terrifying—this is supposed to be a place of safety and instead it's where someone tries to kill another person in broad daylight. But the real tension is internal. Su Zhisheng saving Hu Xiuchun despite everything she's done to him? That's a conflict between his moral compass and his desire for revenge. And he chooses mercy. Which means Hu Xiuchun now owes him a life she can never repay. That's a different kind of stakes—social, emotional, karmic.

Okay so let me just say — the mango incident is honestly one of the smartest plot devices I've seen in a while. The fake young master tries to frame Su Zhisheng by burying mangoes near his house, thinking Su Zhisheng will be the one caught with the evidence. But Su Zhisheng? He's already got hidden cameras everywhere AND a sparrow with a pinhole camera strapped to its leg. The fact that he lets the scheme play out instead of immediately exposing it is pure genius. He waits until he has irrefutable proof, then uses it as leverage to extract 300,000 yuan and walk away clean. That's not revenge — that's strategy. And then the story pivots so smoothly into the missing person subplot. The stepmother sends him a blind date photo, and Su Zhisheng recognizes the guy from the adoption banquet. But here's what got me — he goes to the guy's villa not out of romantic interest but to investigate, and the FIRST thing he hears is a husky saying 'my owner is burying a BODY!' I literally dropped my phone. The way the author layers the revenge plot with the mystery plot is seamless. One chapter he's collecting money, the next he's holding walnuts and bargaining with squirrels for information about a missing person. The plot doesn't drag at all — every scene pushes two things forward at once.

Let me just say—the shrike scene is one of the most vivid, cinematic moments I've read in a while. A little bird perched outside the police station, making commentary about a sharpened hairpin being used as a murder weapon, comparing it to its own 'thorny dining table.' I literally laughed out loud. The image of this tiny bird critiquing human violence while casually mentioning its own predatory habits is both hilarious and deeply unsettling. "Wow, what a sharp hairpin. It'd be perfect for skewering meat." — and then it actually happens. The shrike's foreshadowing is dead on and I love that Su Zhisheng ends up feeding it beef jerky like they've got some weird bird-human treaty going on. The police station itself feels so alive—busy city street, nighttime pedestrians, the chaos of multiple groups arguing, the sudden violence at the entrance, officers responding with trained efficiency. You can see every frame of this like a TV drama. And then the contrast with the VIP hospital ward—quiet, private, Hu Xiuchun alone with her thoughts until the Su family crashes in with their performative concern. "Under the same moonlight, different people lived very different lives." That transition from Hu Xiuchun eating bland congee to Su Zhisheng getting milk tea and fried chicken from his roommate is such a sharp visual contrast. One person's nightmare is another's peaceful evening. The author really knows how to use setting to highlight inequality.

There is a scene in these chapters where Su Zhisheng approaches a luxury villa, sees a husky barking at a squirrel, and proceeds to negotiate with the squirrel using walnuts as currency. Let me just say — this is the most visually striking sequence I've read all year. The author describes the wrought-iron fence as 'intricate and beautiful,' the lawn as 'lush green,' lilies of various colors swaying in the breeze. It's gorgeous. It's picturesque. And behind that picture-perfect facade, a husky is frantically trying to warn a squirrel that its owner is burying a human body. 'Anyone passing by would have stopped to watch. The security guard stationed at the front gate spotted Su Zhisheng lingering from a distance but didn't think much of it.' This line gave me chills. The contrast between what the outside world sees — a handsome young man feeding squirrels in a fancy garden — and what Su Zhisheng actually knows — that a murder victim is buried somewhere on this property — is devastating. And the squirrel itself! 'Goods first, then answers,' says the clever squirrel. It stores each walnut in its tree hollow before returning to look at the phone. The detail about the squirrel thumping its tail twice against Su Zhisheng's arm when it recognizes the pinecone bracelet is so specific and vivid. You can feel the tension in that moment — a tiny creature making a life-or-death decision about whether to trust a human. The worldbuilding here is interesting because it's grounded in reality (veterinary school, pet hospitals, police missing person cases, wealthy family dynamics) but then adds this supernatural element — animal speech — that completely transforms how the protagonist navigates the world. It doesn't feel gimmicky because the author treats it as a practical tool rather than a magical plot device.

Okay so I need to talk about the family dynamics in these chapters because WOW. Hu Xiuchun's entire existence is a performance. She's playing the loving stepmom to the fake young master while secretly being the worst person alive, and then when she gets stabbed? The Su family shows up and what do they care about? Their reputation. Su Jingye's first reaction isn't 'is my wife okay' it's 'what will the Wei family think about our engagement.' That man is a monster wrapped in a husband costume. But the real emotional gut punch is Su Minghao. Cold-blooded creature who doesn't even care for his own full-blooded brother, yet Hu Xiuchun flatters him and he just... leaves. No concern, no lingering. He says 'She is part of the Su family after all' like it's a duty, not love. Meanwhile Su Zhisheng is the one who literally saved her life at the police station and gets called a 'misfortune' by his own father. And then there's the fake young master, pinching his stepmother's hand while playing the victim about the plastic surgery scam. I swear if I could reach into the book I would shake him. The worst part? Hu Xiuchun used to delight in Su Zhisheng being isolated. Now she's tasting the same bitter medicine. Poetic justice but also kind of sad because she genuinely has no one. "You only act obedient in front of your father. The filial piety you show me on a daily basis is enough to make a whole hall laugh!" This line hit me so hard. It's not even about romance—it's about how every relationship in this family is transactional and fake.

Let's talk about what these characters are actually risking, because it's not just some generic "good vs evil" setup. It's layered and personal and it makes every conflict hit different. Su Zhisheng's adoptive mother just had surgery. Her recovery depends on follow-up care, which depends on money. Xing Tianwei gives him ten thousand yuan, but also needs his adoptive mother to cooperate on an old cold case investigation. So suddenly her health isn't just a personal matter — it's tied to a police investigation. The stakes are personal AND professional, and Su Zhisheng is caught in the middle of both. Then there's Gao Lijian. He's almost scammed into a plastic surgery trap that could ruin his life financially and physically. The interviewer is literally selling false hope — "you could make it in the entertainment industry" — while running a operation that leaves people rotting in basements. The stakes here are life and death, and Su Zhisheng has to act fast without revealing how he knows what he knows. The fake young master situation is a slow-burn conflict. Su Zhisheng isn't in immediate danger, but the longer he stays silent, the more the web of lies grows. And the engagement banquet recruitment? It's clearly connected to the Su family's darker side. Mrs. Su runs a beauty salon that's apparently involved in something criminal. The stakes are expanding outward like ripples. What I find most compelling is that Su Zhisheng isn't just fighting external threats — he's also managing his own identity. He can't reveal he's connected to the Su family. He can't reveal he can hear animals. He has to solve problems while staying hidden, which means every decision carries the risk of exposure. That's a different kind of tension, and the author handles it really well. The reader knows more than the characters in the story, which creates dramatic irony that keeps you leaning forward.

Okay so I need to talk about Su Zhisheng because this guy is something else. Like, he's sitting in an interrogation room watching his own stepmother get grilled, and he's literally smiling, deliberately provoking her. The text says: "Su Zhisheng smiled, deliberately provoking his stepmother." That's not just revenge, that's surgical. He's not flying off the handle or making a scene — he's calm, calculated, and he already knows exactly what he's doing. But here's what really got me: the opening line about the snake. "If this snake had hands to play with them, I'd have dug them up myself and had some fun." This is the same guy who's helping the police recover murder evidence, and his first thought is about a rat snake playing with phones. It's such a weird, specific detail that tells you everything about him. He notices things other people miss. He has this quiet, almost feral empathy for animals that his own family clearly never had for him. And then there's the family dynamics, which are absolutely poisonous. Su Jingye — the father — keeps a photo of his first wife hanging in the living room year-round while simultaneously living a life of debauchery. The text calls him a "superficially devoted scoundrel" and honestly that's the most accurate character description I've read in a long time. He's performative in his grief, performative in his love, everything is an act. Su Mingjie is the opposite — genuinely kind, even tried to persuade the adopted son to come back when he ran away last time. But the family treats his kindness as weakness. The fans even say it: "Such a good person, and this is how he gets repaid." Meanwhile Su Jingye and Su Minghao are in the bathroom doing some weird pomelo leaf bath ritual to "wash away the bad luck" from being investigated, while simultaneously plotting to have Su Zhisheng doxxed by crazy fans. The hierarchy of cruelty in this family is just... wow. Everyone is worse than the person above them, except Su Zhisheng who seems to be the only one with a functioning moral compass. And Hu Xiuchun — she's not just evil, she's pathetic. She's crying in the interrogation room, blaming everyone else, but the text makes it clear she's the one who built this whole operation. She recruited the agents, she found the victims, she was the one who trapped Liu Meiling. She's a small fish who thought she was a shark.