Cat 111

Chapter 111: The Zodiac Rat

[Congratulations, your intimacy with your master has increased by 1 point.]

[Intimacy: 1/100]

When Qi Feng received the system notification, Yan Jiyun, who was sprawled on the bed, saw it as well.

Yan Jiyun: ???

Why did this intimacy thing suddenly appear?

Lying on the soft bed, he watched as the intimacy value changed from 0 to 1.

With the item bar already locked, none of his three intimacy-boosting items were used. What exactly had he and Qi Feng done to earn this increase?

Yan Jiyun saw two possibilities: first, the two of them teamed up to fight monsters, gaining intimacy through battle; second, the time they’d spent together in the instance had reached a certain threshold.

He wondered why the system couldn’t just tell them what conditions they’d fulfilled—was it afraid they’d exploit the intimacy feature?

Once intimacy was high enough, you could view the other’s location and instance information. How much intimacy was required remained unknown; it was up to them to slowly work their way up.

During the previous four instances, he’d never heard any system notifications related to Qi Feng. The data and information on the master-pet panel had never changed, so it wasn’t hard to guess that intimacy could only be increased by entering instances together with Qi Feng.

Yan Jiyun was composed now; he didn’t think an increase in intimacy was a good thing for either of them.

Once Qi Feng had the “Locate” and “View Instance” permissions, it would actually become a kind of pressure for him. Until now, those options were always locked, and because their levels were so far apart, he’d never seriously thought about leveling up his intimacy with Qi Feng.

He suspected the championship tournament also counted as an instance. Now that both were in the same instance, the system could calculate each player’s contribution and naturally track the time spent together. The calculation method could be based on how long they shared the same instance, or on the time spent fighting monsters together, or perhaps simply on gaming within a certain proximity for a set length of time—at which point intimacy would increase.

Looking on the bright side, once intimacy was unlocked, if he and Qi Feng ever entered the same instance again, the other party could instantly locate him.

The problem was, he didn’t know if the “Locate” and “View Instance Information” functions only applied within an instance, or if they could be used outside of one after entering.

Given that intimacy could only be increased by entering instances together, he guessed the “Locate” function should be for use inside an instance, while viewing instance information probably referred to reading his past or current instance data.

He couldn’t see any information on the “Master” side of the master-pet panel. As far as he could tell, the system would notify the “master” when the “pet” entered an instance. He’d already confirmed this when Qi Feng waited for him at the entrance of the rookie instance.

The “master” understood more about the “pet” than the pet did about the master.

The “master” was the main account, and the “pet” the sub-account; the sub-account inherited part of the main account’s functions.

Other people’s alts functioned the same way, but his sub-account lacked some permissions compared to the main. Plus, to prevent him from cheating, the game had actually made his instances more difficult.

He suspected that being selected for the championship right after entering the entry-level instance had much to do with being “Qi Feng’s alt.”

From his observations, none of the recent instance participants had been rookies. Even if there were, they’d at least cleared dozens of entry-level instances beforehand, while he’d cleared so few that he could count them on one hand—a fact hardly anyone would believe.

Yan Jiyun didn’t know whether he wanted to increase intimacy with Qi Feng; he’d never even considered the master-pet panel in the first place, and even found the function quite detestable. Now it had suddenly become somewhat useful, and that was a source of great inner conflict.

If the positioning function could be used both inside and outside of the instance, Qi Feng would be able to locate him at any time, and his ability to transform into a human would inevitably be exposed. It would be impossible to keep hiding it, opening their future to countless unforeseen possibilities.

The first possibility: Qi Feng would see him as a conman scrounging for free meals and, from then on, never want anything to do with him. Judging from Qi Feng’s attitude toward unfamiliar players today, upon discovering the truth, the first thing he’d feel would be betrayal.

The second possibility: From his attitude towards Yan Jiyun’s human form, Qi Feng, if extreme, wouldn’t drive him off but would likely grow increasingly distant.

No one could accept that a stranger had been lurking at their side all along, privy to all their secrets. In the same position, he wouldn’t be able to accept it either.

After much deliberation, Yan Jiyun concluded: before Qi Feng, his human self could only ever be “player Yan Jiyun,” while back in feline form, he must remain “Caramel”—two separate beings, never to be merged. Humans are complex creatures, while cats are simply animals; there is no comparison.

He’d rather suffer a little more in the instances than try to increase intimacy with Qi Feng. This protected both Qi Feng and himself.

He’d thought encountering Qi Feng at the championship would allow them to play the game together, but in the end, he had to brave the challenges alone.

Perhaps, when he grew a little stronger, he could find a more perfect solution. If they happened to enter another instance together someday and Qi Feng was in danger, he could step up and help as much as possible.

It was a regret, but for now, this was the only solution that benefited them both.

Having decided, Yan Jiyun put the matter out of mind. He was exhausted after today and needed a proper rest; his injuries needed healing, and there were still all manner of dangerous games ahead to prepare for.

There was no time for Yan Jiyun to rest too long. After less than six hours, he climbed out of bed in the hotel, the first thing on waking being to check his back in the bathroom.

Perhaps due to the system’s special medicine, his wound seemed to have healed—there was no pain at all. Whatever material it was made of, it worked wonders.

Outside, the hotel bustled as ever; Angel City at night was a city that never slept, offering players 24-hour rest and entertainment.

Yan Jiyun had enjoyed a comfortable rest. Now, with only about six hours left on his experience card—every minute precious—he leaped from his window while it was still dark.

He needed to find out what tasks players were pursuing now that another six hours had passed, what situations had cropped up. The only data available was the points leaderboard: Qi Feng still held a steady first place, with a massive increase in points. Clearly, Qi Feng had already started accumulating points while Yan Jiyun was resting.

Yan Jiyun was somewhat puzzled. The system hadn’t told them that acquiring enough points would allow them to leave the game. Was the number of points related to the difficulty of future games?

He’d better take a look around.

Of the four hundred players, at least half were busy with entertainment in the city center. Of course, these “entertainment activities” all deserved to be placed in quotation marks.

The number of players left was already nothing like what it had been when they first entered the city.

[Online players: 339/500]

In just six hours, nearly seventy players were gone—an average of 11.6 per hour.

At this rate, in less than twenty-four hours, only a little over a hundred players might remain.

What on earth had happened in those six hours he was asleep?

Approaching the hotel by a roundabout route, Yan Jiyun headed straight for the darker corners. Stopping before the door of a murder mystery game, he remembered that previously a ticket there had only been ten points—now the cost had more than doubled.

These so-called leisure activities were little more than people-eating traps, even more insidious than the Devil’s Forest.

Crouched among a pile of oversized toy dolls, Yan Jiyun mixed with a bunch of black plush, ready to eavesdrop on players emerging from the games.

He watched as some players came out excited, arms waving energetically; others downcast, heads hanging; still others furious, cursing out loud.

He scrolled through the death notifications for the seventy players.

[Player XXX owed points to the Angel Casino, bet their legs, lost them, and bled out.]

[Player XXX’s hidden identity was exposed during the murder mystery game and killed by the murderer.]

[Player XXX molested the masseuse at a massage parlor, openly violating the rules, and was suffocated to death by her.]

Yan Jiyun: “…”

Seventy players, seventy different ways to die—who knew there were so many kinds of deaths? The system had outdone itself.

As he pondered, a group of players not far away began to discuss something—voices he recognized as those he’d followed in the Devil’s Forest. All five were still alive and, it seemed, rather capable.

“Did you guys get information cards as well as points?”

“I got one, but it only had a single digit.”

“Only one digit—could it be that everyone’s numbers form a sequence, which, when put together, become a password? Once we find the coded door, we can escape?”

“Very possible. I’ve just heard someone got a clue in the murder mystery: just the character ‘door’.”

“Let’s pool our info. The keyword is ‘door’, and we have digits—maybe it’s a password for a lock. The game gives us twenty-four hours to gather clues; whoever finds the door first can leave first.”

“But how many digits is the code? Even if it’s just six to eight digits, with six numbers the combinations are a million—without the correct order, we’d never piece it together in time.”

“So we need to find clues for the right order of digits as well. We have just twenty-four hours to find and leave Angel City—who knows what it’ll become when time’s up.”

“And this pig-shaped stamp we have—what’s its meaning? Anyone noticed anything?”

None of them had.

As others approached, the five paused their discussion and slipped away to a more private spot.

At that moment, Yan Jiyun had learned what had happened in the past six hours. Just as he’d guessed, every entertainment venue you could enter with points held a purpose—only by playing the games could you get clues to escape.

In other words, the Devil’s Forest had tested physical ability, while Angel City tested the mind.

Murder mysteries, escape rooms, casinos—no matter which, all required using your brain.

If you didn’t participate, you’d never get clues, and have nothing to trade with other players.

Points earned in the championship could all be cashed in directly, but whether you could keep them depended on you. Accumulating points wasn’t enough—you’d need clues to clear the level, and unless you were willing to trade points for info, tough luck.

Now, besides earning points, a player had to find clues to clear the instance; the two tasks required a choice.

Yan Jiyun made his goal clear: he wanted both points and the clues.

The casino was the most popular—games were fastest and points easiest to gain. The challenge was figuring out how to obtain clues.

Murder mysteries and escape rooms took longer, so that left other leisure areas. As he still had back injuries, he’d skip foot massages and similar for now.

After careful consideration, the casino was still his best bet—not only could he gamble against NPCs but also other players, and if he could glean key information in the process, all the better.

Yan Jiyun slipped out from the heap of black plush toys into a deserted alley. When he re-emerged, he was the very picture of a refined young man in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, hair slicked back—in a style that made him think of the “God of Gamblers” from Hong Kong films of the last century. The system had excellent fashion sense, always matching his outfit to the setting without a second thought.

Amidst players all still in camo, he struck a conspicuous figure, utterly out of place.

Sigh, he’d rather wear the camouflage, at least it wouldn’t make him stand out.

The other players looked at his gaudy appearance with disdain. Such theatrics! No matter how fashionable he looked, he was just as likely to end up a dismembered corpse as anyone else.

Yan Jiyun smoothed back his hair, straightening out his natural curls—a rare feat indeed.

Head held high, he strode into the Angel Casino.

Angel Casino was unlike any casino he’d known: no slot machines, mahjong tables, blackjack, roulette, or high-low betting. Standing at the entrance were two NPCs dressed in sharp suits.

[You have entered the Angel Casino. Entry points have been deducted automatically.]

Alongside him, eleven other players entered—no one spoke. Out of all, Yan Jiyun’s dazzling attire stood out the most.

The NPCs flashed standard smiles and spoke in unison: “Welcome to the Angel Casino. This way, please.” So the entry fee was to pay for the NPCs’ courteous service?

The two NPCs pushed open the casino doors together. Yan Jiyun and the eleven players stepped inside.

It seemed that twelve players was the required number for entry; there was no limit on how many times a player could play.

As they crossed the threshold, twelve doors appeared before them, each bearing the carving of a zodiac animal—but nothing said what kind of game each concealed.

Angel City ought to be renamed. Angels were a thing of the Western world; the zodiac animals didn’t really fit the theme.

Before each door stood an NPC.

A capable-looking female player stood before the Rabbit Door and asked, “How do I choose?”

Six hours had passed, and by now many players had already shared what was behind each door. But the games were crafty—even if you knew what to expect, the games, or at least the rules, could change from round to round.

The NPC replied, “Each player may choose whichever door they wish to enter.”

Apart from Yan Jiyun, every player hesitated over their choice.

The twelve doors were arranged as follows: the Pig Door nearest the exit, then the Dog Door, and so on in reverse order, ending with the Rat Door.

Everyone had their own preference, yet only Yan Jiyun walked the length from the first door to the last, stopping before the one marked with a rat.

A cat, of course, would choose the Rat Door.

Cats are natural enemies of rats, and in the old zodiac tale, Rat and Cat had agreed to go to the Heavenly Gate together. Rat played a trick to claim a place ahead of Cat, and ever since, Cat and Rat have been sworn enemies.

Though he had no idea how the game would relate to rats, Yan Jiyun trusted his instinct—he wanted to pick the Rat Door. If he managed to clear it, he could then try the others.

The NPC at the Rat Door asked, “Are you ready to play the game?”

Yan Jiyun took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

His time crouched among plush toys hadn’t been in vain; he’d gleaned both the necessary information and a fair idea of each game’s difficulty.

With his remaining experience card so limited, he had to choose a simple game one could play alone.

The NPC said, “Please, open the door and enter.”

Yan Jiyun didn’t hesitate in the slightest—he pushed the door open and walked through.

At that moment, aside from the capable-looking young woman, all the other players were still wavering. On seeing the peculiarly pristine, well-groomed player enter, they couldn’t help thinking he was absurdly self-confident—did he fancy himself the God of Gamblers? Such bravado led to a quick death.

Yan Jiyun entered the Rat Door. At the moment he passed through, he felt his body suspended, falling as if into nothingness. With nothing to see around him, he closed his eyes, counted two seconds, then opened them—now seated at a card table.

Across from him stood the dealer, dressed in an adult-sized, life-like rat costume.

With his “God of Gamblers” getup, Yan Jiyun sat straight and tall, every bit the part.

He subtly examined the room—there was no deliberately oppressive atmosphere.

Yan Jiyun focused on the rat dealer, smiling faintly, as the dealer addressed him in a woman’s youthful voice.

She spread a deck of cards on the table. “Greetings, player. Welcome to the Rat Door. I will be your dealer for this round. Will you be choosing how many rats to play with? You have three minutes to learn the rules.”

Yan Jiyun asked, “What are the rules?”

The dealer explained, “Do you know the old story? The rat outsmarted the cat and the ox in the zodiac race, coming in first. You’ll have three rounds to challenge the rats. As long as you win, you can draw a corresponding number card from the deck—each card stands for a different number of points. Draw an ace and you’ll get 1,000 points, and so on; a king, 13,000 points. If you draw a joker, you’ll get a clue card to help clear the level.”

Drawing that single clue card from fifty-two was no small feat.

What interested Yan Jiyun more was his opponent. “How many rats are there? Are they players or real rats?”

The dealer: “They are all real rats.”

Yan Jiyun relaxed a little. If they were real rats, that was easy—just chase them down one by one.

“How does the game start?” he asked.

The dealer replied, “How many rounds do you wish to play? Maximum is three.”

Yan Jiyun: “All three.” If you’re going to play, go big or go home—only big wins yield big rewards. “If I win all three, do I draw three times?”

Dealer: “Even if you win all three, you can draw only once—but for each round, I’ll remove ten low-value cards from the deck for you.”

Yan Jiyun: “So, one win removes ten cards?”

Dealer: “Not quite. Nothing is removed for the first, ten for the second, twenty for the third.”

From this, Yan Jiyun guessed that Round One was easy, Round Two moderate, Round Three hard.

The dealer continued, “Please close your eyes—your match will begin immediately.”

Yan Jiyun asked, “What kind of contest is it?”

Dealer: “A race. For the first match, you’ll be racing against seven rats. Win, and you’ll proceed to the second round, with a five-minute rest in between. Between Rounds Two and Three there will be a ten-minute break. Any other questions?”

The dealer was already growing impatient.

“Will I see you again after the third round?” Yan Jiyun asked.

The dealer chuckled. “Of course, I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

Yan Jiyun sounded disappointed. “Oh. Looks like I’ll have to use another experience card.”

Dealer: “Your three minutes are up. Wishing you an enjoyable game.”

She pressed a red button on the table, and suddenly Yan Jiyun’s chair tipped backward. In the next second, he found himself standing in lane number five.

The other lanes were occupied by huge, fat rats, each about as tall as his ankle, all sturdy and solidly built—not so different from real-world rats.

Yan Jiyun: “…”

There was really no room for imagination.

Or, perhaps there was. Every rat wore a red vest with a numbered tag, stretching out and hopping about. One, number 9, even stood upright to twist its hips.

Then he heard them speak in human tongue.

Number 9 rat: “Never seen a human in a suit race with us rats before! Real fancy—bet he loses miserably.”

Number 1 rat: “Absolutely. Which player could ever beat a member of the rat clan? Such arrogance.”

Number 22 rat: “I’m so excited—finally we have a race!”

Number 15 rat: “If you let a human catch you, you’d be the shame of all ratkind.”

Actually, Yan Jiyun’s suit was just for show; it wouldn’t hinder his movement at all.

He looked at the one in the 15 vest, who could leap up to his knee, and asked, “What are you all so excited about?”

None of the rats cared in the slightest.

“No way the two-legged beast can out-run us.”

“Exactly. They hate us, but do they think we don’t hate them back? Humans have never been able to catch us.”

“Have confidence in yourselves!”

Suddenly, number 15 rat asked, “Hey human, how can you understand what we’re saying?”

All the boastful rats: “…”

Wait, was this human talking to them?

Yan Jiyun shrugged. “Aren’t we all speaking the same language? Nothing I can’t understand. By the way, I definitely will beat you.”

Number 15 rat: “Bring it on, human—if you win, I’ll call you daddy.”

Yan Jiyun: “It’s settled. Prepare to call me daddy.”

The track was just eight hundred meters—easily within his sprint range.

A rat in a blue vest raised a starting gun and shouted, “On your marks!”

Yan Jiyun glanced at his human experience card.

[Experience card time remaining: 1 second]

“Get set—Go!”

The excited rats suddenly saw, instead of a human, a huge black cat dart out with them.

Number 15 instantly screamed in terror, “Holy crap! It’s a cat! Run for your lives!”

Yan Jiyun thought this game should really have been called “Welcome to the World of Rats.”