Cat 116: Perfect Coordination
by CristaeChapter 116 Perfect Coordination
[Want to Be Human] livestream:
“I think the level-4 streamer was totally stunned when they saw the kitten.”
“Honestly, my eyes went wide too. Who would’ve thought the little cat would look so adorable in women’s clothes, even a bit like a mixed-blood child—just too cute. He went straight from being a gosling to a baby girl swan.”
“Nosebleed! So cute! Ahhhhh!”
“This cross-dressing is killing me. I thought the kitten would just turn into a cat and sneak away, but instead a dog showed up, then a bigshot came in and blocked him from transforming.”
“I feel bad for the kitten. But to be honest, even if he had turned into a cat, he might not have escaped. The casino is full of people, and they’re all superstitious—they’d probably see a black cat as a lucky charm. If he ran into someone on a losing streak, he’d be in even more danger than now. Appearing as he is now is actually safer.”
“But that’s not quite right. The kitten didn’t look wronged at all. He worked with the bigshot perfectly—one inside, one outside. I almost thought the bodyguard had discovered them, but the bigshot left just enough of a gap to let the guard check, and it completely cleared the bodyguard’s suspicions.”
“Honestly, I kind of love watching them team up. The kitten doesn’t have to work so hard when he’s with the bigshots. In the earlier scenarios, he was exhausted—barely a moment to breathe.”
“But who knows if partnering with random people will end in betrayal? All those players are experienced; you’d have to go through so much crap to become an advanced player, it’s hard for them to really trust the kitten. I think the rookie players he met in the beginner games are much more likely to bond with him.”
“How did I get here? I used to love watching players backstab each other, now I worry if they’re trustworthy. Am I sick in the head?”
“Me too. Must be addicted to this thing called the kitten.”
After Yan Jiyun and Chu Mo regrouped, the three of them wandered around the slot machines, finally locating the NPC that would guide them to the next door.
Standing in front of him, Chu Mo said, “Hurry and talk to him—he’s a wandering NPC. In a couple of minutes, who knows what corner he’ll have wandered to.”
Yan Jiyun covered his face with a hand and asked, “Should we all go through one door together, or split up?”
Having already experienced the team splitting up once, he decided to clarify things first, to avoid any misunderstandings.
Back to the importance of information sharing.
Yan Jiyun added, “I only have one card with info on the Rat Door. If we’re not choosing the same door, I can share what I know with you first.”
Qi Feng said, “Let’s go together. My info is Pig, Dog, Ox, Sheep, Chicken—two info cards, four numbers.”
Chu Mo explained his situation as well: “I’ve been through two doors, bought one piece of info—Ox, Monkey, Snake. One info card, two digits.”
Neither of them had any intention of hiding their information from Yan Jiyun. Since he was so open, they felt there was no need for secrecy.
Yan Jiyun calculated: between them, they now had information on eight Zodiac doors—Rat, Pig, Dog, Ox, Sheep, Chicken, Monkey, Snake. With no points for the Tiger Door and his current face making it impossible to blend in there, he could only slip away for now. That left the Dragon, Rabbit, and Horse doors.
Pooling their information should reveal some clues, but time was tight and they couldn’t afford to stop and analyze.
If they acted together, they’d have to go through the remaining Zodiac doors as a group.
Yan Jiyun asked, “When you went through the other doors, could players team up? Were there player-versus-player games?”
After all, mutual slaughter wasn’t his goal in grouping up with two veteran players.
Qi Feng: “Monkey was a single-player game.”
Chu Mo: “I went in solo, too.”
Yan Jiyun: “Alright, we’re only missing info from the Rabbit, Dragon, and Horse doors. Let’s decide our next move.”
Qi Feng: “Why not the Horse door?”
Any of them would do. With Qi Feng having made the call, Yan Jiyun and Chu Mo found it reasonable—no cause for argument.
The three of them approached the guide.
NPC: “How can I help you three?”
Chu Mo spoke for them: “Please send us into the Horse Door.”
NPC: “Certainly, but first, you need to gamble with me. If you win, you can leave.”
The three: “…”
So that’s why so many players get stuck at the Tiger Door—they couldn’t beat this NPC.
The guide’s gaze swept across their faces. “Since you’re a group of three, let’s play a three-person game. How about Dou Dizhu? You two versus me. If your side wins, I’ll send all of you through to the next door. You have thirty seconds to decide who’ll play.”
Chu Mo asked, “You two know how to play Dou Dizhu?”
Yan Jiyun: “A little.”
Qi Feng: “I’m good.”
Chu Mo was honest: “My cards are usually average—extremely so. You two take it.” He almost said his luck was terrible.
Yan Jiyun wanted to add that his luck wasn’t much better, but with him and his “shoveler” working together, it could work out.
All three were decisive.
It is a casino, after all—having Dou Dizhu as a game is perfectly logical.
Once they decided, the NPC raised a hand, and the three were transported into a space filled with players playing Dou Dizhu.
Some looked haggard, some sweat-drenched, others expressionless, and some utterly hopeless.
The NPC said, “Best two out of three.”
Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng took their places at the table, while Chu Mo was set aside with other players—about twenty or thirty of them.
Qi Feng went straight to the point: “Any special rules?”
He was asking about life-or-death terms, not just the rules of Dou Dizhu.
The NPC was the image of a classic beauty—cheongsam-clad, elegant—but in the eyes of players, however beautiful an NPC was, if life and death were at stake she was nothing but a viper, pure poison.
The lovely guide smiled lightly. “If, during the game, you or your teammate die, you may switch in another teammate.”
Even a beauty could be a cliff to one’s doom—a single misstep and you’d be crushed.
Yan Jiyun: “Anything else?”
Guide: “You must play your card within two seconds. If you’re too slow, you may lose your hand—so I advise you to give this game two hundred percent of your attention.”
As she finished speaking, two buzzing machines appeared over their heads—silent electric saws. Two blocks rose from the table—more accurately, they were handcuffs, locking their hands in so tightly that they could only pick and play cards.
Failing to play in time would mean losing their hands for real.
Just picturing it made the scalp tingle.
Is this to suggest that this is the gambler’s ultimate fate?
Yan Jiyun asked again, “What if we win both rounds in a row? Any rewards?”
Guide: “Yes. You may draw a card from the deck; if you draw both jokers they’re info cards, all other cards mean point rewards.”
So, the wandering guide was their key target. If you just kept gambling and didn’t think of leaving, you’d never find the Tiger Door’s info.
A sneaky setup: people are greedy, and once they’re stuck in a rut, they miss bigger clues—only those with strong will can get the lead.
Guide: “Shall we begin?”
Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng exchanged a glance and said in unison, “Begin.”
The guide did not deal the cards herself—the table distributed them automatically.
With a click, seventeen cards appeared before each of them, three more in the center.
Yan Jiyun focused fully on his cards, quickly sorting them by size.
His hand wasn’t great—the highest was a 2, and no joker. He immediately said, “Pass.”
Qi Feng promptly echoed, “Pass.”
The guide looked delighted as she took the cards: “I’ll be the landlord, then.”
With three players, the guide had to be landlord—Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng were automatically allied.
Her bottom cards: Hearts 7, Clubs A, Spades 5.
Yan Jiyun glanced at Qi Feng, sitting to his right.
He knew Qi Feng could definitely play—and that Qi Feng sometimes played Dou Dizhu on his phone.
Before the real world, Yan Jiyun had thought Qi Feng did it just as a pastime. On the surface, he always looked annoyed with other players, but played one round after another. Yan Jiyun couldn’t help but roll his eyes internally back then: Didn’t like it but kept playing—why?
Now he understood—Qi Feng wasn’t just passing time, nor for fun. He was practicing for every possible scenario he might encounter in these games. He had to drill all the time to be able to escape when the moment came.
Yan Jiyun had to thank himself for always watching Qi Feng play, dull as it might have been.
He’d wondered then: What was the point? Dou Dizhu is so boring, yet he’d watch whenever Qi Feng played—he really had too much free time.
Never mind—who was he to talk?
The guide’s cards seemed pretty strong—her feelings were written all over her face.
Dou Dizhu is also a game of counting cards—two “farmers” versus a “landlord.” Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng needed to cooperate seamlessly.
The guide led off. After her turn it would be Yan Jiyun’s—he had two seconds to play or pass.
His hand: 22AKKQJ8876654433.
Not a great hand—just average. Now it depended on his teammate’s cards.
The guide, as landlord, started: “Pair of tens.”
Yan Jiyun countered right away: “Pair of kings.”
Qi Feng passed.
His kings were just enough to beat the landlord’s play; she chose not to continue.
Guide: “Pass.”
Yan Jiyun played a single 5. Now it was up to Qi Feng.
Qi Feng laid down a Q.
The guide chose not to follow.
Yan Jiyun figured her hand was less strong than she let on.
Their opportunity—the initiative switched to their side. Qi Feng played a single 5.
Yan Jiyun glanced at him.
The guide chuckled: “Jack.”
Yan Jiyun looked over the table: not many cards had been played. As he had no jokers, either the landlord held a pair of jokers, or perhaps one joker each was in the landlord and Qi Feng’s hands. Besides his own, only the 9 was unaccounted for: maybe it was a bomb, maybe just scattered. He’d have to see.
His turn: “Q.”
Qi Feng passed.
Guide played an A.
Yan Jiyun countered with a 2. Qi Feng passed.
The guide played a small joker.
Yan Jiyun was calm; this removed the possibility of a bomb—most likely Qi Feng had the big joker.
Experienced players, when holding both jokers, sometimes play the big joker alone to confuse opponents, making them wonder if another joker is out there. If you lead with the small joker, it all but confirms the big one is not in your hand.
He remembered Qi Feng using this trick many times—turning around a bad hand and winning in the end.
Sure enough, Qi Feng played: “Big joker.”
It was just as Yan Jiyun had guessed—the big joker was with his teammate!
Qi Feng now had the advantage, and continued: “Pair of fours.”
The guide was troubled: “Pass.”
Qi Feng: “Pair of nines.”
She couldn’t beat that. She passed.
Yan Jiyun silently cheered: My shoveler, you’re awesome!
Now Qi Feng took over.
Qi Feng: “Straight.”
78910JQKA.
The guide couldn’t top it—she had no bomb.
Yan Jiyun watched Qi Feng run down his hand—just two cards left.
He held back the landlord with a 2, then played his last card—the diamond 3.
First round to Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng, through flawless teamwork!
Yan Jiyun relaxed.
The guide said, “Not bad. Let’s see if I can’t win the next one.”
Qi Feng had had the best hand that round—the NPC’s small cards doomed her.
But with that done, two rounds remained. Win one more and their match was over.
Of course, the system wouldn’t let them cocky for long. In round two, the NPC was dealt a sequence, a bomb, and both jokers. She obliterated Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng.
Clearly the system was cheating in her favor.
From the sidelines, Chu Mo nearly rolled his eyes out of his head. Spectators could see all the hands, and one look told him his teammates would lose.
But the most important was the third round.
Before it began, the guide giggled: “If you can’t beat me this round, you’ll have to stay in the casino for good.”
Yan Jiyun ignored her, instead glancing at Qi Feng. He wanted to encourage him but, with their hands restrained, settled for a wink: “Good luck.”
Qi Feng nodded lightly. “Mm.”
Yan Jiyun muttered to himself, Man, my shoveler saves every word.
Third round, the cards were dealt. Yan Jiyun’s hand looked similar to the first round, but now he held a small joker. The guide probably had the big one.
The table showed K, 8, 2 as the bottom cards.
Despite the 2, both he and Qi Feng declined to be landlord, leaving it to the guide.
The guide looked enthusiastic, clearly happy with her hand.
Yan Jiyun’s cards: small joker, 2, A, K, J, J, 10, 10, 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 4, 4, 3, 3.
Guide: “Pair of threes.”
Yan Jiyun couldn’t respond, so he passed without hesitation.
He couldn’t play, but Qi Feng could. Qi Feng: “Pair of sixes.”
The guide, though confident, was blocked. She couldn’t play.
Yan Jiyun guessed she also had a pair of sixes—Qi Feng’s move stopped her small pair.
They now had momentum.
Qi Feng continued: “Pair of nines.”
The guide impatiently flicked her cards, as if absentmindedly twirling a lock of long hair. Neither man was distracted; they were calculating, eyes only on the game.
“Pass.” She couldn’t play, so started attacking psychologically, joking with Qi Feng: “Handsome, who’s prettier, me or your girlfriend?”
Yan Jiyun: … My shoveler doesn’t have a girlfriend. What woman is she talking about?
Qi Feng showed no reaction, calm as ever: “Pair of queens.”
No sword of Damocles hung overhead—just an electric saw. A sword might kill in a blow; a saw would deliver agony.
As Qi Feng’s hand shrank, the NPC grew anxious: “Pair of kings. You two are really dull.”
Yan Jiyun still passed, unwilling to banter—she was clearly trying to disrupt their train of thought.
This time Qi Feng couldn’t beat the play and passed.
The NPC kept gossiping: “Pair of fives. Is that guy in the audience actually your boyfriend?”
Yan Jiyun ignored her; he wouldn’t get entangled.
He counted—Qi Feng had eleven cards left, and since he passed just now, he couldn’t play. Now Yan Jiyun had to take the lead.
Yan Jiyun decisively played: “Pair of jacks.”
Qi Feng was steadier than anyone, passing as if he hadn’t heard anything.
They’d stopped the NPC’s play. Yan Jiyun led with a single five.
Qi Feng: “Two.”
The guide, seeing her attempts at distraction had failed, and unable to play, snapped in frustration: “Pass!”
Yan Jiyun guessed she was feigning anger. She had the big joker but held back, knowing he and Qi Feng had the small joker. If she used the big one now, without a bomb, she couldn’t win.
Now Qi Feng led: “Straight.”
A, K, Q, J, 10.
The guide was blocked again, unable to play—Qi Feng now had five cards left.
The lead remained with him.
Yan Jiyun deduced: Qi Feng’s rest couldn’t be a straight, must be triples and two spares.
He hoped Qi Feng had a triple with a pair—then they’d wrap it up.
Qi Feng played: “Three with one.”
Three sevens and a five.
Yan Jiyun kept his expression steady.
Guide: “Beat you.”
Her play—three eights and a four—topped Qi Feng’s.
Yan Jiyun had no triple and passed. Lead was with the NPC now.
But both men breathed easier.
Yan Jiyun’s mind worked like a card counter. Excluding his and played cards, only one big joker, two twos, two aces, and 9, 10, J, Q remained.
No matter what Qi Feng held, they couldn’t lose now.
The NPC tossed out a nine.
Yan Jiyun passed, letting Qi Feng play—their smallest was a nine, so he needn’t get involved.
Qi Feng tossed his last card—an ace.
The guide sighed, unhappy: “You got lucky, beating me.”
With a click, the restraints fell away—Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng were free.
It was Yan Jiyun’s first time teaming with Qi Feng in a game, and they’d won. Excited, he reached for a high five, but then realized he was still in human form, not a cat with paws. It felt awkward, but he squeezed out: “Great teamwork.”
Qi Feng paused, then pressed his palm against Yan Jiyun’s, patting it gently: “Great teamwork.”
The scene shifted, and Chu Mo, from the audience, returned with them to the slot machines.
Yan Jiyun finally relaxed.
The guide announced, “Congratulations on passing my test. You may leave the casino or continue through the next door.”
The three stuck with their plan.
Chu Mo said, “We’ll enter the Horse door.”
Guide: “If you’re all sure, please press the confirm button in front of you.”
A confirmation button appeared before Yan Jiyun—confirm, or decline.
The game remained as crafty as ever: if anyone didn’t want to proceed together, they could back out at the last second—a final test for gamblers’ nerves.
Yan Jiyun pressed the confirm button without hesitation.
He was the first. As he vanished before their eyes, Qi Feng did the same. Chu Mo, a beat behind, muttered that these two were too fast, which only spurred his competitiveness.
After they’d all left, the lady guide admired her polished nails and mused to herself, “Oh dear, I forgot to tell them—my passage isn’t a set one, it’s random.”
Yan Jiyun felt a sudden sense of weightlessness. When he opened his eyes, cheers burst in his ears, nearly bowling him over.
Where was he?
Surrounded by crowds, all eyes were on the racetrack ahead. Where were Qi Feng and Chu Mo?
Had they not entered, or had the system split them up?
Of course it had—it would be suspicious if the three got to team up the whole way.
Still in that dress, Yan Jiyun longed to ditch the wig and clothes—but it wouldn’t be easy.
He rose from the crowd and made straight for the exit, needing to find a restroom and change clothes before he could move around freely.
He barely made it out of the crowd before a drunken man blocked his way. “Hey babe, free tonight?”
Yan Jiyun landed a punch square on his nose: “Babe your ass! Dare to mess with me?”
The drunk collapsed to the ground, dazed. Before he could scream, Yan Jiyun had slipped into the men’s restroom.
Inside, he turned back into a cat, donned his familiar three-piece suit, and tossed the wig and dress in the trash. He never wanted to see them again.
Emerging, he scanned his surroundings.
This was unmistakably a racetrack.
Leaving the stands, he saw people all around, papers and pens in hand, taking notes with more seriousness than any student.
Yan Jiyun still had no idea how to find clues for the Horse door.
Qi Feng and Chu Mo hadn’t found clues in the Tiger door; they all agreed it was a place mainly to rack up points.
Yan Jiyun didn’t get it—Qi Feng had racked up over a million points without being hunted by Brother Ruan, yet he’d only earned a mere hundred thousand and had to gamble for his life.
Is this what they mean by “same fandom, different fate”?
The place teemed with people. Yan Jiyun decided to forget about finding his companions, focus on finding clues, and get out—his trial card was running out of time.
At the information desk, as he inquired about the horse races, he glanced up and saw a banner: The horse race would be held at 8am, and any jockey who won three first-place finishes would receive a VIP card from the racetrack.
He checked the time—less than fifteen minutes before the race began.
He’d spent only twenty-one minutes clearing three games after leaving the Rat door—like he was cheating.
At the Tiger door, he spent less than an hour earning a hundred thousand points, earning Brother Ruan’s death wish, and escaped with his temporary teammates.
Now, he figured he could finish the Horse door in an hour or less.
Winning a horse race for an info card? He’d just have to manage it.
As he was still mentally preparing, the broadcast called his name: “Jockey Yan Jiyun, please report backstage to prepare. Jockey Yan Jiyun, please report backstage immediately…”
Alright, the system had set his role for him.