Cat 131: Eye Contact

Chapter 131: Eye Contact

“Yandere characters are simply unfathomable. Looks like our little cat is in for it—Mr. Qu will probably hunt him down.”

“I don’t believe the teacher will actually hunt down the cat. He just saw the cat’s real form! What if the cat manages to heal him?”

“No way. It’d be lucky if he doesn’t snap the cat’s neck! We’re watching the story from the cat’s point of view, but if you look at it from the other players’ perspectives, it’d be a whole different genre. Healing? In a world with an unstable, yandere teacher? That’s wishful thinking. Besides, the cat can barely keep himself alive in the instance, let alone heal a yandere teacher. What are you even thinking?”

“I searched for what ‘yandere’ means—turns out it’s an unhealthy mental state, with possessiveness, paranoia, and extreme behavior. Oddly, I’m a bit into that now. Loving Mr. Qu even more! I want to see just what indescribable things Mr. Qu and the cat get up to next.”

“Mr. Qu really has an obsession with whether his students obey him or not. If the cat doesn’t calm his anger, will he choke him to death the next time they meet, just to let him feel that exquisite, obsessive love?”

“Sis, what kind of terrifying thought is that? But now I actually want to see it! It’s clear in my mind already: Mr. Qu’s slender fingers gently stroking over the black cat, and then suddenly—”

But at this moment, Yan Jiyun’s only thought was to run if he saw Mr. Qu again. Who would have thought that running out would actually trigger one of Mr. Qu’s quests?

Well, to be fair, the moment he fled class and didn’t come back, it was inevitable he’d be remembered.

He didn’t leave right away after going downstairs; with school letting out, there were either NPCs or players milling about outside.

It was dismissal time, and the school broadcast system began playing the end-of-day music.

For a brief moment, Yan Jiyun had the illusion that he’d traveled back to high school. The game was so realistic, it was almost frightening.

But no matter how realistic it was, the school’s dismissal music was downright unsettling.

The school seemed peaceful enough, but trying to pick out familiar players among thousands of NPCs who looked just like ordinary people was no easy task.

Yan Jiyun still had no idea where to find Gu Wenzhu and Qiu Xi. Chances were, neither of them would use their experience cards lightly, but Gu Wenzhu’s limp made him easy to spot.

Now, though, it was time for dinner—where was the cafeteria?

No matter which instance he was in, he never missed a meal.

There were plenty of students on the stairs. Before the flood of people arrived, he used his experience card, blending in with the crowd as he headed toward the cafeteria, and quickly finished his dinner there.

Even dining in the cafeteria, he didn’t come up empty-handed. At the very least, he overheard players exchanging information with their teammates—and now, all that information belonged to him.

Turned out, players weren’t just in the art exam class, but scattered across all the ordinary classes throughout the school.

Every player’s first class upon entering the game was a test; if caught cheating during that test, the system would reduce their allotted game time!

Which meant other players might get seven days to explore, but cheaters would get less. And the results from the afternoon exam hadn’t been announced yet, so there might be new penalties to come.

After leaving the cafeteria, Yan Jiyun found a quiet corner, turned back into a cat, and lazily sprawled across an ancient tree to digest his meal.

The game might be a trap, but when it came to food, it never cheated the players; as long as you stayed alive, the meals were always decent.

He perched on the tree and watched the passersby—NPCs and players alike.

Most school roles didn’t stray far from the ordinary; teachers, staff, church aides, and support personnel.

Ranked by status and game relevance: students, teachers, support staff, and school leaders.

Trying to pick out the “chosen one” among thousands of NPCs was no easy feat.

Clearly, the slow filtering approach wouldn’t work; he needed to start with the events themselves.

Plenty of students had good voices, but the truly exceptional talents were probably just one or two.

Even though he’d been assigned to the art exam class, the system hadn’t stated the protagonist would definitely be from there.

So far, among the people he’d met, it was unlikely a teacher was the system-designated “mermaid,” which left students.

Han Ruibai was the first NPC he’d encountered who was involved in any significant event. Mr. Qu had praised his singing, but he’d also praised and advised plenty of other classmates who sang well—hardly unique.

The old tree Yan Jiyun crouched in split the school path into four directions: toward the chapel, the student dorms, the sports field, and the library.

Everyone wore the same uniform, emblazoned with “Mingya High School.”

This was a fully closed-off boarding school—no day students. Only on weekends were students allowed home for two days, though seniors often had just one or even half a day off. This instance lasted seven days, so he guessed all the players had been assigned the roles of seniors.

Patience was the least of Yan Jiyun’s worries; amid the constant flow of people, he picked up plenty of gossip.

On the road to the dorms was a small shop. After dinner, students often stopped by to buy ice cream and other snacks to cool off, chatting as they walked.

After basketball, the boys also liked to rush to the store nearest the court to buy drinks.

This spot was a crossroads for almost all students; Yan Jiyun overheard gossip not just about crushes but also teacher rivalries and, as dusk fell, the inevitable talk of school legends and supernatural tales.

Not that Yan Jiyun was particularly interested, but he had to listen—so many TV dramas and games started with tales of school horror.

He filtered out the unimportant chatter and made mental notes of the school’s urban legends.

He overheard one such tale from a couple.

The boy, trying to impress the girl—and perhaps make her more dependent on him—bragged about happenings in their dorm.

Yan Jiyun lounged above them, his tail flicking the branch. If it were longer, he’d have loved to separate these lovebirds.

It was bad enough having to watch their flirting; eating ice cream in front of him was just too much.

Boy: “Baby, have you heard any of the school ghost stories?”

Girl: “What ghost stories? Are they scary?”

Boy: “Like the rumor of someone singing in the piano room at midnight? Yan Heng and the others want to check it out after evening self-study. Want to come?”

Girl: “Are you going?”

Boy: “Could I not go? Of course I’m going.”

Girl: “I knew you’d be brave. Then I’ll go too—but you have to protect me tonight.”

Boy: “You’re my girl, how could I not protect you?”

The girl giggled: “Shameless.”

From his perch, Yan Jiyun silently urged them to shove off—lovesick couples were the worst.

Tonight some students were going to check out the piano room—could this be an important plot point?

Just as he was musing, the system sent out a notification.

[Player Yan Jiyun’s music theory score: 90 points.]

[Congratulations on passing the music theory test with a high score.]

[Public announcement: Players who did not pass must return to the classroom for evening study at 7:00 p.m. (19:00-21:00). Those who passed may return to the dormitory to rest.]

Yan Jiyun thought, well, it wasn’t really his score—he’d copied the answers. The real brainiac was Han Ruibai.

If he wanted to score high in the coming music exams, he’d have to stay on good terms with Han Ruibai. Here’s hoping there wouldn’t be more tests; it wasn’t the regular class players who suffered, but him in the vocal class.

Evening study seemed to be a method of keeping players who didn’t meet the mark confined to the classroom, reducing their time for gathering clues—a mandatory evening study they wouldn’t be able to escape. So as long as there were no special NPC rules, it should be safe to sneak out and search for clues during class time.

But now that he’d learned about someone singing in the piano room at night, he knew he’d have to investigate.

Dusk was falling—just the time for action.

As Yan Jiyun prepared to jump down from the tree, he spotted Han Ruibai hurrying toward the classroom, books clutched in his arms. He wanted to ask him where his own dorm was, knowing there would almost certainly be a roll call at night.

He was about to shift back to human on the tree and leap down when he saw Han Ruibai approach a boy coming from the opposite direction.

The boy wore a buzz cut, held a basketball, was tall and lean, and looked every bit the moody teen in his jersey.

“Xue Ping, wait up.”

Xue Ping’s friend said he’d head to the cafeteria first, and Xue Ping paused where he was.

He sounded a bit impatient: “What is it? I told you not to call me at school.”

Han Ruibai said, “I just wanted to ask if you’re going home this weekend.”

Xue Ping replied coldly, “No. If you want to go, go yourself.”

Han Ruibai: “But you haven’t been home for a month. Uncle said—”

Xue Ping shoved him aside. “Mind your own business. Whether I go home has nothing to do with you.”

Han Ruibai stood facing him, a slender, obedient-looking model student, and the concern he showed made him appear all the more docile.

Could they be stepbrothers from a blended family?

Xue Ping caught up to his basketball buddies, and as Yan Jiyun watched them go, he thought he saw a boy who looked vaguely like Qi Feng among them.

He shook his head—must be all the time spent with Qi Feng; now every good-looking boy seemed like him.

The championship matches allowed you to bring your pets and items into the instance, but in the regular copies, both the pet-owner system and item shop were sealed off. He had no way of checking Qi Feng’s status info now.

But aside from that, there was one more tidbit—Han Ruibai’s family seemed pretty complicated.

Could he be the protagonist?

But wouldn’t that be a bit too ordinary? Then again, if this were a romance-themed copy, the family drama wouldn’t be out of place.

Yan Jiyun let his thoughts wander.

The male lead, shunned by his stepbrother, needing redemption from the female lead… both struggling against bullies at school, the plot practically wrote itself: mutual salvation.

Wait, he recalled Han Ruibai getting bullied in the bathroom earlier, and there’d been mention of a girl!

Could that girl be the supposed female lead?

Could he really be this lucky?

Yan Jiyun watched as Han Ruibai stood there with a desolate look, wondering why he didn’t go find the heroine—surely she’d comfort him.

But if Han Ruibai wasn’t the main character, there had to be another route.

Yan Jiyun waited until everyone had gone before jumping down from the tree.

Instead of speculating, it was better to search for more clues to support his theories.

The heat of the day faded quickly at night, and as autumn breezes picked up, most students running toward their classrooms had slipped into jackets.

Yan Jiyun’s small form allowed him to slip through all sorts of corners unseen.

He wondered if any other players had picked up on the recent school rumors, and whether there would be clues at this hour.

There probably wouldn’t be any new developments until the plot said so; might as well take a stroll around campus before evening study started.

Mingya High School was lushly landscaped, so he could glide unseen from greenbelt to greenbelt.

The athletic fields weren’t urgent, the dorms were probably empty, and the cafeteria had yielded nothing special. That left the chapel building and the gym. After weighing his options, Yan Jiyun decided to search the chapel building for files on teachers and students.

Surely Mr. Qu wouldn’t be there again, right?

During off hours, few students were in the teaching building, and most rooms were dark.

Yan Jiyun followed behind Han Ruibai.

But Han Ruibai seemed in no hurry to return to class; he sat alone at the flagpole, lost in thought.

Adolescent angst?

Yan Jiyun hadn’t really meant to follow him, but he was a decent student who’d helped him on the entrance exam, so curiosity got the better of him.

He wasn’t exactly worried about Han Ruibai—just found it odd.

Since sitting down, Han Ruibai had sighed three times.

Phones weren’t allowed in class, and he didn’t seem to have one, only glancing at the time on his wristwatch.

Was he really that upset over being brushed off by Xue Ping?

Honestly, Yan Jiyun found Xue Ping’s attitude aggravating. If he were his brother, he wouldn’t have bothered—let him do as he pleased.

Just as Yan Jiyun was about to stop tailing Han Ruibai and head toward the teaching building, a group of people sprang out from behind him.

If he remembered correctly, these were the same guys who’d been bullying Han Ruibai in the bathroom earlier.

The flagpole area was dimly lit. The group crept up while Han Ruibai was distracted, and one of them clamped a cloth over his nose.

Han Ruibai struggled, then collapsed.

“Dump him at the piano room and let the mosquitoes feast tonight!”

“Yeah, let’s see if he dares cozy up to Cheng Su again.”

“How could he dare to hit on our girl? Shameless.”

A boy with a scar between his brows spat, “He’s shameless like his mom. Disgusting—what a piece of trash.”

The three of them hoisted Han Ruibai and jogged toward the teaching building. Yan Jiyun was glad he’d followed—otherwise he’d have missed this development.

Why did Han Ruibai’s subplot feel so heavy? Was he really the protagonist?

It hardly seemed possible; he’d always considered himself unlucky.

Well, not necessarily—it could just be a coincidence. Scuffles between boys weren’t unusual, and if Han Ruibai were the protagonist, he could hardly be having it easy.

He’d keep watching for now.

Yan Jiyun trailed the group.

They carried their victim openly; when asked by teachers or students, they just claimed he’d fainted from overwork and that they were being good Samaritans escorting him to the school nurse.

Clearly premeditated. Even from a distance, Yan Jiyun could smell the ether wafting off Han Ruibai.

These highschoolers had too much free time—skirting the law for kicks.

There were no classes in the music building at night, leaving it mostly dark.

The three of them lugged Han Ruibai upstairs. The school was too stingy to run the elevator, so they had to take the stairs.

Yan Jiyun kept what he considered a safe distance.

Wasn’t the third floor where he’d taken his vocal lesson that afternoon?

Could the piano room be the same one Mr. Qu had used?

At this hour, the building was eerily quiet—no teachers or students.

The three classmates dumped Han Ruibai on the piano bench, nerves showing as they avoided staying longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get out of here—haven’t you heard the rumors?”

“You mean about someone playing piano at night?”

“Enough, enough—stop it. I’m getting goosebumps.”

“Coward. We’re all guys, strong in spirit—nothing to fear!”

“Let’s go. Timid or not, what matters is whether Han Ruibai will freak out when he comes to.”

“If he drops dead here, he deserves it—for hitting on Cheng Su.”

Seizing their distraction, Yan Jiyun slipped into the room and soon heard them close the door.

His heart pounded. Alone at night in this empty room—a place that wasn’t scary by day now felt haunting. Worse, the only other “person” was unconscious, leaving him effectively alone.

Yan Jiyun leaped onto the piano lid and slapped Han Ruibai’s face.

Once—twice—thrice—

No reaction.

Ten minutes passed. At a low concentration, ether wore off between ten and thirty minutes.

The boys probably hadn’t intended serious harm—just a cruel prank. Their threats of death were likely just angry words; had they meant it, they wouldn’t have carried him here in full view of the teachers and students.

Yan Jiyun slapped Han Ruibai again, but he showed no sign of waking. Was it possible his own strength, diminished by his small form, wasn’t enough?

Suddenly, his ears pricked—voices in the corridor.

The three had likely gone, but moments later scrambled back up the stairs, having apparently seen something strange.

Their voices trembled.

At the same time, Yan Jiyun heard the crisp clack of dress shoes on the tiled floor.

The sound was similar to Mr. Qu’s, yet subtly different.

Mr. Qu’s steps were a muted clatter, loud to Yan Jiyun’s sensitive ears in the quiet. This newcomer’s steps were lighter, more brittle. Yan Jiyun figured it wasn’t Mr. Qu.

So why were the three boys hiding?

As the steps neared the piano room, Yan Jiyun slipped behind the heavy curtain. To protect the piano from harsh sunlight, the curtains were thick, making him completely unnoticeable—especially in his small form, able to hide even in the narrowest spaces.

He left himself a gap to observe.

The door creaked open.

Yan Jiyun tensed—had he been discovered bringing Han Ruibai here?

Who was it?

Students usually wore sneakers or loafers, not shoes that would click like that.

Why was he walking around without turning on the corridor lights? If he were a normal teacher, he’d definitely turn them on.

The door swung open wider, and the newcomer stepped in.

He groped around for something at the entrance, then gave up and walked over to Han Ruibai, slumped against the piano.

Yan Jiyun dared not breathe, wedged behind the piano curtain, green eyes shielded from stray light. The piano itself helped hide his form.

The sound of shoes drew closer—his heart pounded in his throat.

Who was this?

He, too, had shoulder-length hair like Mr. Qu.

Was it Mr. Qu with different shoes? Why come to the piano room at this hour?

Yan Jiyun held his breath, hoping the stranger would do nothing worse to Han Ruibai—maybe even play the hero and take him out.

But evidently, the stranger couldn’t hear Yan Jiyun’s wishes. He circled Han Ruibai, then pinched his chin.

His voice was as deep as a cello: “Unlucky child. Tonight, it’s your turn.”

Yan Jiyun’s stomach dropped. What did that mean?

The voice was definitely not Mr. Qu’s. Was he going to kill Han Ruibai?

What now—should he try to save him?

But he didn’t know what weapons the NPCs might have, nor their combat ability.

The man’s hand reached for Han Ruibai’s neck.

Yan Jiyun braced himself to leap, ready to interfere. After all, Han Ruibai was his current exam cheat—he couldn’t let him “expire” just yet.

But as he pivoted to leap, there were more footsteps in the corridor—this time, unmistakably Mr. Qu’s.

The newcomer heard it too, pulling his hand away from Han Ruibai’s neck and slipping soundlessly behind the curtain.

Moments later, the piano room door opened again.

Yan Jiyun recognized Mr. Qu’s approach and remembered how mercilessly he treated wayward students. Could the midnight singing rumor be connected to him?

But at this moment, his biggest worry wasn’t Han Ruibai’s safety, but his own.

Because the man hiding behind the curtain was standing right beside him. Most of his face was hidden by his long hair, but as he lowered his head, his eyes met Yan Jiyun’s.

He’d been discovered! Wh—what now?