Cat 136: Two Main Quests

Chapter 136: Two Main Quests

“Meow~”

When Yan Jiyun opened his eyes again, he found himself not in Professor Qu’s apartment, but back in the music classroom in the music building. The portable speaker was still there.

The sight of those familiar curtains nearly sent him into a panic, making him cry out like a startled cat. How had he ended up in the music classroom?

Once fully awake, he realized he’d fallen for Professor Qu’s trick. Something was wrong with that sandalwood incense in his house—he hadn’t thought to watch out for the incense’s effects and now was paying the price.

Professor Qu could have simply carried him out of the apartment, so why bother drugging him first? Perhaps, in Qu’s eyes, he was nothing more than a kitten.

Waking up in a strange place, and in the middle of the night no less, ramped the horror up another notch.

Where was Professor Qu? And the second Professor Qu?

Could they not just come out and explain why he was brought here?

Did Qu and his double truly have to complete some NPC quest at night, scaring any players who dared enter the music building?

[6 days, 15 hours, 32 minutes and 11 seconds remain until the end of the game.]

Seven hours had passed since the afternoon. The best handheld game console was still in his memory.

When they entered the instance, it was about 3 p.m., and now it was around 10 p.m.—perfect timing for the rumored piano music to play.

He vaguely remembered hearing the piano while half-asleep. Was it really connected to Professor Qu?

The important thing was that he hadn’t noticed any other NPCs yet.

Thankfully, Professor Qu hadn’t restricted his freedom.

He just couldn’t open the classroom door and escape, so he found himself meowing for help, hoping a player might set him free.

Players were likely roaming the music building at this hour.

It wasn’t just players—he could also hear NPCs screaming. He recognized the voices: they belonged to those students who said they’d explore the music building at night.

Some NPCs had more courage; others, less.

“We really do hear the piano!”

“But where’s it coming from?”

“Should we even be checking it out tonight? Jiang Shiwen just jumped off a building, I’m really scared.”

“Stop it, stop it, I’m getting creeped out. Honey, let’s go back, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be afraid, dear. These are just rumors. Hold my hand!”

Yan Jiyun’s memory returned to the list he found in Professor Qu’s apartment.

He’d seen the “National Singing Competition Candidate Training List,” not the final confirmed list.

That preliminary list did include Jiang Shiwen’s name—so who wanted her dead?

Was it Professor Qu? But if it was, it’d be far too obvious; the game wouldn’t make the killer so plain.

Of course, if Qu were the killer, the method would be simple: he could use sandalwood to drug Jiang Shiwen, then push her off the building, making it look like a suicide. No one would suspect him.

Still, this was just a plausible theory. Jiang Shiwen’s death didn’t quite fit Qu’s style, but all the evidence pointed toward Professor Qu and his double.

The sounds outside eased the terror Yan Jiyun felt upon waking.

It had been a long time since he’d spent this much time as a cat; it was almost relaxing. He nearly forgot he could transform back into human form and simply open the door.

He chose to wait a bit longer—someone might come by and open the door for him.

The young couple and their classmates had just passed by. Soon after, Yan Jiyun heard screams from behind, cries of “ghosts!” This didn’t sound like NPCs—it was more like the work of players.

Yan Jiyun was unfazed. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard people screaming about ghosts in the music building. The portable speaker incident crossed his mind.

He wasn’t eager to switch back to human form. He wanted to figure out where Professor Qu had gone after bringing him here.

A faint sandalwood smell still lingered on himself, probably from when Qu carried him here. But Qu himself? Where was he?

Playing piano on the third floor?

That wouldn’t make sense. If anyone heard piano music at this hour, every sane player would know it was a person playing, not a ghost. That would ruin the horror entirely.

Hearing someone try the classroom door, Yan Jiyun kept quiet. He regretted his earlier meows—they probably wouldn’t earn him any help and could just scare people away. After all, black cats were stock horror elements.

He wasn’t just sitting idle, though; he overheard Gu Wenzhu’s voice. Their guesswork about the cat and the main plot was off the mark.

Joining up with them now would be a waste of a transformation card; better to follow silently and only reveal himself if needed.

Gu Wenzhu was cunning, leading other players to share more about Jiang Shiwen. Apparently, he’d only just arrived from evening self-study, or else he’d have heard about Jiang’s fall.

Yan Jiyun was preparing to hide when he noticed the curtain shifting—Professor Qu’s double materialized, as mysteriously as ever.

Both of them had that sandalwood scent, easily recognized, though with subtle differences: the real Qu smelled faintly of ink from handling music scores, while his double carried a hint of mint.

Wearing black from head to toe, Professor Qu’s double scooped Yan Jiyun into his arms and hid behind the door.

“Guoba, not a sound,” the double ordered.

Yan Jiyun rolled his eyes—honestly, was there a worse nickname?

He still wondered what the two brothers were scheming. Was it really necessary to drug and bring him here?

For a kitten to warrant such attention…

Maybe he was just a chess piece in their plot?

Professor Qu’s double was dressed all in black, even down to his mask. Hidden behind the door, no one could tell it was him.

Yan Jiyun knew there was nothing to discover in the classroom, so he stayed silent.

When everyone’s backs were turned, Qu’s double took a long stride out, moving with a fluidity like the wind.

That gust even brushed against the last player to leave.

“Did anyone just feel a cold breeze go past?”

A female player said, “I think I saw a black figure leaving just now.”

The others replied, “We didn’t hear anything.”

Gu Wenzhu looked puzzled, “I just heard a cat meowing. Where’s the cat? It was right here.”

Qiu Xi nodded in agreement—he, too, had heard the meow.

At this point, Yan Jiyun was being carried upstairs by the double. From the other classrooms came shrieks and screams.

It was strange—so many players, but so few in sight. What was going on?

Peeking into a classroom, he saw not a soul.

Before Gu Wenzhu and the others arrived, the piano music had played intermittently. Ever since the double showed up, it had stopped altogether.

Yan Jiyun was baffled. Where was the double headed? He watched and watched, to no avail.

Suddenly, a player burst out of a classroom, confronted by a masked NPC wielding a knife.

But the player wasn’t helpless—planting a powerful leg against the NPC’s chest, he kicked them away.

Combat noises filled his ears.

Taking advantage of the double’s loose grip, Yan Jiyun bounced from his arms and bolted to the third floor.

The double chased after him, lowering his voice: “Guoba, come back! Don’t run off!”

Yan Jiyun had no desire to be drugged a second time, nor any intention of listening.

On the third floor, he ran into the piano classroom where he’d had lessons earlier. Oddly, the piano inside was old—not the new one he’d seen Qu use in the day. The only disturbance was the dust stirred by Yan Jiyun as he entered.

He sneezed softly.

Had the game’s setting changed? When did it happen? The best handheld game console flashed through his mind again.

His second time in this building, he could clearly hear piano music and the players’ footsteps, but now Gu Wenzhu and Qiu Xi’s steps were nowhere to be heard.

The fur on his back bristled with fear—he needed to get out of there, fast.

At that moment, several unfamiliar NPCs entered.

They were all supposed to be students at this school, pushing through the door behind him.

So many teams of NPCs seeking ghosts?

He’d just heard the couple downstairs, but these seven students were clearly a different batch—and far braver.

Yan Jiyun hid behind the old piano to watch.

A girl’s familiar voice asked, “Are we really playing Ouija in here?”

Wasn’t that Cheng Su? She shouldn’t even be here! Why was she playing Ouija now?

A student replied, “Why not? This is exciting.”

Cheng Su said, “But it looks so scary. The music building hasn’t been open for years. It feels so eerie.” The portable speaker made its presence known again.

A male student answered, “That’s exactly the atmosphere we want.”

Yan Jiyun: ???

The music building had always been open—how had everything changed after a nap?

Was he trapped inside a dream woven by Professor Qu?

Did this have anything to do with his main quest of hunting for the “mermaid”?

Yan Jiyun’s fur stood on end again.

The seven played Ouija, but by observing closely, he suspected not all were NPCs; two were probably players, given their calm reactions.

On the second floor, a tour group was searching for the “piano music,” while on the third floor, another explored with Ouija. How could a single music building have so many overlapping rumors? Why did they all happen on the same stage?

With such a big campus, couldn’t they go anywhere else?

He had some experience with shifting scenes—Hide and Seek’s instance featured such changes, but that was by game design and didn’t require players to hunt storylines. This seemed different.

Why did the scene shift here?

Had he triggered some music minigame without realizing it?

Those two “students” behaving like players were about his apparent age—so they were likely fellow instance participants.

Could it be that the music building held yet another, lesser-known rumor?

But that couldn’t be—he’d seen the school’s promotional materials. The music building had always been a favored spot, never fallen into disrepair, even the building was new.

Music students there had won numerous awards; the building was a place many aspired to, how could it be reduced to this?

Yan Jiyun couldn’t unravel it, so he simply stayed put, watching them play Ouija from his corner.

He’d never played such games himself—observing was one thing, participating quite another. The best handheld game console popped up in his thoughts yet again.

Games like this were more about people scaring themselves.

He wondered which rumor this batch of NPCs corresponded to.

As they played, Yan Jiyun scrutinized each face. It turned out, the most unsettling face was the one on the far right—Han Ruibai.

How could he be here!

He’d sent him back to the dorm—they’d parted ways earlier!

Given Han’s physical condition, there was no way he should be up for this.

A thought flickered in Yan Jiyun’s mind—he felt on the verge of a realization, though things remained jumbled.

He’d never considered this angle before, but now he felt close to catching the thread—he needed more confirmation.

The Ouija game went on. Yan Jiyun guessed that one of the NPCs must be steering the others here, either for revenge or as a malicious prank.

He suspected the former.

His gaze lingered on the fair-faced Han Ruibai. This Han seemed gloomier and more silent compared to the one he’d known, who, though cold, still had warmth as a person.

Utterly bizarre.

He wanted most to know: what was the relationship between this Han Ruibai and the one he knew? Two sides of the same person? Or something else?

At that moment, the pointer on the Ouija board, pressed by the five NPCs’ fingers, began to move.

A round-faced male classmate exclaimed, “Wow, it’s moving!”

Beneath the glass was a cloth covered in characters.

Their hands moved as if guided by a force; the pointer spelled out: “What do you want to ask?”

Han Ruibai, who hadn’t spoken until now, suddenly said, “Should we ask if Mirror Lake is really so magical?”

Their classmate teased, “Xiao Bai, tsk tsk, you can’t judge a book by its cover. Do you have a crush on someone?”

Han Ruibai shook his head, features faintly flushed, losing his earlier gloom. “No, I’m just asking for my deskmate. She asked me that today.”

Another boy joked, “You sure it’s not you who likes her?”

Han Ruibai replied, “Stop it, she has a boyfriend.”

“Mirror Lake?”

Yan Jiyun hadn’t explored all of Mingya High’s map, but he did know there was a lake—was it called Mirror Lake?

From their talk, it clearly had its own rumor, too.

Wasn’t Han Ruibai’s deskmate a player? How come she’d become a girl, now?

Han’s rapid mood swings were jarring, making Yan Jiyun feel like he was watching two parallel storylines, like two dramas acted by the same group.

But with so many NPCs, why repeat the same ones over and over?

The round-faced boy said, “Ouija says it’s magical. Shall we try it out?”

A classmate asked, “Should we do it right now?”

With their fingers still on the pointer, it moved to the word “Go.”

Goosebumps broke out among the group.

Yan Jiyun found it all a little unnerving. Was there really a spirit here?

One classmate remained unconvinced. “I’m done playing. Let’s not do this.”

The pointer slid to four characters: “If you don’t, you die.”

Yan Jiyun’s view was blocked. Whatever they saw, it must have frightened them.

Some didn’t want to play anymore.

“I’m done!”

“Yeah, me too. Enough of this.”

“Why are our fingers stuck together?”

Their fingers spun the pointer in endless circles over those four words.

“Ahhhh!”

Scared out of their minds, the students let go and bolted from the room.

Even the two players stepped back in fright and then left the classroom as well.

Suddenly, Yan Jiyun was alone in the room with a pale-faced Han Ruibai, who looked too terrified to even get up.

He tried to stand, but when he saw two lamp-like lights flare up by the piano, his eyes rolled back and he fainted.

Yan Jiyun hadn’t expected Han Ruibai to be so faint-hearted—how could someone pass out so easily?

Seeing a grown man collapse, Yan Jiyun had nothing left to fear.

He leaped onto Han’s chest and gently tapped his face, taking care not to startle him into fainting again.

The blackout only lasted a moment—Han Ruibai woke to the sight of a black cat up close and nearly passed out again, but with those “lamp eyes” still fresh in his mind, didn’t quite lose consciousness, instead scrambling to his feet and running away.

Yan Jiyun suspected he hadn’t really fainted in the first place.

He chased after him.

The last time, Han Ruibai was drugged and brought into the music building; this time, Yan was chasing him out. The portable speaker loomed in memory.

The two players and the classmates who’d been scared off waited for Han Ruibai outside the building—at least they were loyal enough not to leave him behind.

The moment Han Ruibai burst from the building, they waved frantically.

“Over here, over here!”

Yan Jiyun tailed them quietly.

He remembered that during the Ouija game, it had directed them to Mirror Lake, to see if their wishes would be heard under the moon.

“Why were you so slow?”

Han Ruibai, embarrassed to admit being scared half to death by a black cat, lied: “Just startled, tripped on something.”

They debated whether to obey the board and make a wish at Mirror Lake. That last message had spooked them.

The first floor around the music building was overgrown with weeds; Yan Jiyun found a place to crouch, unseen.

He followed Han Ruibai’s group all the way to so-called Mirror Lake. The best handheld game console resurfaced yet again.

Under the moonlight, the surface really did look like a mirror, as if the moon itself had been set into the water.

With no lead-in, Yan Jiyun had no clue what rumors or stories surrounded Mirror Lake.

Han Ruibai’s group made its way along the lakeside path until a statue broke the surface at the lake’s center.

A mermaid statue!

Yan Jiyun’s thoughts spun in confusion.

Why would there be a mermaid statue here?

The round-faced classmate said: “I heard if a couple makes a wish to the mermaid under the moon, it’s very likely to come true.”

A player asked, “What if it’s not a couple?”

He shook his head ruefully: “No idea. Never tried it before. Who knew tonight would be this wild? The Ouija says it’ll work especially well. Maybe we should each make a wish. What if the spirit was right—if we don’t, will we really die?”

Yan Jiyun filtered out the two players, observing the five NPCs. All wore poker faces—no giveaways.

Cheng Su proposed: “Let’s do it. I wish to be admitted to the best conservatory in the country!”

Curiously, the dynamic between Han Ruibai and Cheng Su had shifted: here they were friends, not antagonistic with one chasing and one indifferent.

Yan Jiyun watched patiently.

Each one made their wishes, but except for Cheng Su, who spoke her wish aloud, the others just murmured internally.

Of the five, he’d met only two earlier in the day; the other three were strangers.

Wait, Cheng Su’s wish was music-related—did that mean Jiang Shiwen’s death had something to do with her?

But the whole scene felt subtly different from the school he’d reawakened to, post-drugging.

Han Ruibai was last to open his eyes. No sooner had he finished wishing than a system prompt sounded in Yan Jiyun’s ear.

[Congratulations, Player: Main Quest 1 Triggered—What wish did Han Ruibai, Cheng Su, Wang Ziming, Liu Yixuan, and Yang Pingping make together?]

A collective wish?

What did that mean?

So all five harbored a secret—a wish about something specific?

Had Cheng Su’s out-loud wish not actually been “admitted to the best music school”? The portable speaker again flashed by in memory.

That must be why she was in the regular class, not the arts track.

Wait!

He glanced at his system panel—why did he have two Main Quest 1s?

Was the system bugging out?

Wasn’t there supposed to be only one main quest per instance?

Where did this second main quest come from?

Had the system updated and layered a fourth-level difficulty—stacking two instances in one?

Same setting, two separate instances?

What had he done to deserve the “privilege” of two main quests?

Others had seven days for their instance, but he’d have to do two in the same time, which meant only 3.5 days per quest.

He flopped sideways into the grass. He didn’t want to exit—not ever. Let him just die here in the instance.

He’d never imagined his wildest guess could come true.

With a sudden burst, he rolled over and sat up. If he had to manage two instances, didn’t that mean the other players would too?

No—he needed to get back in the building to find Gu Wenzhu and Qiu Xi!

Two parallel instances, same NPCs, different backgrounds, different stories, different main quests—there was no way he could handle it all alone; it would drive him mad.

Better to lose their minds together.

Once the five “NPCs” and two hidden players left for the dorms after making their wishes, Yan Jiyun ran alone back toward the music building.

But when he arrived, he found its front doors chained shut; earlier, player shrieks had still echoed from inside, but now, silence.

Why was the door locked?

Where was Professor Qu? His double? Where had they gone?

Day in, day out—how was he meant to get back to the other instance!