Cat 164: Mingya High 2.0

Chapter 164: Mingya High 2.0

[Be Human If You Can] Livestream Chat:

“All the other players have new roles, but the kitten is still a high schooler!”

“Hahahaha, I’m dying—did Mr. Qu do this on purpose?”

“Is Mr. Qu a subsystem admin? Otherwise, how does he have the power to suppress the kitten alone, making him the only one not reassigned in the new scenario?”

“Looks like the other players were all dropped straight into the new Mingya High scenario by the painting.”

“Basically, they switched to a new story set in the old Mingya High setting, just changed the time period. Different things happened in different years.”

“Ahhh, can’t wait for the new story, it’s so packed with a supernatural vibe. Just my thing.”

“So what level scenario is this now?”

“I’d say it’s still the same: level 4, hard.”

Yan Jiyun was still dazed by the fact that everyone else had shifted to adult forms while he alone remained a teenager. He only snapped to awareness after Qi Feng and the others entered the campus, then hurried to catch up.

As he slipped in behind the crowd, Yan Jiyun saw his system interface refresh.

[Public Channel: As the new main storyline is underway, the Mingya High scenario has been revised. Welcome, all players, to Mingya High 2.0.]

[Public Channel: All original Mingya High scenario player tasks are now on hold. Original rewards will be issued after the new main storyline scenario ends.]

[Public Channel: Good luck, players~]

Mingya High 2.0?

Just like that, it changed!

Yan Jiyun watched as all his remaining Mingya High questlines faded away, leaving only the “new main quest 3 (completed).” The new main quest 4 hadn’t even opened yet; players had to dig it up themselves.

For now, Yan Jiyun couldn’t show himself—since he didn’t have a new “role,” he’d be spotted at once by the other players.

Most players in the Mermaid scenario were, like him, low-level, but the Mingya High scenario was full of advanced players. None of them were pushovers, or the system wouldn’t have simply rebooted Mingya High as “2.0” and made them start again.

Did this count as the fourth scenario already?

Yan Jiyun was too tired to even complain about the system anymore.

Dusk had fallen, and the player-NPC blended film crew was smoothly going about its work.

At this moment, the actors were prepping lines and finding their marks, while staff handled costumes and props.

Yan Jiyun, lacking any role in the new scenario, had no idea about the content of the shoot. He could only hide and eavesdrop.

Qi Feng had landed the male lead, while the female lead was a pretty, innocent NPC.

Lan Mo was now Qi Feng’s assistant, fanning him from the side.

Gu Wenzhu became the agent, and Qiu Xi was relegated to the role of grip.

Every player had a role, big or small—about half the cast was players, the other half NPCs, and the crew totaled at least a hundred.

Director and producer were both played by NPCs.

If not for the crowded scene, Yan Jiyun would have gone straight to Qi Feng.

Sneaking a glance at a script left on a folding chair by an actor, he saw the title was simply and bluntly called “Mingya High.”

Scanning the cast, Yan Jiyun suspected the real Mr. Qu was among them; both Qu Teacher Number One and Two had changed, so who was who now?

To get a better look at the script, he hid among a pile of bags and tugged the script off the chair with a swipe of his paw.

Now with night falling and the chair half in shadow, as long as he kept his head down, he’d be fine.

He remembered the script belonged to the second male lead, who had multiple assistants: one delivering food, one tidying outfits, one fixing his hair—as pampered as a prince.

The name on the script was “Qu Wanchao.” Instantly alert, Yan Jiyun realized: this was Mr. Qu.

But this Qu Wanchao was off consulting with the director and unavailable for closer observation. Yan Jiyun couldn’t be sure it was the very same Mr. Qu.

He overheard others gossiping about Qu Wanchao—how he was a diva, always trying to rewrite the script to expand his role.

The one gossiping was the fourth male lead, who’d had cosmetic surgery—pointy chin like a cartoon villain. Likely, he played a “ghost” in the movie.

“Come on, bro, don’t slag him—Qu Wanchao was scouted hard by the producer. With his fame, our low-budget film might go big.”

“It’s just a supernatural horror—no way it does more than 100 million in box office. Pay his fee and there’s no profit left.”

“That’s not your problem. You get your fee, right?”

“Still, I can’t stand him. He gets to cherry pick roles, then demands extra scenes—so irritating.”

“Qu Wanchao’s actually talented, you know. He just wants logic in the script—it’s normal. Even Qi Feng’s a film emperor and earns less than him.”

“You’re my assistant—stop talking up rivals! Qi Feng’s a has-been. If he didn’t take this film, he’d be starving.”

Yan Jiyun agreed: this assistant was probably on his way out. His own “owner” as an actor couldn’t possibly be hard up for money—the guy could turn a live stream into gold.

Having had his fill of male four’s complaints, Yan Jiyun listened in on Qu Wanchao and the director.

As it turned out, the rumors weren’t true. Qu Wanchao simply pointed out logical inconsistencies.

“Director, look here: after Qi Feng and I fall, there’s a close-up of a bloody face. With our characters, we might be startled but wouldn’t start screaming—not instantly. Can we fix that? Screaming feels off-character.”

“You’re right, that calls for a change. Screenwriter, over here—!”

Same Mr. Qu as always—no matter the field, always at the top, instantly a top influencer.

Just, with Teacher Qu’s personalities shifting, it was almost impossible to spot him on sight—they’d have to observe closely.

The producer was also a young man, steady and self-assured, addressed respectfully as “Producer Ci.”

Yan Jiyun scanned the crowd for any other “Qu” actors but only found Qu Wanchao. How many fractured personalities remained?

Was Mingya 2.0 the final scenario? At this rate, all his fur would fall out.

After a half hour of discussions, filming finally began.

The film was an adaptation of the original Mingya High scenario: a bunch of skeptical youths, seeking thrills, dared each other to spend the weekend exploring the haunted Mingya High and—foolishly—started a livestream. During their ghost game they encounter the ghost of a girl who had died tragically at the school, and one among them was linked to her death. The movie was a revenge mystery—the real killer was hiding among the group, and a vengeful spirit would pick off the guilty one by one.

A scenario within a scenario, really.

The script mirrored a real tragedy at Mingya, so would similar events now unfold among the crew?

Who had written this Mingya High 2.0 script?

Instinctively, Yan Jiyun watched the decisive producer.

Producer Ci—young, cool, the entire crew deferred to him.

The first scene: after entering the school, the cast walks the main teaching building’s hallway. The staircase is rickety, the bulbs flicker, a dozen hyped-up youth try to act brave. Only male leads one and two are calm; male lead three is a lively type, always clutching a selfie stick for the live feed, and male lead four is a show-off rich boy with his girlfriend. Somehow every part is key.

Qi Feng, a seasoned player, handled acting with such ease that Yan Jiyun was nearly awed—not for nothing was he his chosen “owner.”

He remembered that, after he’d first “reincarnated,” he’d hidden in a bush, terrified of just running up to any random person. He listened for two hours to the footsteps passing by. The impatient rushed, the lazy dragged heels, the indecisive alternated speeds. Qi Feng’s measured stride stood out—neither heavy nor hurried. He knew then: this was a careful and self-possessed man who guarded his feelings.

That’s why he’d chosen him, feigning feebleness to catch himself an owner who could take care of him—a skill he’d invented on the spot.

But back to business.

He needed to figure out the new Mingya High storyline. The characters were the same as the Mermaid scenario, but the plot was different.

Last time, he’d nearly solved the mystery. Who’d have guessed he’d be shunted back to the mermaid scenario? And now, on returning, everything was reset—upgraded and changed.

The system grows craftier all the time, hiding the true “Mr. Qu” ever deeper.

Maybe this “Qu” was just a red herring.

Else, it would be far too easy. The system would never hand them the answers.

Player-actors kept one eye on the plot, but also watched their surroundings—Qi Feng included.

But the game defied expectations: no one died in the first scene, and not even a whiff of the supernatural.

Suddenly, Yan Jiyun heard secretive noises upstairs.

Was someone setting traps?

Forget the performance; he’d have to find the truth early if he wanted out of this endless scenario.

The scenario map hadn’t changed at all, and he could run it blindfolded now.

The main building’s hallway was occupied by the crew; barging through would get him spotted, so he turned and ran another way.

Just after he darted off, a player remarked, “Was that a black cat just now?”

Another replied, “Didn’t see—maybe you imagined it.”

Lan Mo, playing the attentive assistant, overheard: “You saw a black cat? How big?”

The first player recalled, “It darted out of the shadows—around six or seven pounds?”

Lan Mo frowned. He’d seen Caramel at Mingya—a solid six or seven pounds, but everyone here was supposed to be back in normal form. Qi Feng’s cat should also be in his “real” size.

Qi Feng, ever precise, had once told Lan Mo the cat was almost fourteen pounds as an adult.

So was this black cat really Caramel? How could it be only six or seven pounds?

He decided to wait and tell Qi Feng later, after the scene.

Meanwhile, Yan Jiyun had run to the second floor. The rustling noises had suddenly stopped.

His hearing was sharp—but now no one’s footsteps sounded.

Who was causing the commotion?

Silence settled.

Yan Jiyun glimpsed a floating patch of white drifting past one window!

His fur stood on end, and he yowled instinctively: “Meow!”

He shrank into the corner, unwilling to move. He remembered Gu Wenzhu had once explained how “ghost house” tricks used tracks to slide “girl ghost” props from left to right—a perfectly scientific technique.

Definitely science. No ghosts. He didn’t believe it!

Still, the script he’d just read loomed in his thoughts. There was a grudge involved—the girl ghost was called back by a vengeful force to punish those who wronged her.

If the script had a ghost, could the new scenario have one too?

Yan Jiyun didn’t want to scare himself further, but that flash of white had rattled him.

His startled cry also brought Qi Feng running—he’d just finished his scene.

Qi Feng bounded up to the second floor and found Caramel huddled in the corner, shivering, green eyes enormous.

With a long exhale, Qi Feng felt a complex relief: he’d guessed right—Caramel would follow automatically to the new scenario.

They’d found each other once again.

Yan Jiyun hadn’t thought he’d lose his nerve so completely—his legs, useless, wouldn’t even hold him up!

So embarrassing—to need Qi Feng to pick him up.

But it wasn’t his fault. He was a cat, not a person—cats weren’t supposed to be embarrassed by fright.

Qi Feng soothed him, gently running his hand down the trembling back. “Don’t be scared. We’ll beat this scenario and get home soon.”

Yan Jiyun played along, going limp with fear: Yes, yes, let’s hurry and get home. This kind of unscientific supernatural horror shouldn’t even exist!

He’d never imagined he’d reunite with Qi Feng this way, but he really just wasn’t any good with supernatural stuff—it genuinely scared him silly.

Even the monsters in the original Mingya High scenario weren’t this scary. No wonder it was Mingya 2.0. This was a pure horror scenario, not a mystery!

Mr. Qu was truly sinister—if he really hid himself among the ghosts, Yan Jiyun would never find him. He was terrified of ghosts, terrified of being startled.

Not that Yan Jiyun was truly that fragile—he’d just sat too long in the cold outside, suffered rain and wind earlier, and was now dead tired.

Just as Qi Feng got Caramel back, the director started shouting downstairs.

The director—still under thirty, a bit hoarse perhaps from frequent shouting. Up close, he had a scholarly air even in a utility vest—unexpectedly attractive.

Yan Jiyun sneezed hard. The director looked the part; it was said in the industry the social web was a mess—actors would do anything to curry favor or get good scenes.

The director was surnamed Jiang, “Director Jiang.” Qi Feng had already introduced himself prior to the shoot.

Jiang spotted the lump in Qi Feng’s arms and frowned, “What have you got in there? The next scene’s about to start—don’t mess up the look.” He called for the stylist. “Fix Qi Feng’s clothes!”

“Give me a second, Director Jiang, I’ll be right there.” Qi Feng handed Caramel to Lan Mo, out of sight, “Careful.”

Lan Mo: “I was about to tell you Caramel made it here, but you found him yourself.”

Qi Feng: “There’s something weird upstairs. He saw it and got spooked.”

Lan Mo: “Cats can be scared of ghosts?”

Yan Jiyun wanted to argue: Why can’t cats be scared of ghosts?

Qi Feng: “Where’s Shiyan?”

Lan Mo: “Just went up to check, took the other stairs. He knows the Mingya scenario well, he went to check things out.”

Director Jiang approached and Qi Feng stopped talking.

The director smiled, “What are you two chatting about?”

Lan Mo: “Just work stuff, Director Jiang.”

Jiang noticed the bulge in Lan Mo’s arms, studied it, then strode off without comment.

Lan Mo whispered to Qi Feng, “Heard from the NPC cast: Jiang’s a genius director. Won the Golden Goose Best New Director at twenty, releases one film every three years, each more successful than the last.”

Yan Jiyun’s eyes lit up. A prodigy? Could be another Qu Persona then.

Qi Feng: “Anyone else with brains and talent?”

His thinking ran like Yan Jiyun’s.

Lan Mo: “Second lead: Qu Wanchao, huge star at a young age, you took the same car over.”

Qi Feng: “Qu Wanchao was Mr. Qu’s name in Mermaid.”

Lan Mo, enlightened: “No wonder it sounded familiar! Is he our target?”

Qi Feng: “Do you really think so?”

Lan Mo: “I’ll ask around some more.”

Yan Jiyun sneezed again, getting sleepier.

Qi Feng frowned. He knew his cat’s body well. Always a bit delicate, prone to stomach upsets, quick to catch cold…

If not for his current role, he’d have kept Caramel tucked in his arms all day. “Caramel’s caught a cold, keep an eye on him.”

Lan Mo: “On it.”

Director Jiang called for actors to prep for the next scene.

It was set in the first classroom on the second floor—the very spot where Yan Jiyun had seen that ghostly flutter.

Once they left, Lan Mo found a pricey, understated bag amongst the NPCs’ suitcases and put Caramel in—only the finest for Qi Feng’s cat!

Yan Jiyun kept sneezing, drowsy and drained. “Childlike Innocence” had him on high alert throughout, and now, in a new scenario, he still hadn’t relaxed—a cold coming on strong.

No matter how lucky or powerful, some things couldn’t be changed. He still wasn’t strong enough.

Director Jiang had an assistant—this scene would be shot by the assistant, while Jiang handled other tasks.

Non-leading actors were all pretty professional—no complaints about filming in a dusty, shabby classroom. But the pointy-chinned male four lead kept grumbling to his assistant about the poor conditions.

It made Yan Jiyun’s ears ring; he wanted to find something to stuff in the man’s mouth.

His mind dulled, he was about to doze in the bag when a cry rang out from outside the classroom: “Help!”

A life-and-death call at the very start?

Mingya High 2.0 was hardcore.

Still, nothing could stir Yan Jiyun’s curiosity—he was truly exhausted, and needed rest.

Lan Mo and Qi Feng made no move; more energetic players handled the commotion, along with their teammates—no need for everyone to pile in at once.

Soon, someone returned to report to the assistant director: just a mishap—a staffer nearly slipped off the wire rig, nothing supernatural.

Everyone gave a collective sigh of relief—no weirdness here.

Filming continued; Qi Feng was busy as ever.

Now it was his scene with the female lead. She gently tugged his sleeve as if wanting to confide, but Qi Feng’s character brushed her off. The second lead consoled the female lead.

The classroom had been dressed in advance for a key scene: someone brought up the old case from years before, and shooting proceeded smoothly.

Second lead Qu Wanchao inquired, “They say every year on October 1st, a senior girl in a white dress jumps from the top of this building, and you can sometimes see her ghost passing outside the classroom windows at night.”

Lead four, meant to play a devil-may-care playboy but actually a coward, bantered, “Ha! If ghosts are real, let’s see if one shows up tonight!”

He was acting pretty naturally, glancing unconcernedly out the window—then, suddenly, his smile froze.

He screeched, “Aaaaah—ghost!”

Yan Jiyun, wincing at the shriek, was about to complain when he heard Qu Wanchao coldly announce his line: “Today is October 1st.”

This scenario was out for blood.