Cat 182: The Fearless Bride

Chapter 182: The Fearless Bride

[“AspireToBeHuman” Livestream Channel:]

“This scenario really doesn’t seem that complicated so far. Has the game master lost their touch? The plot lacks tension, the mystery isn’t strong. Honestly, it’s pretty dull.”

“I feel the same. I’ve already guessed the story: the elders won’t let the young people leave, probably because the outside world was thrown into chaos in the past. It’s all the old folks who suffered through war that are stopping the others from leaving—they just want to live in peace here and create their own utopia.”

“I don’t think that’s it. If this really were a utopia, the architecture would be much older, but instead they have cars and electricity. Where did all this come from? It actually reminds me of a movie I saw once, about a TV crew who built a massive artificial environment to record someone’s entire life, and a nation watched as the protagonist grew up—studying, falling in love, earning the affection of the public as a national son. Eventually, the main character noticed the inconsistencies and managed to break out.”

“The above theory makes sense, and it would explain the polarization of the town if no one can leave. With Cat Cub’s intelligence, I bet he’ll figure out the plot soon, and then it’s just a matter of clearing the stage. Honestly, these types of scenarios are getting pretty boring—I’m so sick of this kind of storyline.”

“I feel like it’s a supernatural scenario, though? Not that I care—I’m just here to watch Cat Cub! He’s so cute sneaking around, listening at the wall.”

“I want to know how that viewer above can even read facial expressions on Cat Cub’s inky black face?”

“Tsk, you newbies don’t get it, do you? If you look closely! I’m a top-tier cloud litter scooper, even started a Cat Cub fan thread. Anyone wanna join? The thread’s called ‘Destiny’s Most Powerful Litter Scoop Crew.’”

Yan Jiyun, hauled off by Liu Jingxi, was shoved into the passenger seat.

Yan Jiyun grumbled, “Weren’t you not supposed to drive after drinking?”

Liu Jingxi replied, “With your driving, I don’t trust we’ll even make it home—”

Yan Jiyun kept up the hick persona: “Pah, pah, cousin, don’t jinx it!”

Liu Jingxi looked genuinely startled. “Superstitious, aren’t you?”

Yan Jiyun said, “Well, isn’t it better to believe than not?”

Liu Jingxi asked, “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

Yan Jiyun patted his chest. “Not at all. What’s there to be afraid of? If a ghost tries to kill me, I’ll be one myself, and then we’ll see who comes out on top. I’d just tell them straight: dare to kill me, and when I’m a ghost, I’ll finish you off.”

Liu Jingxi chuckled, “Brave words. Hope you remember them tonight.”

Yan Jiyun pressed his back against the seat. “What are we doing…tonight?”

Please, not vigil duty—not for a brother who isn’t his own.

Liu Jingxi only said, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Yan Jiyun regretted his bravado instantly; next time, he’d keep his mouth shut!

Based on what he knew of Liu Jingxi’s character, he shouldn’t be heading back to the Liu house. But if he was just pretending all along, maybe he would drive straight home or to meet his gang.

Instead, Liu Jingxi took Yan Jiyun to a roadside wonton stall, still open at this late hour.

The stall was run by a young couple, the wife visibly pregnant.

Business was good. Several diners still sat at the little tables, settling in for a meal.

Liu Jingxi chose a spot with practiced ease and called over to the owner, who was stirring the wonton pot, “Two bowls of wontons, please.”

He noticed Yan Jiyun still standing. “Well? Don’t like wontons?”

Yan Jiyun shook his head. He wondered if he could even eat them—it did smell wonderful, and his stomach was rumbling so much he was practically drooling.

He sat down, glancing at Liu Jingxi. “I just didn’t expect a cousin who could eat and drink like a king at home to enjoy the same street stalls as the rest of us.”

Liu Jingxi snorted, “Don’t put a filter on me.”

Yan Jiyun shot him a look, then glanced at the other customers. No one had a phone out—how did Liu Jingxi even know the word “filter”?

What was with this scenario? Modern products, yet traditions persisted. A young man banned from leaving town, using outside slang so fluently?

Could Liu Jingxi’s memory have been altered and then dumped in this town?

He’d seen movies like this before. If this game could be streamed, maybe the town was its own kind of reality show?

But if he could figure that out, so could other players. That made it too easy—and since the game overlapped with a livestream program, this kind of setup would be far too obvious. If the viewers could guess the truth, the production value plummets. Given how malicious the system tended to be, there was no way it would let them catch on so fast.

Yan Jiyun made no hasty judgment. As always, he’d take note of the suspicious clues and unravel the mystery step by step.

The fragrant wontons were soon served.

Yan Jiyun eyed the steaming broth and dumplings, unsure how to start. While he was using a human form card, he still couldn’t quite handle scalding food.

Carefully, he scooped one out and tipped off the hot broth, blowing softly to cool it.

Liu Jingxi watched and commented, “You seem more like a pampered young master than me—spending all that time blowing on a wonton.”

Yan Jiyun stayed in character, pulling a woeful face. “Cousin, you probably never had to eat cold food. Kids like me from poor families rarely got a hot meal. Grew up eating raw and chilled things, and now I can’t stand anything too hot.”

Liu Jingxi pressed his lips together. “Shows how insular I am.” He turned to the owner, “Hey, one bowl of wontons, not so hot.”

The owner had clearly overheard them. Smiling, he said, “He’s right—if you always eat cold, your stomach can’t handle hot foods. I’ll bring you a bowl of cool water, dunk them for a bit and they’ll be just right.”

A truly decent soul; really forcing home the country bumpkin persona for Yan Jiyun.

“Thanks,” Yan Jiyun said, sighing and deliberately turning to Liu Jingxi. “I was just born for poverty, not prosperity—yet still got ‘rich people problems.’”

Liu Jingxi lowered his head, eating quietly. “If I’d known, I’d have let you eat at home. The food’s never too hot, and there’s plenty of meat.”

Yan Jiyun laughed awkwardly. “I’m actually not that into meat.” Taking a bite of the shepherd’s purse wonton, he nearly choked up—he hadn’t eaten such delicious wontons in ages.

Liu Jingxi shot him a glance. “What I mean is, nobody starts eating till the food is cold—my family talks too much.”

Yan Jiyun understood. In households like these, meals were like court dramas: everyone battling with words before dinner could even start, and in the end everyone left the table frustrated, sneaking off to their own little kitchens for a private meal. Still, it meant Liu Jingxi trusted him enough to share this, which boded well.

They finished up and headed back to the car.

Liu Jingxi checked the time on the dashboard—his third time doing so. Was there some secret coded message? Or was he, like Yan Jiyun, completely uninterested in returning to the Liu house? It would make sense: even those trying to keep them from leaving had inside information; someone was likely acting on the old master’s authority to be so precise about their whereabouts.

The food was tasty, but Yan Jiyun soon realized he’d eaten too much. He kept rubbing his stomach.

Liu Jingxi noticed. “You really have a delicate stomach.”

Yan Jiyun laughed, “Yes, I’ll be relying on you from now on, cousin.” He’d always been good at making others feel valued, sensing what they wanted to hear.

Liu Jingxi made an exasperated clicking sound. That slight upward tilt of his lips—that was how he showed concern.

They soon returned to the Liu home.

Daytime at the Liu residence was a world apart from the atmosphere at night—festive then, now steeped in sorrow.

As they arrived, the butler was at the entrance, directing the servants to remove the red silk from earlier.

He called out, “Second young master, the master wants to see you in the main house—he has important matters to discuss.”

Liu Jingxi frowned, then turned and walked to the old master’s rooms. Yan Jiyun was left outside with the butler.

The butler, ever tactful, sensed the awkward pause. “Young master Yan, you should get a good night’s rest—tomorrow I’ll have a car sent to take you home.”

Yan Jiyun waved his hands quickly, staying true to his small-town persona. “No need—I can walk. The road to my home isn’t even paved yet, no way a car could get through.”

The butler was puzzled. “There’s an unpaved road in our town? I’ll have the master dine with the mayor and check up on that.”

Feigning ignorance, Yan Jiyun asked, “Oh, my uncle can fix that kind of thing? Is he a big official around here?”

The butler smiled. “No, but every official pays him respect—he’s renowned in this town as a great philanthropist.”

Yan Jiyun doubted the “good man” title. A man with a wife and children by another woman? Hardly a saint.

Could Liu Jinghao’s death have something to do with the old master’s standing?

The butler hurried off after a few more perfunctory words.

Once the man was gone, Yan Jiyun overheard him ordering servants to keep vigil tonight in the newly arranged mourning hall.

No one had expected the third young master to die in front of the old master, and the coffin once meant for the patriarch had now become the son’s.

Yan Jiyun latched onto the word “mourning hall.”

This scenario was certainly different: in previous scenarios, once an NPC died for the plot, the system would remove them almost immediately; they wouldn’t appear again. This time, Liu Jinghao’s body remained.

He slipped behind a deserted ornamental rock and transformed back into a black cat, concealing himself in the night to follow the butler.

Soon, the scent of incense reached him: the mourning hall had been set up in a side parlor. It seemed that Liu Jinghao’s death wasn’t such a weighty event to the family—alive, he’d have been useful; dead, the chance for alliance with the bride’s family was lost.

The bride and groom had only just married, and had no time to build any real bond. They hadn’t even reached the wedding night, let alone produced a child; the bride could remarry at any time.

Yan Jiyun almost laughed. Liu Jinghao’s death was truly a waste.

Still, out of respect for the dead, he tucked himself quietly into a hidden spot, making no sound at all.

In the side parlor, the huge coffin stood amidst white drapes.

Before the coffin, the bride had already changed into mourning garments, sitting on a small stool, burning spirit money for her husband of a single day.

Yan Jiyun slipped through the window, crouching in the shadows beneath a table laden with offerings—a spot from which he could clearly see the bride’s expression.

She looked perfectly calm, nerves as solid as steel—not crying, fussing, or even remotely anxious.

A bride who’d been cooped up for years, who could perform CPR and wasn’t at all fazed by keeping vigil? There was something very strange about her.