Cat 309: Who the Hell are You?

Chapter 309 Who the Hell Are You?

The sound of the cat’s cries instantly drew Qi Feng’s attention, finally giving him an excuse to knock on Lin Yushi’s door.

This place couldn’t even be called a cell—the doors were sealed, luxuriously finished, designed for privacy, though deliberately built with poor sound insulation. No one could see or know what went on inside.

Qi Feng genuinely disliked these luxury rooms that preserved prisoners’ privacy. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to blow the whole place open and free Caramel.

His cat could stay silent, play hide and seek, and avoid being found—but he couldn’t stand to hear her give a cry for help.

The more urgent the cat’s wails sounded, the more anxious he grew, and the harder he pounded on the door.

As for Tang Yan, he showed no concern for the cat inside. Instead, his gaze lingered on the chicken drumstick in Qi Feng’s hand, mumbling, “Tell the kitchen to make me a braised drumstick for lunch today.”

Qi Feng’s focus was momentarily distracted. “You’re no better than a greedy cat yourself.”

Inside, the meowing stopped. Someone approached the door in slippers, cursing all the way—a clear sign of a volatile temper.

“Who the hell is banging on my door at this hour? Can’t a man get any sleep?!”

Click. The door swung open. A man in a pale gray bathrobe stood fuming, looking ready to throw a punch at any second.

Seeing two uniformed guards, he didn’t bother hiding his hostility. “You’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up, or I’ll—”

He hadn’t finished the threat before a black cat shot out, launching itself straight at the chicken drumstick in Qi Feng’s hand. “Meowww!”

The chicken leg’s flavor was so strong that even when Qi Feng just touched it to his lips, it tasted unbearably salty.

He moved his hand away, pulling the black cat into his arms. But the cat had no interest in being restrained. Qi Feng hadn’t held her tightly enough, and she immediately dove for the drumstick, darting forward and clamping down on it with her jaws.

Her robbery was so deft, so practiced, that even Qi Feng was stunned by her wild speed.

Caramel had never lacked for food or drink, and always ate slowly and gracefully—perhaps a little more hungrily if she was starved, but never one to snatch.

They’d only been here a day; by Tang Yan’s account, Caramel was with him last night. She shouldn’t be starving, so why was she acting like she hadn’t eaten in days? Was Tang Yan a psycho whose prisoners starved for sport?

Come to think of it, Chen Yi had said Tang Yan once stole from three banks in a single night—but he also bathed his cat. Why was this one so hungry?

In Qi Feng’s dazed pause, Caramel snatched the drumstick and bolted!

Instinctively, Qi Feng gave chase. Tang Yan, realizing the chicken leg was gone, took off after him. Chen Yi vanished too, leaving the stunned, slipper-clad Lin Yushi in the dust.

So it was that Lin Yushi, a notorious terror in the Ninth Ward, was ignored completely by three people. He was left baffled, then infuriated.

He shouted down the empty hall, “Tang Yan, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s dawn, for God’s sake!”

By then, Tang Yan was already behind Qi Feng, and Qi Feng chased the black cat as she bounded up the stairs. Chen Yi followed in the rear, wondering how a violent man endured this cat—never mad at the feline, only snapping at people. It was… odd.

Did cats get special privileges here?

The black cat, chicken leg clenched in her jaws, ran like lightning, but her pursuers were no slouches either.

Qi Feng called her new name, “Mangosteen, hold up!” He couldn’t work out why Yan Jiyun, upon getting a chicken leg, would run off. Normally, Caramel would leap right into his arms and wait to be carried away. He knew Caramel would rather sprawl than sit any day.

But the black cat didn’t stop—she just kept bounding up the stairs.

Qi Feng tried her old name. “Caramel, where are you going?”

Still, the black cat gave no response.

An uneasy suspicion crept into Qi Feng’s mind: could this black cat not be Yan Jiyun’s real body?

Then, from behind, Tang Yan called, “Mangosteen, stop running. Daddy can’t keep up!”

Qi Feng: ???

Calling yourself “Daddy” to a pet isn’t odd—but wasn’t this Caramel, his own cat? She looked identical to Caramel, but on closer inspection she was slightly lighter in weight. This black cat was not even ten pounds, more like Caramel in her juvenile days.

So she wasn’t Caramel?

The black cat stopped at the sound of his voice and crouched to devour the drumstick.

If it were Caramel, she would never eat the chicken leg on the spot; she had a mild fastidiousness and would always, if possible, pick a clean place to eat. Of course, that situation had never really arisen—when Qi Feng was around, Caramel was only ever in two states: either she had food, and it was torn up and fed to her mouth; or she had none and would fast, never making a fuss about it, her core still human.

Qi Feng stood motionless, looking at a perfectly ordinary black cat. In that moment, gloom sank over him. She was a black cat, yes, just like Caramel—but not Caramel, and certainly not Yan Jiyun.

So where was Yan Jiyun?

Qi Feng halted at the top step, not moving. With two men—one nearly 1.9 meters tall, one close behind—blocking up the stairway, what little space there was felt extremely cramped.

Tang Yan shoved Qi Feng aside. “Last step, and you freeze? What are you doing?”

Qi Feng didn’t answer, simply following Tang Yan up the final step.

Mangosteen had devoured most of the leg by now. As she kept gnawing, Tang Yan seized it away from her.

He stared at the ragged, chewed-up chicken bone, pained. “Look what you did to this lovely drumstick.”

Mangosteen leapt for his hands, claws outstretched, determined to snag her treasure.

Tang Yan, seeing how high she jumped, simply grabbed her by the scruff and lifted her up.

Mangosteen detested being held, especially when denied meat. In Tang Yan’s arms, she squirmed furiously. Tang Yan tossed the chicken to Qi Feng and used both hands to keep her under control.

In mock outrage, Tang Yan declared, “You really think Daddy can’t handle you?”

Failing to get her meat, Mangosteen twisted back toward the chicken and howled: “Meow! Meow! Meow!”

Qi Feng was amazed at this black cat’s volume and energy. Over nothing more than meat, she cried loud enough to wake the dead. It was only by contrast that Caramel’s quiet, reserved ways made her seem so precious—a cat that didn’t yowl was a rare treasure indeed.

Distressed by the plaintive cries, Qi Feng looked down at the black cat in Caramel’s skin. “She must be starving, isn’t she?”

Tang Yan shoved the cat into Qi Feng’s arms. “What else? All she does is eat. Refuses to touch cat food; only eats meat. Can you cook for cats?”

Cooking for one’s cat was an essential skill for any decent owner. “It’s fine,” Qi Feng replied.

“Come with me.” Tang Yan turned and said to Chen Yi, “Transfer him to District Nine—just tell your superiors I want him here as my cook, for my cat.”

Chen Yi: “He’s been found out this quickly?”

Tang Yan: “You think District Nine is a revolving door?”

Chen Yi: …He honestly hadn’t imagined Qi Feng would be trapped in the prison overlord’s den for the sake of making cat food.

Tang Yan led Qi Feng into his luxurious room. Chen Yi returned to District Eight to report; during the transfer, Qi Feng made Mangosteen a proper cat meal.

Qi Feng, unable to find his own cat, was not in high spirits, but cooking was ingrained—he could do it without thinking, and the meal came out perfectly.

Mangosteen ate with relish.

Not only Mangosteen—Tang Yan, too, tore into his food with abandon, having evidently developed a craving for the braised drumstick, and had a small platter of them delivered, steaming hot.

Mangosteen munched cat food, Tang Yan gnawed his chicken, and Qi Feng found himself toiling away, running on empty, just watching them eat. It was a strangely harmonious scene: two men, one cat.

Qi Feng realized that this was a feeling he’d only ever found in Yan Jiyun’s presence.

Tang Yan pushed a breakfast set toward him. “Your pay for today’s work.”

Qi Feng: “Aren’t you generous.”

Tang Yan nodded at Mangosteen, still hunched over her meal. “Of course. Anyone I can spoil, I can also feed.”

Qi Feng thought to himself that the real question was who was feeding whom, but he tucked into his breakfast without complaint.

As he chewed his bun in silence, Qi Feng began to consider things from a new angle.

He was searching for Caramel, for Yan Jiyun.

He had always thought Yan Jiyun was Caramel, but now, with only one black cat in the prison, was it possible that Yan Jiyun, since entering the scenario, had stopped being “Caramel” and reverted to an NPC?

After all, Yan Jiyun had first been dragged into the game as a person, then forced to become an NPC, then had become one through struggle.

But this was a top-tier scenario—he couldn’t use his usual logic for deduction.

This Mangosteen, then, must have been the original version of Caramel. Was it possible Yan Jiyun had become “Caramel” because of Mangosteen?

It all made sense!

This was Yan Jiyun’s dungeon, his NPC scenario. The missing fragments of memory were here.

No wonder Teacher Qu and the other NPCs wanted to cooperate—they needed Yan Jiyun to regain his memories, and the other players were merely cover. Yan Jiyun’s awakening was the real goal.

He wasn’t failing to find Yan Jiyun—he had already succeeded.

Wherever a black cat was, Yan Jiyun would not be far.

Qi Feng ran through Yan Jiyun’s earliest instructions and the NPCs’ real motives; stepping outside his usual train of thought, everything sorted itself out.

He was indeed searching for the vanished Yan Jiyun—but not for the player “Yan Jiyun.” He needed to find the NPC “Yan Jiyun.”

Qi Feng’s mouth curled into a smile; before he could stop himself, the man across from him commented, “Even eating breakfast you’re grinning like an idiot.”

Qi Feng raised his brows, amused. “You’re one to talk about idiotic, with your double syllables. I just figured something out, that’s all.”

He finally understood why Tang Yan had felt oddly familiar all along. Maybe he really was Yan Jiyun—Tang and Yan: “Caramel” and “Yan Jiyun” combined! It was almost laughably slow how long it had taken him to realize it. Tang Yan’s personality was so similar to Yan Jiyun’s.

Tang Yan wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Mangosteen seems to like your cooking. From now on, you’ll handle my meals, too. Try some fish for lunch.”

Qi Feng: “You’ve really made me your housekeeper.”

Tang Yan: “If you don’t stay here, how are you going to complete your mission? That’s the price for staying.”

Qi Feng had no qualms now. “Deal. Just tell me your preferences.”

Just then, someone knocked hard on the door.

Tang Yan’s contented expression vanished. “Go see who it is.”

Qi Feng downed the last of his soy milk and got the door.

He’d never imagined that a horror-adventure game scenario could turn out this melodramatic.

And melodrama seemed to visit only him.

Standing at the door was “Yan Jiyun,” broom handle in hand, flanked by a gang of tattooed toughs—arms and necks covered in ink, none of them looking like easy prey.

“Tan—” “Yan Jiyun,” chewing gum, almost called him by the wrong name, then snapped, impatient, “Who the hell are you?”

Qi Feng’s heart nearly seized: “Qi Feng.”

“Yan Jiyun” saw him blocking the door, grew irritated. “Move.”

Qi Feng stared, baffled. “…”

So—who the hell was the real Yan Jiyun?!