Cat 104: Did You Get It?

Chapter 104: Did You Get It?

Yan Jiyun, following right behind Qi Feng, shut his eyes and jumped. In the past, he’d needed an NPC to carry him down just to hop off a curtain, but now, in this sudden moment, he leaped out into open sky just to catch up to his caretaker. If it hadn’t been for that impulse, he might never have dared jump at all.

This was no building ledge—it was open sky, nothing underfoot but a plummet to the ground.

Fortunately, he’d been skydiving before; otherwise, this abrupt forced parachute drop—with no time to find the ripcord—would end with him flattened from thousands of meters up.

This garbage game was culling the players right from the parachute round—those who didn’t know how to deploy a chute would die on arrival.

Every player floating in the sky wore an identical suit. Yan Jiyun had practiced before, but wasn’t a pro; now, with people leaping out like falling dumplings all around, he only blinked—and the professional, namely his caretaker, had already disappeared into the clouds.

Was this the difference between high-level and newbie players?

Sure enough, once you reached intermediate instances, all newbie protection vanished.

It seemed this Peak Tournament was meant to be a clash—perhaps a massacre—between newbs and veterans. Or maybe just newbs being steamrolled.

Free fall went by fast. Yan had no time to scan for Qi Feng again. He streamlined his form, counted about forty seconds in his mind, and then yanked the cord and opened his chute.

Once someone opened their parachute, others at about the same altitude did the same.

During descent, Yan tried to pick a safe landing spot. Below were woods and a town—the trees were directly under him.

He really wanted to scream for help.

“Help! Ahhhhhh!”

“My chute won’t open!”

“How do I open the chute?!”

The cries echoed in Yan’s ears, expressing exactly what he felt.

Suddenly, a strong gust caught Yan and a group of nearby players, blowing them sideways.

He lost all control of his chute and drifted, and drifted, and, finally, came down right in the trees.

Yan desperately searched for a clearing; the last thing he wanted was to be kebabbed on a branch.

He had to find open ground.

Please, let there be a clearing. Please, let there be a clearing.

He repeated this mantra, and, when a clearing finally appeared, he couldn’t touch down—he still careened straight into the forest.

Yan Jiyun: “…”

He wound up hanging by his parachute from a branch.

Damn you, system!

Swaying back and forth with his feet in the air, he felt like a tragic character hanging on the southeast bough.

Now he understood why you could bring points into the game—just to buy your way out of these hazards at the start.

Faced with a problem, you bought a solution—the system’s way of draining your points from the first breath.

Hanging in a tree was, he supposed, as “peak” as it got.

Thankfully, he wasn’t in too bad a spot. He grabbed the trunk, got his feet under him, stabilized, and unstrapped the pack, finally able to relax a little.

He wasn’t scrambling back up to recover the chute—coming down was trouble enough.

With plenty of climbing experience, and after receiving custom training from the panther in his previous instance, Yan made it down in no time.

Once on the ground, Yan listened carefully: he wasn’t the only one to have landed in the trees, but everyone else had had less luck.

The game’s malice had only grown—some players dropped into swamps, some impaled on branches, some outright run through by tree tops.

Each player’s death was broadcast in the system notification.

[Player Xiao Xiaoxiao failed to deploy parachute, died on landing.]

[Player Zhang Sansa failed to deploy parachute, died on landing.]

[Player Niu Ahua failed to deploy parachute, died on landing.]

Among the flood of notices, there was one simple, almost innocent-sounding system tip:

[Tip: Upon death, players become supply crates. Surviving players who find them can claim their points and remaining items.]

Supply crates? Loot?

Was this like that battle royale game he’d played before? Could it really be so simple?

The game designers clearly understood players’ psychology—offering instant loot by scavenging the dead.

If anyone cared only about points, the rest of the players would be in grave danger. The system didn’t even need to assign kill targets—now, murder for loot was not only possible but incentivized. To stack up points, killing was the shortcut.

Maybe that was the true nature of the game.

At that moment, Yan found his livestream had gone live.

Broadcasting made the game so much more watchable.

The system claimed the tips exchanged at a 1-to-1 ratio for player points, but who knew how much was skimmed off before the conversion behind the scenes? It all looked like a benefit for the player, but spectators paid—who even knew with what real-world currency, or how?

However you looked at it, the game profited from both players and viewers.

Yan pondered and stayed silent, maintaining his air of mystery—no greetings for his audience.

He already had quite a few loyal viewers tipping at the very start, and speaking up now would only be awkward. Truth be told, he wasn’t fond of broadcasting; best to pretend not to notice. Some people just got a kick out of being ignored—the audience, too.

He refocused on his system interface.

He’d watched the ground carefully while falling; this was clearly the competition map.

From the woods, he could see a town ahead.

But he still didn’t know if this was a scenario instance or a pure player-vs-player brawl—or both.

If it played out like a battle royale, it would be a survivor-takes-all brawl with one victor. But if not, what then? The available clues simply weren’t enough to judge the rules.

No, wait.

He’d almost forgotten the opening hint from the sharp-voiced system host.

The system had told them: “Surviving the arena is victory.”

So, the final goal was simply to get out alive—not necessarily to kill everyone.

“Surviving” meant he’d face both troubles from fellow players and game-generated perils.

First, he needed to find out the extent of the arena; second, exactly how survival was defined; and third, with no time limit, what qualified as instance clearance.

That “Simple” rule, upon inspection, was riddled with giant traps for the unwary.

He glanced at the top-left for a status update.

[Players remaining: 480/500]

Twenty people dead before the first round was over!

Probably some failed parachuting, others killed for their points. Deaths jumped when the system announced the looting mechanic.

Blink, and two more players ended their run—this tournament really was a meat grinder.

He checked the main pet bar—Qi Feng’s status remained “In-game.” He was still alive.

Now Yan knew what he had to do: run for his life.

The woods were crawling with players—not safe. He needed to head for the town in the center, quickly.

But the forest was enormous. When you fell in, you could orient, but once inside, it was dark and directionless.

Yan thought about buying a compass, but browsing the store, he found a high-tech outdoor smartwatch—with all the bells and whistles—nifty.

Three thousand points, though.

Before entering, he’d seen it listed for only 1,500—a price hike?

[Would you like to spend 3,000 points on a Destiny Pro Outdoor Sports Watch?]

Yan grit his teeth: “Yes.”

A compass would have been just 100 points.

Once purchased, the watch appeared instantly on his wrist; he then bought body armor and a pair of hiking boots.

Six thousand points spent in a blink.

Not that he was careless; it was just, here, he was bronze going up against King-ranked players. Outmatched in skill and experience, he had to compensate with gear and consumables.

Just four thousand points remained.

The item shop was still available, points could be looted, and, crucially, he’d brought his experience cards in too. The system seemed to allow these as a “talent,” some lenience for each player.

Every instance was an experiment; transformation was neither attack nor defense—more a personal tool. Others could bring their own “talents” too: for example, Gu Wenzhu had his mobility experience card, Qiu Xi had silver-tongued speech.

Whether or not you could use them depended on system mood; sometimes you got a hint, sometimes red tape—luck of the draw.

After all, the name of the game was Destiny.

Ready, Yan set off toward town, using the compass built into his watch: southeast.

The forest, mighty as it was, wasn’t crowded even with five hundred players; plenty were blown to the fringes.

But the fighting had started—the count kept dropping. Some players were out, others amassing points, and those with more got the best equipment and more freedom to maneuver.

In the woods, Yan did have an edge: the ground was thick with dead leaves and twigs, making stealth child’s play—no one could sneak up on him unless they had a talent of their own.

But Yan wasn’t looking to meet anyone; if he could hide, he’d hide, all the better to save energy for whatever came next. As expected, he hadn’t found any loot crates. Others must have picked them clean.

And then, there were the wild animals—not the zoo’s trained, part-human creatures, but real beasts. From afar he heard the commotion of a player being chased by a predator; blood and tracks were plainly visible.

This, truly, was “survive the arena.”

He hurried to skirt the spot—blood would only draw more predators.

He regretted burning three hours’ worth of experience cards at once—he couldn’t transform now, only run as a human.

Worse, he ran into someone camping for loners.

Up ahead, a man was squatting in a tree. If it hadn’t been for Yan’s sharp nose catching his bug-repellent ointment, he’d never have known—pass under that tree and the guy would drop, a knife through the ribs, and Yan’s game would be over in one day.

Good thing for that nose.

The other man, sharp himself, noticed Yan too. When they locked eyes, Yan saw he’d smeared mud on his face for camouflage, blending perfectly into the forest, a knife clenched between his teeth—definitely set to ambush anyone passing below. A couple seconds later and Yan would have been toast.

Yan realized he should have camouflaged, too—rookie error.

The difference in experience showed.

Yan wanted to walk toward town but would have to go right under that tree—no telling if there were more traps ahead.

The man clearly picked this spot to ambush travelers, knowing anyone headed for town would have to pass. Or maybe he was here to capitalize on predator kills—two strategies for the price of one. He must have a certain self-confidence, likely a high-level player, hiding so well.

They eyed each other, still as statues.

The man in the tree was patient—he’d already looted several victims, now vibrated with quiet glee at the prospect of another easy score. But now, this new wanderer didn’t approach—his guard was as sharp as a wild beast.

The man’s live chat erupted with excitement.

[Hang In There] Stream:

“Come on, Doggo, just one more for that five-kill streak!”

“Let’s see which cutie stumbles across his path this time!”

“Huh? Why did this one stop? Did she spot Doggo?”

“No way, Doggo’s too well hidden. How’d she see him? Maybe he’s finally met his match.”

“Doggo! Go for it! Take that five-kill!”

“I can’t spot Doggo myself, and I’m watching in god mode. How did this player find him?”

“Anyone know who this player is? Let me hop to her stream!”

“No idea.”

“Never seen her.”

“Such a cute face, never seen it—a real rookie, must have just come from the beginner zone. I fail as a face-fan, gotta investigate!”

“Back from snooping—Doggo loses, names-wise! Hers is Cat Cub! So adorable—I want to become her fan.”

“Wow, Cat Cub? Curly cat? So cute, and she’s got a bit of a wave to her hair.”

“Doggo, forgive me, I’m switching allegiances for a sec.”

“Yup, it’s Cat Cub.”

Meanwhile, Yan was unaware his stream had seen a surge in viewers—here to check out the action. Some went to poke at the other’s stream and came back startled.

[Trying To Be Human] Stream:

“Whoa, the other streamer is already level 4! Cat Cub’s only level 1! Four runs in under a month—ten days in total.”

“I was just glad to see Cat Cub survive long enough to stream, but now it’s the Peak Tournament—hell mode. Level 4 means half a year in-game, at least two years’ real time. This is a veteran!”

“Too intense! Cat Cub’s still a sapling—the total streaming time doesn’t even scratch Doggo’s lifespan. What if Cat Cub dies here? First time I hope the system cuts her some slack. Crying as I cheer for Cat Cub.”

“Gotta drop in to watch the rookie; that’s a follow from me.”

“Seriously, super cute, but she might get her head lopped off by Doggo—can’t help but feel bad for her.”

“Not so fast—we don’t know who’ll cut whose head yet! Don’t count Cat Cub out, she’s awesome!”

“An old vet versus a level 1 rookie—can you stand to watch? I can’t.”

“The age-old rivalry—cats versus dogs!”

Yan knew he faced a veteran and stood poised, still as the enemy.

Neither made a move—no trash talk, not even a word.

The other man’s perch was directly over the only open path; plants and thorns blocked all other routes and would require hacking through bit by bit.

Yan wasn’t keen to make the first move, but didn’t want to back down and show weakness; he’d never attack without knowing the enemy’s real ability.

Facing him, Chu Mo was equally reluctant to strike first. He preferred ambushes—now that he had been spotted, fifty percent of his advantage was gone; what happened next would depend on whether his foe moved first. If so, he’d counterattack.

As Chu Mo hesitated, Yan, who’d just been sizing him up, scrambled swiftly up another tree, ending up higher than him!

Nice—impressive!

The audience didn’t see Chu Mo’s instant flash of admiration; Yan, meanwhile, had heard the echo of a beast drawn by blood moving fast toward them. Five seconds, tops, before it arrived. That’s what sent Yan scrambling for height.

Chu Mo’s awe was quickly cut off by a crashing sound.

A massive brown bear lunged into view.

Fresh from the zoo instance, Yan had been schooled on animal lore—he knew a bear’s sense of smell was five to seven times better than a dog’s. If he’d stayed on the ground, he’d have been toast.

No way he could fight it—best to wait until it moved on.

Yan and Chu Mo both clung to their trees, not daring to move.

The bear began pounding on the trunks, sniffing out Chu Mo in particular. That herbal ointment and a trace of blood from a snake he had dispatched earlier attracted its notice. How could it even pick up that tiny scent?

Why was it only wailing on Chu Mo’s tree, and not the one Yan was in? Was this some kind of bear discrimination?

Though a vet, even Chu Mo had never been targeted by a bear before; go or stay, both felt bad.

Even worse, the player on the next tree had already leaped to another tree.

When did she make that jump? No sound at all.

Yan made his move while Chu Mo was distracted by the bear—leaping from branch to branch. Three days under Caesar’s regime in the previous instance had sharpened his skills; evading paws as a cat was good training for traversing trees.

A moment’s distraction, and Yan was two trees further on, now directly on the route to town, out of Chu Mo’s ambush range.

Chu Mo finally called after him, “Hey, can’t you help me out? Save me!”

Yan hugged his trunk. “Sorry, man, I really can’t. I’m scared of bears. Can’t help you there.”

Chu Mo tried again, a little less frantic. “Then at least tell me how you jumped over!”

This was something Yan was more than happy to demonstrate.

He faced forward and crouched, “Watch, you make this pose, then push off—just like this—you can land on the next branch. Easy. I’ll show you.”

He gracefully jumped to the next tree, farther still from the bear.

From that perch, he waved back. “See? Did you get it? Want me to show you again?”

Again and again, from one tree to another, his voice drifting farther as he called, “Did you get it? If not, I can show you a few more times—you’re welcome!”

Chu Mo could only watch as the curly-haired girl vanished at the edge of sight—never mind learning it for himself.

Hopelessly, he eyed the bear below. “Shit!”

He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just been played!