Cat 105: Cats Have Their Own Way of Life

[Trying To Be Human] live stream:

“Hahaha, Cat Cub is so bad, his ability to trick people has clearly leveled up since he became a director.”

“I’m going to go troll that Level 4 streamer’s channel. Can’t even handle a newbie—how embarrassing.”

“Team up to flame him! How dare you underestimate our Cat Cub.”

“Go Cat Cub, you can fool a high-level player—there’s nothing you can’t do. You’re no worse than those old hands; they didn’t win first in every instance. You’re the best!”

Yan Jiyun hadn’t saved the other guy, but he hadn’t kicked him when he was down, either. He’d shown every survival skill he could—in a game where players could freely slaughter each other, that was already the height of kindness. Expecting him to risk his life to rescue someone was just unreasonable.

If that bear hadn’t shown up, that veteran player would’ve been lying in wait to rob passersby of their points, and Yan was generous enough to share his tree-leaping trick. The guy was only being pestered by a wild bear—he’d have a way out. Besides, that player had surely looted plenty from others already; Yan didn’t need to worry about a stranger with several times his own points.

Once clear of the bear, Yan hurried his pace out of the forest.

Other players lurked nearby, hoping to ambush those heading in this direction. Having learned his lesson, Yan made a point to listen for movement, slipping past them as quietly as possible.

But, as a human, he couldn’t avoid every encounter.

With nearly 500 players all in the same forest, the free-for-all stage was still underway. Sooner or later, trouble found him.

A lone, burly, stubbled man stood over a fallen player, blood staining his chest—clearly this guy had just bested someone.

The stubble-faced man wasn’t winded; in fact, he looked energized. “Kid, hand over your points if you want to live.”

To him, Yan was not only easy prey, but a fat lamb ready for the slaughter.

Yan looked young and delicate, and he was quite thin. Being underestimated was inevitable.

Faced with a guy like this—someone who had no qualms about killing—Yan had to stay sharp, not to mention he really shouldn’t pick a fight here.

The only sensible response? Run.

Behind him was the bear; ahead, the road to the town. As long as he didn’t veer off too far, he’d be fine.

Only a fool would stand still!

The stubble-faced man hadn’t expected the kid to bolt so quickly, with not even a word or a plea for mercy, let alone offering up his points.

He didn’t hesitate—he gave chase.

Yan had resigned himself to being spotted from time to time; progress was slow with all the undergrowth, but at least it kept him from rolling off an unseen cliff—falling down there would turn him into a loot box, too.

The big guy was all brawn; he might have better stamina, but not speed.

Yan hit a dead end—no way forward.

He quickly scanned his surroundings for an escape route. He spotted some hanging vines on a tall tree and hatched a plan.

He climbed the tree, followed the thickest, sturdiest vine he could find, and gave it a test pull—it could take his weight.

The stubble-faced player was close behind now, just fifty or sixty meters away.

Yan took a deep breath. Swing or not swing—there was a sheer drop below. Jumping wrong meant a fast death.

No time left; he jumped!

Clutching the vine with both hands and legs, he swung with all the momentum of a jungle tarzan, timing the drop to land on another vine protruding from the cliffside. His toes touched stone, which wobbled, and, as soon as he lunged for a tree trunk, the boulder slipped and tumbled into the abyss below.

That was close!

The stubble-faced player arrived just in time to see the curly-haired youth monkey his way to safety.

He muttered regretfully, “Tsk, let him get away. Agile little coward.”

He figured Yan couldn’t hear, but looked up to see Yan hugging a tree, flipping him an international-friendly hand signal—a silent gesture that boiled his blood.

…

Yan was gone in a flash. If he could swing across, so could others—he needed to keep moving.

[Trying To Be Human] live stream:

“That leap by Cat Cub just went right through my heart; my pulse is still pounding. I think I’m in love—he’s just too cool!”

“Is the tournament map really this hard? He’s been running for his life since the start.”

“I think he’s fine—the forest is his element. Remember, he trained with those big cats at the zoo; he’s only gotten smoother and more high-level with every run. He’s always cool under pressure, and look—just now, he figured out that vine trick and avoided a head-on clash. Less fighting means more energy saved.”

“Wait, are the Peak Tournament maps unique each time?”

“The monthly events always change, but Peak Tournament is only twice a year—it’s tough. Not many basic field players live through it. Even among mid- and high-level players, it gets savage. Cat Cub’s luck is insane—no clue what kind of challenges we’ll see this time.”

“I’ve always missed Peak Tournament before; this time I made it. How do you even win, sisters?”

“Last time the black ticket winners just had to run the map to clear. This time, the rules have changed—hard to say what’s coming. Honestly, even if we knew, I doubt Cat Cub would stick to the script.”

“You’re right. I just hope he makes it—I still want to watch him in more instances.”

Yan, following his watch’s guide toward town, had to bend his route, making travel longer than expected; so much for shortcuts.

First time sharing an instance with his caretaker—he wondered if Qi Feng had reached the center already.

Yan felt some excitement to be in the same game as Qi Feng, but also worried about his own survival. And he couldn’t help remembering the humiliation of having his hand swatted away during the parachute jump.

Men—they’re all fickle.

Of course, Yan never meant to run up to Qi Feng and say “Surprise, I’m that badass black cat!” That would be idiotic. Better to clear the game separately, or, if help was needed, quietly team up—he found his caretaker reliable in every crisis.

No, he wouldn’t let himself get lazy and depend on Qi Feng. This was a game of life and death—no slacking allowed.

Yan went on seeking a way out of the woods.

The forest was huge; the player ranks were thinning out steadily.

No scoreboards had been set, so no one knew whose points were highest. It was possible everyone misunderstood—the system said you could loot points, but didn’t say more was always better.

Or maybe not—if you had no points, you couldn’t use the shop. You still had to get some, one way or another.

But how would the game balance it out?

Veterans might bring in the full 10,000-point limit, but rookies might not have earned that much—or chosen not to risk it. Every player’s starting haul was different. How would the system stop this from becoming pure veteran hunting grounds?

In all his earlier instances, the system equalized everyone’s opening resources. For the tournament, the playing field was uneven. How could a low-level player get a shot at victory?

As he pondered, Yan scanned his surroundings alertly.

If the game really did balance things, there should be more severe limits on the veterans. But here, obviously, the old hands had all the advantages.

If only veterans mattered, why bother recruiting more rookies, just to have them slaughtered? Wouldn’t everyone die out, and the game stall?

Yan, still turning over the possible pitfalls, was suddenly interrupted by a new system prompt.

[All players must find the exit from the “Demon Forest” and enter “Angel City” before nightfall.]

So his guess was right—the target was the town, only now with formal “forest” and “city” names.

Everyone’s map now switched into exploration mode.

This game always found new ways to screw with you.

So far, there’d been almost no firm rules, and still no explanation of how to clear—never revealing enough for players to avoid its traps.

Why the strict deadline for getting into Angel City before night?

Was the city off-limits after dark—and what happened if you didn’t make it?

The game was always nudging players: first, promote looting; then, have players turn on each other; now, herd the survivors toward the next bottleneck.

[Online players: 450/500]

[Elapsed time: 30:00]

Only after half an hour did the game reveal the true goal.

For players, this was a lifesaver—no more wandering without aim.

By now, most had set out for Angel City.

But then came more tantalizing system announcements.

[The first 1–10 players to reach the exit of Demon Forest will receive a “Pegasus.”]

[11–60 receive a “Thousand-Mile Colt.”]

[61–100 receive a bicycle.]

[Keep it up! Make it to the top 100 and save yourself the trek to Angel City!]

450 players, 100 vehicles—you do the math. On average, five people scrapping for every ride.

No one knew how far it was from Demon Forest to Angel City. If you missed out on a ride, you’d have to hoof it, and who knew how long that race would take?

Yan checked the store—no vehicles for sale.

But there were movement-boosting power-ups. Price? Fifty thousand points minimum—meaning he’d have to loot fifty other players for a chance to buy one.

This tournament was serious about making you fight over points and rides—it really lived up to the “tournament” moniker.

But Yan hated competition—it just sounded exhausting.

Nearby players had all started moving; now, no one thought to lie in ambush—all that mattered was reaching the city with some transport.

Everyone thought that way—including Yan.

But while the others sprinted, he strolled along unhurriedly.

He checked to see which way most players were headed, then compared to his own trajectory toward the forest exit; all routes converged on the same place—so he kept on.

Along the way, he passed two other players. They merely exchanged nods, rivalry forgotten in the scramble for transportation.

The lurking would-be ambushers now charged like hunting cheetahs—put Yan in mind of a school cafeteria at lunch, everyone racing for the last pork chop.

With others blazing the trail, Yan only needed to keep up; the exit was surely dead ahead.

Just to be safe, he tracked his route with his watch.

They forded streams, climbed hills, skirted marshes.

There was still no end in sight.

While everyone else wore themselves out, Yan’s steady pace kept him fresh. Trying to sprint through forest was a waste—steady does it.

He hopped lightly over an old, fallen tree and paused when he heard something ahead.

Hiding, he saw five players perched in a tree, plotting an alliance.

They weren’t resting by chance—they’d likely coordinated before the start.

The five worked well together—definitely practiced.

Grouping up really was better than going solo. Get a vehicle first, sort it out later; if the next stage was team-based, so much the better.

Yan thought, Clever. With an alliance, it’s much easier to nab a top spot.

He could only go solo—hadn’t run into anyone he could talk to.

And he wasn’t eager to team up, anyway; his special status—sapping experience cards for human form—meant he had to pace himself.

He was anxious to move on, but rushing could get him killed in a mob.

Beating the crowd meant avoiding the fight entirely.

The five discussed tactics for fighting off ambushers with items.

Yan listened in, making mental notes. They’d clearly known each other before the match began.

It seemed veterans had far more experience in organizing teams, explaining why guilds grew so strong; the harder the instances, the more essential cooperation became.

After a brief rest, the five moved out again, and Yan—after eating—trailed them at a safe distance, about two hundred meters back, the optimal range he’d learned earlier.

No one else was as close as this group, but they still didn’t notice Yan shadowing them.

It took Yan over two hours from the announcement to reach the exit—still not in sight, and already nearly noon.

The old adage—three ordinary minds outdo one genius—seemed to hold; the five worked like a pro team, each with their specialty.

Notably, one among them was much lighter on their feet—perhaps the most skilled.

Having rested, Yan kept pace with them.

Oddly, it felt safer having five ahead of him: they’d spring any traps before he got there.

No telling how close they were to the exit.

As Yan and the five neared the same thought—the system dropped a flurry of tense notifications.

[Player Qi Feng rides a “Pegasus” toward Angel City. Number left: 9.]

[Player Yang Xiao Zhi rides a “Pegasus” toward Angel City. Number left: 8.]

[Player Fan Xing rides a “Pegasus” toward Angel City. Number left: 7.]

…

Yan saw his caretaker’s name heading the list. Pride swelled—so this was the gap between them. No wonder—how could the cat ever outpace the owner? His caretaker’s skill could have him knocked out of the running in minutes.

The five ahead began hurrying even faster!

They seemed almost there; Yan could hear more feet rustling now, chaos rising.

He crept closer to the exit, avoiding notice—oddly, instead of a grand portal, the exit was just a big, gaudy sign: “Demon Forest Exit,” as plainly designed as possible.

Now, “bicycles remaining” was the last update.

[10 bicycles left! Hurry, first come first served! Slowpokes lose out~]

Yan realized he’d been too slow!

Suddenly, a dozen-odd players burst from the woods, all staring each other down.

Yan hid behind a tree, seeking cover from the crowd.

Ten bikes stood by the exit.

Sixteen people; no way to settle who got what by queue.

No one would give up a ride without a fight.

“So—are we brawling or what?”

“First come, first served! We made it first!”

“Winner takes all.”

“Then let’s go—losers can crawl to Angel City.”

As the standoff built, Yan quietly edged closer to the bikes—without acting yet.

Sixteen players; if he made a move, the rest would dogpile on him. They just needed someone to spark things off.

The key was to trigger a fight.

Yan scraped up a tiny stone and flicked it at a central player whose back was turned. He aimed it to strike the guy’s shoulder.

The player wheeled around, confused—but before he could react, another pebble hit him. He scanned left and right.

“Who the hell’s throwing stuff at me?”

Tempers flared. He glared at the other fifteen, not realizing someone hid in the brush.

Yan held still—his cover wasn’t deep; if anyone poked through, he’d have been discovered.

Others, though, were also hiding, and one unlucky soul was spotted.

The tension boiled. The stoned player lashed out—hitting a nearby player with a stun item!

“Did you just ambush me?!”

“Ambush your ass!—” Thud. That one got dropped by the stun effect.

The fallen player’s buddy let loose a group-attack item: sunflower seeds rained down, stinging every face.

The whole area erupted.

Everyone seemed to be using low-tier items—only enough for minor bruises or temporary dizziness.

Yan tallied up the survivors. The field of combat was chaos, items flying everywhere.

Two more went down as he watched from the sidelines—thirteen left.

He bought the cheapest invisibility cloak, and on tiptoe slipped close to the nearest bike.

His cycling skills were still sharp from last instance. In one fluid move, he straightened the handlebars, hopped onto the seat, and pedaled right out through the “Demon Forest Exit”!

After all, cats have their own way; as the saying goes, cat roads for cats, mouse roads for mice.

Another bike was snatched right after.

The remaining fighters only noticed as two bikes zipped off, wheels clattering on the ground.

Which two rats were so sneaky?!