Cat 125: I Forfeit!

Chapter 125 I Forfeit!

Yan Jiyun’s ranting left little doubt as to the identity of his opponent.

Standing directly across from him was Qi Feng.

Qi Feng appeared perfectly composed. He too saw Yan Jiyun facing him, and his expression held a hint of surprise.

His eyes swept the area. Just before landing, he had felt the warmth of a cat pressed to his chest—he ran hot, sometimes hot enough to sweat with a cat in his arms—but now it was gone, and he felt a hollow in his heart.

His greatest fear had happened again: Caramel had been separated from him by irresistible force.

There was only one thought in his mind.

Where was Caramel? Where had the system sent his cat?

He’d been so desperate to cling tightly to Caramel, but could only watch as it faded from his arms.

And now, seeing who stood against him, he grew more frustrated.

How was Yan Jiyun—vanished for ages—now his opponent?

Yan Jiyun seriously suspected the game deliberately matched players with the most history as adversaries.

Qi Feng wasn’t inexperienced in such situations, but his previous opponents had always been veterans; against a newcomer, defeating them almost felt dishonorable.

This was no ordinary choice.

Yan Jiyun forced a greeting: “Didn’t expect us to end up as rivals.”

The caretaker who had just held him tenderly was now his opponent—who could have foreseen it?

Qi Feng didn’t move, nor did he ask why Yan Jiyun hadn’t reunited after Dragon Gate—there was no point anymore.

He just replied, “It’s normal.”

Yan Jiyun sighed inwardly. “Makes sense.” The system was notorious for stunts like this.

He also remembered Qi Feng saying, when their temporary team disbanded, that if it ever came to a showdown, he would not attack him or Chu Mo.

But this duel would decide which of them left the game. It was not a regular competition; of course, Qi Feng would not go for the kill.

Yan Jiyun never expected he could best Qi Feng. By the game’s rules, one of them had to remain behind.

He and Qi Feng hadn’t spent much time together in human form—they weren’t exactly close teammates.

The system’s design was clear: set up acquaintances to face off, to sow discord, betrayal, and rivalry—all a test of human nature.

It was just as Yan Jiyun had joked at the start of the finals: the caretaker ends up eliminating his cat himself.

[Item shop is closed.]

Yan Jiyun didn’t move, waiting to see what Qi Feng would do.

This was too hard.

The person across from him wasn’t an enemy.

What was there to choose?

Qi Feng too hesitated—but only for two seconds before making up his mind.

He said to Yan Jiyun, “I have a very important reason to win this match. I hope you’ll understand.”

He had to win; the game hadn’t indicated if there would be one or several rounds, and he still had to find Caramel. So he couldn’t lose to Yan Jiyun.

Yan Jiyun heard the extra meaning in his words, feeling a slight pang. “I get it. I never thought I’d beat you, anyway.”

Games like these were full of tricks and wanted above all to forbid cooperation. They craved mistrust, betrayal, estrangement, mutual hatred.

If Qi Feng were facing someone else, he wouldn’t hesitate. Yan Jiyun was a good kid; it was a shame for him to get stuck here.

The two stood motionless for over a minute, prompting the system warning.

[Warning: Players are exhibiting passive gameplay. Please begin or you will be penalized.]

Were it not for the special relationship between master and pet, Qi Feng and Yan Jiyun had always gotten along well as teammates.

Now the system forced them to fight—for Yan Jiyun, facing a friend like this was near impossible.

Qi Feng, however, remained outwardly calm. He volunteered, “Let’s go. We can avoid using items.”

Yan Jiyun had no edge in combat; to Qi Feng, his attacks were little more than tickles. He’d rather save his energy.

Qi Feng knew his own capability, and unless he forfeited, Yan Jiyun would lose.

Failing to act meant a penalty for passive play.

Yan Jiyun wanted to ask the system whether the loser had to shout “I concede,” or if the match was to the death.

Qi Feng didn’t use any items; neither did Yan Jiyun.

Yan Jiyun charged Qi Feng—torn inside but determined not to harm him. If Qi Feng wanted his chance, he was willing to yield it. Still, putting up at least a show was necessary. After all, in human form, they’d only met a couple of times—far from needing to yield out of affection, and Qi Feng had no need of his charity.

Qi Feng easily sidestepped his punches, even coaching him: “Your fighting technique is too sloppy. If you attack directly like that, you should counter this way.”

Seeing Yan Jiyun wasn’t angry, he instructed him in earnest.

Yan Jiyun grinned and threw another punch: “The one who taught me wasn’t very attentive.”

Left hook, right hook—no matter what he tried, Qi Feng dodged effortlessly.

[Want to Be Human] Streaming Room:

“Damn it, why does the kitten end up facing the big shot? Why not just change back to a cat—maybe the pro would let him go?”

“What are you thinking? Strangling a cat would be even easier—and no guilt, it’s just a cat. No impact for the player.”

“Hahahaha, finally what I wanted to see—someone finally giving the cat a challenge! Bring it, level-5 streamer!”

“Yeah, this is what I was waiting for. Level-5 player, finish him already.”

Yan Jiyun was soon tired, but not entirely outclassed: at least, Qi Feng shifted from defense to offense.

Qi Feng took the chance to advise him, “You have no pattern to your attacks.”

Yan Jiyun was having fun; he knew he wasn’t going to win: “Doesn’t matter if it works.”

He really was going easy.

“True enough.” Qi Feng had to respect his attitude. “Give it time and training, you’ll get stronger.”

Yan Jiyun caught his breath and stood before Qi Feng. “Losing to you is no regret. Why not coach me a little more before I lose, just in case I do get out?”

He’d already calculated—he couldn’t possibly win, with or without items, so why bother.

Qi Feng knew Yan Jiyun hadn’t yet grown used to the blood and brutality of the game; he yet held to principle.

He didn’t want to eliminate newbies, but that’s the way it went. Beating them wasn’t unfair—just bad luck, or a cruel system. Hence, he preferred never to team with newcomers—too often he’d witnessed promising ones get culled.

Exhaustion slowing him, Yan Jiyun felt Qi Feng catch his wrist and twist his arm behind his back. “You lost.”

Yan Jiyun didn’t feel the slightest shame or anger. Instead, he looked back and asked, “If I begged, would you let me go?”

But Qi Feng detected real resignation—Yan Jiyun seemed certain he would lose.

And he was.

“You don’t need me to spare you.” Looking at the resolve in this fresh-faced player, Qi Feng said quietly, “Where there’s life, there’s hope. Maybe there’ll be another chance.”

Yan Jiyun understood: whether it was encouragement or an actual hint he might survive, it comforted him.

Suddenly, he remembered from the “Hide-and-Seek” instance, players eliminated in-game hadn’t all died—some survived, only penalized as losers. That had been a newbie instance; maybe it was just a grace period for new players. Did he still count as a newbie? Could the system give a second chance?

Qi Feng’s careful words confirmed he did not intend to let Yan Jiyun win.

And there was no reason for a veteran to go easy—it was life or death.

With a flicker in his gaze, Yan Jiyun moved apart—he couldn’t risk being flagged for idling again.

Shaking out his wrist, he lunged again, but without real force.

Qi Feng affected a taunt: “Don’t waste your effort. You’ll only lose to me. Best save your strength.”

It wasn’t really for Yan Jiyun’s benefit but meant for the system.

Yan Jiyun raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that so?” He heard the hint in Qi Feng’s words.

The two now seemed wholly antagonistic.

Qi Feng threw Yan Jiyun to the ground again—Yan Jiyun wasn’t actually exhausted, but went along, breathing heavily in overdone fatigue.

Under no circumstances would he turn back into a cat in front of Qi Feng.

With his experience card nearly depleted, when Qi Feng knocked him down again, Yan Jiyun lay panting and raised a limp hand: “I forfeit!”

The system offered no chance to take it back.

[Player has voluntarily forfeited. You will be transported out of the arena in three seconds.]

He used that time to shout quickly at Qi Feng: “Hey, Qi Feng! If I can’t come back, make sure you survive for both of us!”

Qi Feng replied, “I will, thank you for the chance.” And he watched as Yan Jiyun vanished from sight.

His feelings were complicated, but worry for Caramel soon overshadowed it all.

Where was Caramel now? What if some cruel player found out his cat was really a player?

He’d have to win the next match; he had to stay and look for Caramel.

[Congratulations to player Qi Feng for becoming the sole survivor in Pinnacle Tournament Arena 7!]

But there was no joy in seeing the message.

Standing in the holding area for the finals, Qi Feng felt only confusion; Caramel was still in the game, and he suddenly realized he shouldn’t have let Yan Jiyun lose. What if Caramel lost, too?

It had been years since he’d left a game so easily. Standing on the vast plain of the finals, it just felt wrong.

He’d survived unscathed—no furious last fight, no desperate NPC, no rain of items, not even a brush with death. It all felt so unreal.

He was out, but anxiety and guilt gnawed at him.

Face set, Qi Feng realized he’d miscalculated: winning wasn’t enough if Caramel was still inside.

Now that he was out, what was Caramel to do?

He hurriedly opened the master-pet system and checked notifications.

It showed Caramel was still in the game, alive, and hadn’t yet left.

Usually, after clearing a dungeon, he’d check the pet notifications: the last one was from before this event; once the finals began, there had been none.

Why was there nothing this time?

Just then, Chu Mo emerged from the finals.

He saw Qi Feng standing by a tree and strode over. Glancing around, he noted several other players from other brackets emerging.

The final duels felt anticlimactic; the early clue-hunting now seemed beside the point. Who’d have thought everything hinged on pure combat?

Chu Mo even found himself worried for their last teammate: “Did you see Yan Jiyun?”

Qi Feng sighed silently, answering flatly: “He was my opponent.”

Chu Mo opened his mouth, unsure what to say.

Since Qi Feng was out, the other would be left behind.

Such was the game’s way. Yan Jiyun losing to Qi Feng was no surprise—but losing such a bright newcomer still left a weight on his mind.

Chu Mo didn’t hurry to leave. He stayed with Qi Feng, eyes on the players trickling out of the finals.

If no more emerged, the gate would close forever, and those left would be trapped.

Together, they waited in silence.

Meanwhile, Yan Jiyun, the loser, felt himself growing lighter as he was teleported away, destination unknown.

His concealment had served him well; Qi Feng had no idea he’d just eliminated his own cat. If he knew the truth, the pain would be unbearable.

Would Qi Feng be able to choose, forced to pick between a cat and his own survival? It would be a terrible dilemma.

Yan Jiyun could guess the knot in Qi Feng’s mind.

He repaid his “master” by gifting him an easy path to the finals—a favor, so he could save his strength for further games.

Qi Feng was used to life-or-death exits; he was just a novice, no need to dwell.

He felt himself fall, landing with a clang in a tightly sealed room.

It was pitch black, but he could see well enough.

Before he could get his bearings, he heard a familiar whimpering.

Someone was crying—a voice he actually knew.

Wasn’t this the brainy player who supposedly cleared levels with smarts alone?

What was he crying about this time? Yan Jiyun had just lost to his own master and hadn’t even shed a tear.

Yan Jiyun fought the urge to snap—could someone please knock that guy out?

He was just too noisy!

At last, Yan Jiyun couldn’t stand it. “What are you crying about?”

The brainy player thought he was alone and had been quietly sobbing. Startled, he nearly choked on his own spit.

“Cough—who are you? Did you lose too?”

“What do you think? The winners go straight out.” Yan Jiyun had little patience for crybabies; he hadn’t even figured out what came next, and even the strongest people got low sometimes.

Having just bid Qi Feng goodbye, he felt hollow. Was his emptiness disappointment in himself, or in Qi Feng?

No—that wasn’t it. Only the damned system was to blame.

Only the weak vent their anger on others.

Yan Jiyun sat down cross-legged and drew a deep breath, regaining his composure.

He hadn’t died; he still had a chance. He’d caught Qi Feng’s hint, and he’d gambled right.

The system would give the losers a new opportunity.

The brainy player hiccuped. “My name’s He Yuanle. What’s yours?”

Yan Jiyun couldn’t be bothered with false names. Thinking he might never get out, he gave his real one.

He Yuanle brightened. “I think I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

Yan Jiyun didn’t think himself famous—he’d only cleared four dungeons.

He Yuanle slapped his thigh. “You’re Yan Jiyun, the one who’s number one on the Affinity Board, right?”

Yan Jiyun knew players dubbed the NPC affinity ranking the “Dust Board.” “So what?”

He Yuanle, now adapting to the darkness, scooted over. “Tell me—how do you get NPC favor? I’ve watched the board, and now nobody else is ranked but you. Everyone else’s name dropped off.”

Yan Jiyun went silent: …

He hadn’t checked the rankings in ages—had no idea he’d cleaned the board out.

He knew how he did it—NPCs had a soft spot for cats. As a human, he’d never have made it.

Without false modesty, he said, “No trick. Fulfill NPC wishes, do a few quests, and they’ll give you favor. It’s quite easy.” Changing the topic, he asked, “Where are we?”

No system cue yet since entering.

“I dunno. My opponent was a brute who could break my bones with a punch—I surrendered. Then I was locked in here.” He Yuanle sounded bleak.

“You lost fast.” Yan Jiyun was dry.

“Couldn’t win anyway.” He Yuanle sighed.

Before He Yuanle could go on, Yan Jiyun stood.

As they talked, Yan Jiyun regained peace inside and began inspecting the room.

Soon more players dropped into their square cell.

He Yuanle instinctively slid next to Yan Jiyun, still visibly nervous.

Many newcomers had injuries—some light, some near deadly.

The quickest thinkers were using healing items to patch themselves up.

It seemed that, in the final deathmatch, over a hundred players had lost and would remain, some killed in battle.

Yan Jiyun was about to look for an exit when suddenly the system chimed in.

[You performed adequately in the finals. As a loser with vital signs, you have a chance to leave the game—cherish it!]

[Please choose a minigame to clear in the next ten seconds. Succeed, and you can exit.]

[Option 1: Happy Haunted House.]

[Option 2: Happy Murder Mystery.]

[Option 3: Happy Abyss Dive.]

Yan Jiyun glanced at the three options.

He wasn’t fond of supernatural stories—no haunted house. Murder-mystery games took time and energy, and with little experience-card time, he’d skip it. That left only one.

Checking his temporary inventory, all but the Dragon Gate info card had vanished after Qi Feng unlocked the exit. That card remained; he decided to gamble on it.

He Yuanle asked quietly, “Which do you pick?”

Yan Jiyun replied, “Three.”

“You’re not cheating me, are you?”

“Pick what you want. I can’t help you.”

“That’s fine. I just want to follow you. If I’m going to die, I’ll die alongside someone I trust.” He Yuanle, seeing Yan Jiyun as reliable thanks to his high NPC affinity, copied his choice—Abyss Dive.

…Yan Jiyun hadn’t expected such a “confession.”

With three seconds remaining, he locked in “Happy Abyss Dive.”

Many picked whichever fit them best and vanished from the cell one by one.

As Yan Jiyun opened his eyes again, he found himself atop a mountain peak, with no way down.

[Players have twenty minutes to leave the abyss. When time’s up, the Abyss Gate will close forever, and those inside will be trapped for good.]

He had no time to curse before He Yuanle’s shrieks filled the air.

“Ahhhh—I shouldn’t have picked the abyss—”

Damn.

Yan Jiyun kicked him. “Can you be quiet?”

He Yuanle shut up, stunned. “Yan Jiyun, can you take me with you? I’m afraid of heights!”

Yan Jiyun rolled his eyes skyward. I’m just a newbie—how am I supposed to take you with me?

Ignoring He Yuanle’s wailing, he looked around—no obvious exit.

It really was an abyss.

Someone else had chosen the abyss—he recognized the taciturn young man from their original group of five. He had the look of someone fed up with life, pressing a bleeding shoulder, brow furrowed in pain but never uttering a word.

He Yuanle noted there was no one else on this mountain top and called over, “Brother, are you alright?”

The grim youth had a sharp tongue. “I’d live longer if you were quiet.”

Which suited Yan Jiyun just fine. He couldn’t help letting out a laugh.

He Yuanle, crestfallen, tried, “I didn’t mean it. Want me to bandage you? I’ve always been clumsy, so I learned how to patch myself up. I’m pretty good, honestly.”

The youth shifted, gasping as he aggravated his wound. “Fine, go ahead.”

At last, He Yuanle had something to do and, for once, stopped sniveling as he tore the youth’s T-shirt into strips.

The youth grumbled, “Why not tear yours?”

“I need to wear mine,” He Yuanle replied.

“…Makes sense,” the youth muttered.

He Yuanle focused on bandaging, trying not to annoy the man lest he toss him off the cliff.

The youth was skinny—almost no flesh at all, nearly adolescent.

Yan Jiyun lay on the edge, peering into the darkness—the abyss was bottomless; a jump would earn nothing but a splatter achievement.

He muttered to himself: “Happy abyss dive? Surely they don’t expect us to leap down there?”

He Yuanle finished and tied a bow on the bandage.

The youth: …

He Yuanle, seeing his look, edged back to Yan Jiyun. “So what now?”

Only the three of them, it seemed; no one else to consult.

Yan Jiyun watched his remaining time ebb. Would he have to reveal his secret to these two strangers?

His duel with Qi Feng had used 15 minutes, then another 5 minutes waiting, so just under 20 minutes of experience card remained.

[Time until abyss closes: 18:00]

[Human form time left: 16:30]

Yan Jiyun wasn’t sure if the finals allowed breaks—if so, he might be able to use more card time outside.

While everyone was thinking, a noise came from the bottom of the gorge.

A black-winged creature rose, ramming a silver dragon into the peak.

The silver dragon fell, then took to the air again.

Yan Jiyun let out a sigh of relief—he had chosen the right option.

Taking a deep breath, he shouted at the flying shadow, “Lucifer!”

His voice echoed between the mountains.

The black dragon heard the familiar call, abandoned its sparring partner, and soared upward. Spotting the black cat who could turn human on the summit, its delight was clear in its circling flight.

As it neared, Yan Jiyun waved. “Lucifer, can you take me home?”

Both He Yuanle and the youth stared, dumbfounded.

He Yuanle muttered, “So this is what someone maxed out on NPC affection looks like.”