Cat 178: New Instance Exploration

Chapter 178 New Instance Exploration

The moment the announcement for pre-release of the new instance went out, it jolted awake all the players resting in Central City.

This time, it wasn’t just Yan Jiyun and the others cursing the shamelessness of the game—every guild’s players were cursing, and their language was even harsher. Not being able to grind points from instances stung more than losing their own lives. The “Best Video Game Console” indeed.

With new instances going online and old ones being taken offline, it meant they could no longer coast, no more easy runs—entering new instances now meant facing death and attrition. No more feasting on old content, no more squeezing the same old instances dry. Ordinarily, routine updates to the instance system didn’t much affect their business of selling instance intel, but now, their major money-makers were being axed outright—who wouldn’t be furious? What’s more, the system hadn’t told anyone which instances would be axed.

Every player’s friends list was flooded with chat notifications.

Yan Jiyun lay sprawled in his oversized cat bed, surprisingly calm. After all, the intel he’d bought for every instance had never been useful; now the system had saved him the trouble of chasing new clues. Better to spend the time improving his own skills and physical training.

Yes, he wanted to enter a new instance, to know why the system had suddenly brought them online. Was it because of the bug Qi Yunchu had mentioned at the guild council?

Could it be that the bug was too large for the system to repair, so to prevent further incidents, it simply shuttered the instance outright?

Still, by noon tomorrow, he’d know which of the old instances would be pulled.

That night, players resting in Central City hardly slept—all eyes were on the coming announcement.

Whether it was new instances or old, Yan Jiyun felt it wouldn’t change much for him. He muted the notification, then checked Qi Feng’s instance status.

Sometime while he slept, Qi Feng accumulated two new activity updates:

[Your Master is up against a mutated Pegasus. Oh no, he was knocked to the ground by a hoof, but he’s like an indestructible cockroach—he’s up again!]

Yan Jiyun: “……”

Just what kind of reporting was this? With such a limited vocabulary, anyone who didn’t know it was a top-tier, high-danger instance would think they were broadcasting a kid’s fun sports carnival.

The two notifications were about two hours apart.

The second was a bit more serious, but still gave Yan Jiyun palpitations—the main-pet updates were pure psychological torture.

[Your Master has seized a crucial item and is being hunted down by other players in the game.]

Qi Feng’s situations in these instances really weren’t much different from his own.

Could it be that Qi Feng was a solo-type player all along? Maybe he didn’t like teamplay at all?

Thinking back on the day’s events—Qi Feng hadn’t shown any surprise at the card produced by Qi Yunchu and Xu Xian. Lan Mo and the others expressed outrage and indignation, but Qi Feng had stayed unflappably calm. In hindsight, it was as if he’d known all along.

Had he been prepared for the top-tier instance in advance, simply waiting for the right moment? To outsiders, he looked as if he’d been “forced”—a brilliant example of feigned hardship.

Yan Jiyun recalled in the “Innocent” instance how Qi Feng was captured by NPCs to lure out Yan Weicheng, then broke free at the key moment—a clear, premeditated action.

During the day, Lan Mo and the others had been worried sick for Qi Feng; Yan Jiyun in the backpack hadn’t been able to see his face, but it all made sense now.

After listening to He Yuanle’s gossip, something still felt off.

Qi Feng had long been an advanced player—why hadn’t he entered the top-tier field? Perhaps he’d had his reasons for avoiding those instances, or perhaps he’d nurtured the appearance of being weak to the world?

To outsiders, his behavior today looked overly soft-hearted, even passive—but perhaps everything had unfolded according to his plan; maybe he’d been waiting for the chance to enter the top-tier all along, and this was the opening he needed.

With that thought, Yan Jiyun understood immediately. No wonder when Shi Yan blocked him, Qi Feng’s first instinct was to smash the café window, and just before entering the instance, he’d thrown the backpack to Lan Mo—Qi Feng could easily have escaped after breaking the glass with his skill.

Could it all have been an act? Three years ago, he’d founded his own guild and rescued so many rookie players, consistently overshadowing Su Qiuming—how could he possibly have gotten weaker? If he truly had regressed, he’d never have maintained high-level performance in the advanced field.

So, he was biding his time—why?

Had he discovered a major system bug that he’d never shared?

The fact that the system launched new instances so abruptly suggested he might be right: perhaps there was a bug that necessitated shutting down the old ones—but what, exactly, was going wrong?

He reviewed everything related to instance bugs—was it always a glitch when an NPC behaved abnormally?

The Sovereign Fleet’s goal was to find bugs to escape the game, but once they found one, how could they break out? What about the players who maxed out NPC favorability?

If breaking the instance was just about chaining NPCs, the system could just take down the old one, bring in a new one, and patch as needed.

Were all instances tied closely to a single NPC? If an NPC developed an unusually strong self-awareness, it could alter the plot, but only players with maxed-out favorability could influence those NPCs.

Suddenly, Yan Jiyun sat up and, reverting to human form, scribbled down all the instances where he’d maxed NPC favorability:

“Going Home After School,” Li Muyang;
“Midnight Diner,” Lin Xie and Jiang Yan;
“Hide-and-Seek,” Tang Shi and Liang Yu;
“Crazy Zoo,” eight NPCs inhabiting black panthers and other animals;
“Peak Tournament,” Lucifer;
“Mermaid,” “Innocent,” “Mingya High,” “Mingya High 2.0,” Qu Wanqiao.

The first four got new endings. He wasn’t sure if he’d maxed Lucifer, as the leaderboards didn’t track peak instance favorability. Qu Wanqiao’s 100-point favorability was known, because it went on the board. In instance play, the sly system no longer prompted when the NPC reached full favorability.

If Qi Yunchu was hunting for favor-maxing players, it might be to disrupt instances—and Yan Jiyun now speculated: once his favor was maxed, those NPCs developed independent will, left the instance, or stopped following the original script, no longer performing their roles—breaking the instance, so the system was forced to clear the bugged content.

If it were simply an issue of swapping malfunctioning NPCs, the system would’ve just replaced them. Instead, perhaps the NPCs were too integral to their instances to be excised.

If the system couldn’t clear an NPC directly, it wiped the whole instance.

All the instances associated with Teacher Qu were now deliberately closed—did that mean the system couldn’t control this NPC?

But how had these instances been constructed?

Damn, if only Qi Feng wasn’t trapped in the top-tier field; he could ask him about it.

And now, with several other guild leaders being dragged into top-tier copies—was this system manipulation? Using the cards to pull problem players in and destroy those seeking to challenge the system?

Chilling to contemplate.

Yet if he tried to explain to others how to raise NPC favor, he couldn’t—different species, after all. Favor wasn’t exactly straightforward.

Yan Jiyun threw down his pen, flopped into his oversized cat bed, and transformed. His personal power was still limited, but their squad was growing—they’d be more solid in the next mid-level instance.

By noon tomorrow, things would be clearer.

He hadn’t been in the game long; his conclusions drawn from scant experience, and surely there were deeper secrets yet. Qi Feng himself hid many discoveries. The real question remained: what is the structure of “Destiny’s” instances? Where did they come from? Why could NPCs determine everything? How was the system run? The “Best Video Game Console,” indeed.

No one yet knew.

Even veterans after years in the game had found nothing—it showed how deeply the system hid itself.

He recalled one other thing: when Qi Feng was chatting with Jixiang yesterday, he’d mentioned once glitching an instance with Su Qiuming and getting it shuttered. Yet the instance hadn’t closed entirely—it just came back with a new skin.

He would have to ask someone about that specific instance; it nagged at him.

Setting all this aside, he checked the freshest main-pet notification.

Qi Feng was clearing the instance fast, nabbing a key item immediately. The “Sweet Christmas” instance was anything but sweet.

Could it be that “Sweet Christmas” lacked enough players, so the system lured people in with those cards—while also disposing of guild leaders who challenged it?

Yan Jiyun still didn’t get how the little cards were all distributed by Xu Xian in secret.

Eight hours until noon.

Yan Jiyun got up, ate something, and went back to sleep.

There was no point worrying about Qi Feng. Better to farm a couple more instances himself and gain experience—one “Mermaid” joint instance wasn’t enough. Maybe that had been a special case; who knew if other instances were the same?

Lying in bed, Yan Jiyun thought himself to sleep.

Maybe he was still growing—he slept deep and long, clocking in over ten hours a day before he was satisfied.

When he woke, it was already midday.

Leaving his personal space to find food, he saw Qiu Xi had already bought lunch for him and Gu Wenzhu.

He told them he was building muscle, so he ate only eggs, boiled chicken, and fish.

Gu Wenzhu glanced at his food, appetite waning. “You don’t eat grains?”

Yan Jiyun nodded. “I can, but not much. Trying to bulk up.”

Cats could eat rice, but not daily—otherwise, they’d be malnourished. Better to eat more meat and supplement with vegetables now and then.

Just as he finished eating, He Yuanle bombarded him with messages—asking them to wait for the instance list, and if they could discuss which to enter together.

That was initiative.

He replied that they’d wait for the noon instance announcement. After a night of anticipation, all players in Central City, and those just emerging from instances, were dying to know which ones would be de-listed, and what new content would arrive.

Finally, noon struck.

On the dot, the system broadcast a new notification.

[New Instance Launch Announcement]

[To enhance the gaming experience after five years of operation, “Destiny” is discontinuing 10 new-player, 12 beginner, 10 mid-level, and 7 high-level instances. Top-tier field instances will remain unchanged for now. Meanwhile, we are launching 20 new-player, 15 beginner, 13 mid-level, and 8 high-level instances. You may check the new instance names in the “Instance Selection” area. Happy gaming!]

Yan Jiyun opened the instance list. True to form, the system didn’t state outright which instances were pulled.

The big guilds would care, and so did Yan Jiyun. Scanning the list, he discovered all the instances he’d entered had been axed.

It made last night’s speculation seem increasingly plausible. The Sovereign Fleet was right to hunt favor-maxing players.

A chill clung to his back; if the game could use its rules to pull elite guilds into top-tier fields, could it also target those players who raised NPC favorability?

What if it wasn’t that the leaderboard had no results, but that all such players had died in hard instances?

Gu Wenzhu noticed the change, too—“Hide-and-Seek” was gone.

That was their first instance together.

Yan Jiyun sighed. “Not just ‘Hide-and-Seek,’ even ‘Mermaid’ is gone.”

Qiu Xi remarked: That’s way too much of a coincidence—every instance we’d entered as a team was removed.

Yan Jiyun was certain it was no mere coincidence.

Gu Wenzhu had a quick mind, but as a newcomer, his info was limited, so he said nothing for now.

If it had just been an ordinary bug, Yan Jiyun would have shared—but he was still speculating, lacking proof. No point adding stress to the others yet.

Setting aside old instances, it was time to focus on mid-level preparation.

The new instance selection page put all the new content front and center, with a “[New]” tag for fresh releases, so it was easy to distinguish at a glance.

All three received new messages from He Yuanle—asking which they wanted to enter, sharing his own ideas, and more.

Yan Jiyun focused on the eight new mid-level instances. He wanted to test whether the system would target NPCs with max favor—if they were truly crucial, that was likely a weak spot through which he could return to the real world.

He Yuanle’s enthusiasm hadn’t flagged. Instead of endless back-and-forth using the system’s costly, awkward messaging—each message cost 10 points—they simply invited him directly to their base.

He Yuanle had already figured out their location; in less than ten minutes, he arrived.

It was raining in Central City, yet his shoes were dry. Yan Jiyun raised an eyebrow. “You live next door?”

He Yuanle shrugged. “If we’re teaming up for instances, of course I’d rent next to you for quick meetings.”

Gu Wenzhu said, “Alright. Now that we’re all here, let’s have our first team meeting.”

He Yuanle was excited: “Since we’re a proper team, shouldn’t we have a cool name?”

Gu Wenzhu thought so too: “Sure. What should we call ourselves? I’m terrible at naming.”

Yan Jiyun: “Whatever.”

He Yuanle: “Settled then—‘Whatever.’”

Qiu Xi clapped his hands in agreement.

Yan Jiyun gave He Yuanle a sidelong glance. “I meant any name. You guys sound like you’re flattering me or something.”

He Yuanle: “I actually like ‘Whatever.’”

Gu Wenzhu nodded. “It’s got a nice, casual feel.”

And so, the “Whatever” team was born.

Good times never last long—soon it was down to business: selecting a new mid-level instance.

Yan Jiyun stated his preference: “I want to try a new instance.”

Neither Gu Wenzhu nor Qiu Xi was surprised—if Yan Jiyun had picked an old one, they’d be shocked.

The “Whatever” team’s only advanced field player, He Yuanle, said, “No problem. Honestly, none of us newcomers have ever experienced instance exploration like this; it’s a rare chance to try.”

Gu Wenzhu, always practical, weighed the pros and cons: “To be clear, in old instances we could buy info from the big guilds—maybe even get a discount now—but with new stuff, it’s pure exploration. No hints at all, and picking equipment is a guessing game.”

That hardly mattered to Yan Jiyun. He’d never gotten much use from the gear he bought; it always just sat in his inventory.

“I think just basic gear will do,” he remarked, resolved to stock up on practical meds and simple stealth tools—tailored equipment was more or less useless.

He Yuanle, always the “invisible man” in instances, agreed—he always picked survival gear anyway.

Qiu Xi: No objections.

Gu Wenzhu: “Since everyone’s agreed, let’s pick one of the eight new options.”

If anyone had trouble deciding, this would have been torture.

Luckily, Yan Jiyun was decisive. He’d already glanced over the eight names, and he knew by now—names were rarely accurate. Best to just pick whichever called to him.

Gu Wenzhu started, “How about ‘Oakley Town’? Sounds like something happens in a small town; at least it’s more straightforward than the others. Anyone else have suggestions?”

He Yuanle liked one: “‘Zhenyuan Hotel’? Bet it’s a murder-mystery set in a hotel.”

Qiu Xi joined in, writing in the notebook: “‘Rock, Paper, Scissors.’ I think it might be about kids.”

Yan Jiyun noted that their choices were all “clear” from the titles. He picked his: “‘With Affection as a Pet.’ Feels like it might be an emotion-based suspense story—should we consider it?”

Gu Wenzhu: “Emotion-based? Worth a shot.”

He Yuanle got excited: “Complex relationships between couples, eh? Sounds great! We’ll spend these days learning about relationships online, following love advice bloggers—who knows, we might even become relationship influencers after escaping the game!”

“Dream all you like, but reality is harsh. Have any of you actually had a relationship?” Yan Jiyun asked dryly.

There was a two-second silence.

Eldest brother Gu Wenzhu gave a light laugh: “I have.”

He Yuanle clenched his teeth. “College, same school. Lasted a month, then she suddenly grew taller, an inch more than me—I suspect she broke up just because I was short!”

Qiu Xi wrote: I liked a girl at my tea shop job, but we never got together.

All three looked at Yan Jiyun—the guy who’d chosen the relationship instance—thinking maybe he was the most experienced.

Yan Jiyun’s competitive streak flared; they’d all had relationships, he couldn’t lose!

So he shocked them, “I lived with my girlfriend for over half a year.”

He Yuanle gave him a thumbs-up: “No wonder you’re captain—legendary!”

Gu Wenzhu’s eyes flashed with envy.

Qiu Xi blinked and signed a blessing.

Yan Jiyun: “……”

Cough. Too late to walk it back now. No one would ever know if there was a girlfriend or not.

Really, it didn’t matter whether they’d had relationships; this little sharing session drew them all closer in spirit.

In the end—any new instance would do. With the mood as it was, not picking “With Affection as a Pet” would have seemed strange.

Now, Yan Jiyun was glad he wasn’t entering an instance with Qi Feng—he could test whether the main-pet notifications still worked from two different instances.

The Whatever team agreed to enter “With Affection as a Pet” three days later—one week’s rest would suffice.

By the second day after the update, plenty of guilds had sent teams to “break in” new content. Whoever emerged first would have an instant advantage.

Three days later, nine AM, the Whatever four set out for their new instance.

In truth, nerves were normal—first time opening up a new instance, sure to be both thrilling and tense.

Compared to the others, Yan Jiyun worried more for Qi Feng in the top field. The main-pet notifications—less each day—made his heart skip with every update.

He’d never imagined the sort of instance Qi Feng would get.

If he had access to this feature, so did Qi Feng.

Afraid of a nervous slip, Yan Jiyun ceded team leader duties for instance selection to steady Gu Wenzhu.

Everything went smoothly, no surprise updates.

One second after the instance opened, Yan Jiyun entered.

[Instance Name: With Affection as a Pet]
[Duration: 8 days]
[Difficulty: Level 4]
[Main Quest: Leave Jiangnan Town before in-game time ends.]
[Surviving players: 100/100]

No sooner had he arrived than he heard a medley of festive music.

He found himself standing among a crowd, children darting over the flagstone road, and at the front a long welcoming procession. On horseback, a young man in wedding finery beamed ahead.

So—it really was a romance instance.

This time, the plot was quick to unfold.