Cat 273: Searching for the Entrance

Chapter 273: Searching for the Entrance

The Peak Match gave players only three days’ preparation time—barely enough for those just out of a copy to rest and recover.

For guilds, these three days were all about organizing their ranks—deciding who would take the solo round, who would join pairs, and who would form four-member groups.

Yan Jiyun’s team and Qi Feng’s had just merged, with some previous collaboration in earlier copies, making a total of eleven members. But how best to arrange them?

Qi Feng had to watch over his cat. He and Yan Jiyun would either form a pair or join a four-person team.

Compared to Qi Feng’s group, Yan Jiyun’s was all newcomers, but reaching the intermediate field proved they were capable in their own right.

After a day of adjustment, the two teams reached a decision.

No matter how they shuffled, one person would inevitably have to enter the solo challenge. Oddly, three of Qi Feng’s teammates vied for that slot—perhaps a testament to their independent personalities—but, in the end, the team’s sole woman claimed the spot for herself.

Su Liang folded her arms and grinned at the others. “Better luck next time.”

The other would-be soloists: “…”

Lan Mo: “Sister Liang, you really don’t want to team up?”

Su Liang gave him a frosty look. “Do you know how hard it is to get rid of you? What do you think?”

Lan Mo clutched his chest. “Are you saying I’m a burden?”

Su Liang: “You said it, not me.”

Chang Ge cracked his knuckles so loudly it sounded like gunfire. “Su Liang, really won’t trade?”

Su Liang: “Don’t even think about it, you muscle-bound simpleton.”

Yan Jiyun’s team regarded Sister Liang with respect. The lady’s tongue was as sharp as ever.

Gu Wenzhu, Qiu Xi, Lan Mo, and Shi Yan had some understanding of each other from previous teamwork and elected to join the four-person team. The other four also agreed; that left a pair—captained by the team leaders themselves.

Given the seriousness of Qi Feng’s injury, everyone accepted that he and Yan Jiyun would pair up—presumably to protect him. A 4-4-2-1 split seemed best. Both he and Yan Jiyun would also get another shot to encounter the “spectator” NPCs and extract information about themselves and the game.

The next two days were spent in joint training, but wisely balanced with rest—physical fitness was still key.

The Peak Match was a global event, so the overall difficulty wouldn’t surpass that of the advanced field, but the content could be tricky, eliminating half the players in one stroke.

The game would begin at eight a.m. the next day.

By the last day, Qi Feng’s wound had scabbed over, the bleeding stopped, hidden under a thin new layer of flesh.

The game’s medicine did heal fast, but in such an unstable environment it felt all too slow. Entering the game with an unhealed wound put the injured at a real disadvantage.

Before bed, Yan Jiyun helped Qi Feng rewrap his shoulder, and frowned at the faintly pink scar. “Try not to move your arm tomorrow unless you have to.”

Qi Feng felt the practiced touch tying a knot behind his back and was once again sure that Yan Jiyun really had been human before becoming his cat. Being dragged into Destiny was one accident; raising a cat who could become human was an even bigger one. The former was not to his liking, the latter he’d never have imagined. Without the game, he’d never have known the cat he raised had retained human consciousness.

Without the system, Yan Jiyun might simply have gone back to being his cat; thanks to the game, he could become a human.

The system was a source of endless, tangled feelings.

As he glanced at the knot just above his shoulder, an odd impulse stirred in his heart: he was more eager than ever to destroy this game. Whether Caramel was human or cat, he wanted always to be with him.

Perhaps he was staring too intently, for Yan Jiyun lifted his head and met his gaze. “Too tight?”

“No, just right,” said Qi Feng.

He still recalled declaring his feelings as Old Nine in the Heart’s Pet copy—a life-and-death game, where today one might live and tomorrow die. Who could say when one’s time would come? It was best to put personal emotion aside for now. Most crucially, after all that, Yan Jiyun had never once brought up any talk of feelings. He wouldn’t either.

Some things—let them be.

That Caramel was still his cat—that was enough.

He hadn’t been as proactive in searching for clues within the game as others imagined. There seemed little to live for; after watching friend after friend fall, it was hard to stay motivated. But for Caramel, he would now give it his all—he would find a way for Caramel to escape this deadly place.

Yan Jiyun knelt on the sofa to finish wrapping Qi Feng’s shoulder, then flopped down beside him.

Qi Feng reminded, “Early to bed tonight. We’ll have to get up early tomorrow.”

Yan Jiyun nodded. “Yeah.”

They wouldn’t have to split up for this copy, so no need for goodbyes—a little awkward, but not unwelcome.

In the past, Yan had to hide and dissemble; now everything was clear, he felt an unprecedented lightness.

Qi Feng wanted to speak further, but Yan changed back to Caramel before his eyes, sprawling unceremoniously on the sofa to wait for personal space to open for rest.

Well, rest was paramount.

Qi Feng’s personal space had changed; their training had shifted too. Yan spent half his time in human form, half in cat form. Though Qi Feng’s right arm was hurt, he could still practice with Yan, who, as a cat, would leap onto his left arm right on cue. Their coordination had soared, though their time was too short for comfort—Qi Feng wasn’t fully recovered before they had to face the game’s hostility again.

Yan’s bright yellow sofa had become a larger sofa-bed. Qi Feng laid out a woolen blanket for him—warm and soft, and with this new bed, Yan stopped climbing onto the main bed at night.

Qi Feng silently regretted it.

The first night, Yan had thought of returning to his own space. He’d finally justified sharing space as “team-building,” but then—following Caramel’s old logic that no matter how many cat beds he bought, the cat would always choose the human bed—he’d made a proper bed, only to find Yan now wouldn’t use it.

Flat on his back, Qi Feng sighed inwardly, patting his right hand with his left. Serves you right for being meddlesome.

The space was still, Yan stretched out and closed his eyes. His hearing was keen; he could tell Qi Feng wasn’t sleeping—tossing and turning in his bed.

Was he nervous about the Peak Match?

After a while, Qi Feng still wasn’t asleep, and, unable to sleep himself, Yan jumped onto the bed. Curling beside the pillow, he lightly tapped Qi Feng’s arm with a paw.

Qi Feng knew at once that Caramel had come up.

Since their heart-to-heart, Yan hadn’t appeared in human form in his personal space, and Qi Feng hadn’t given it much thought.

But he understood instantly: “Alright, I’m going to sleep now.”

Before Caramel joined the game, Qi Feng often came home feeling low. During those first few nights, Caramel would never leave his side.

Once, coming home from the game more exhausted than usual, he’d passed out for two whole days, waking only to the sound of ambulances and the shouts of the property manager.

He hadn’t thought his cat would ever run off, nor had he bothered with security cameras. He’d assumed it was just the property manager’s doing. Only now did he realize that it must have been Caramel—the only one closest to him, the one who knew his condition best.

Qi Feng stretched a hand from under the covers. “You called for the ambulance that time, didn’t you?”

Yan patted his head: Who else? If you died, who’d feed me?

Qi Feng: “Thank you.”

Yan gave a soft mewl, laid his chin on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

Enough thinking—so exhausting.

For some reason, Qi Feng could smell the faint scent of Yan’s shampoo, and soon he too drifted off.

Ten minutes later, Yan cracked open his eyes for a peek at Qi Feng, whose handsomeness was undiminished by even side-sleeping. Yan rolled over, burrowed under the covers, and settled against Qi Feng’s arm.

Now he could truly fall asleep—the place felt right.

7:30 a.m.

Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng had already finished breakfast.

After a big stretch, Yan stood at the window and activated his Experience Card.

Both readied themselves to enter the Peak Match.

But as Yan lifted his head, everyone realized the sky outside Central City had changed.

Scarlet letters, glaringly bright, floated across the sky above Central City:

[Let’s celebrate a different kind of Children’s Day this year, adults! Happy holiday, friends!]

There were plenty of players staying in the same hotel; many preferred to avoid daylight and keep a low profile. But now, the sight of the game system dressing up Central City for the event—it was a first for all of them.

Yan turned to Qi Feng: “Were previous Peak Matches ever this elaborate?”

Qi Feng shook his head. “Since I started, I’ve never seen anything like it. This time it’s like the system’s on steroids.”

Reflecting on the sudden appearance of this new copy, Yan commented, “Don’t you feel like the system’s had a personality change?”

Like working at a place for two years and, after a business shake-up, finding the new boss had swapped serenity for a manic energy.

Qi Feng nodded. “Yeah, interesting.”

Meanwhile, arrows appeared in the sky.

Pointing in four directions.

Solo, pair, and four-person challenges each faced a different way.

All players received a new in-game notice.

[‘Children’s Day Party’ login portal is now open. All players, please proceed to your designated entrance.]

[Tip: The earlier you enter, the lower the difficulty. Slots are limited. Please hurry—good luck!]

Yan was unconcerned with difficulty. His focus was on the system itself, and he asked Qi Feng, “Was the system always this lively?”

Qi Feng shook his head. “No. Over the last year, it’s become really animated. Maybe it’s not just our imagination that there’s a bug in the system.”

Yan nodded. “Let’s go.”

They located the direction for the pair challenge and dashed over, along with a sizable number of other players.

Central City covered a broad area, and with the entrance opening half an hour early, it was as if the system were setting a major trap—a trap they encountered after running for a solid kilometer.

For this direction led to the entrance for two-player mode.

The game hadn’t even started, and already a fight had broken out up ahead between what looked like two rival guilds—four people a side, blocking the road.

Qi Feng and Yan Jiyun wanted to go around, but couldn’t; eight players stood firm at the impasse, with more people pushing up behind.

They watched as others farther ahead disappeared into the distance. The eight blocking the way didn’t let up—almost as if they were doing it on purpose.

Just as Qi Feng was about to stride forward and deliver a well-placed kick, Yan suddenly bounded up onto a nearby wall, balancing perfectly on top.

Yan reached out a hand to Qi Feng. “Come up.”

Without hesitation, Qi Feng gave him his hand—experiencing for the first time the feeling of being protected.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Is this how you always snuck out of the house to play?”

Yan blinked at him, laughed, and didn’t answer. He ran nimbly along the wall, barely fifteen centimeters wide.

Rhetorical question.

Watching his back, Qi Feng felt as though he were watching Caramel’s—at this moment, Caramel and Yan Jiyun were one and the same.

His Caramel was Yan Jiyun; Yan Jiyun was his Caramel.

And so, following Yan Jiyun’s lead, Qi Feng sprinted along the wall toward the entrance to the game.