Cat 275: The Greatest Bug

Chapter 275: The Greatest Bug

[“Has Anyone Seen My Cat” Livestream]

“Why is my Brother Feng interlocking fingers with that newbie! Ten days without streaming, and now I find out Brother Feng’s been bewitched by that little seducer!”

“Is this CP real? No way, I’ve hit the jackpot?”

“I don’t approve!”

“Ahhh, the newbie really knows what he’s doing. Brother Feng just can’t resist, can he? If the game hadn’t started, I’d have sworn their gazes would tangle together. Look at how tenderly Feng looks at the newbie—who could resist that kind of gentleness?”

“I’m sorry, but don’t they just look like teammates? How are you all seeing these feelings that aren’t there? They never said they’re a couple.”

“Am I the only one actually paying attention to Brother Feng’s gameplay? Oh wow, the newbie is insanely good. Players ahead of him just dropped on that rolling barrel, but he leapt right over, light as a feather—way ahead of everyone else.”

“Calling it easy is premature—this is just the first level. There are ninety-nine left! Just wait until my Brother Feng shows what he can do. The newbie just wants to cling to a pro, he’ll be history soon!”

“I checked Lan Mo and Master Shi’s streams too, and they’re with the newbie’s teammates. Did something happen while I was gone?”

“Maybe the two teams merged? Even Sister Liang had to settle for solo mode, poor thing.”

“No way, I have to go check out the newbie’s stream. What kind of charm did he use to snag our Brother Feng?”

[“Trying to Be Human” Livestream]

“Oh my god, I’m so touched! I thought we wouldn’t see Cat Cub for another half month, but after just four days the stream is back on. Cat Cub is such a workaholic! The game really should give him a model worker award!”

“Ahhh, look—they’re doing the challenge together, Cat Cub and his master.”

“Wow, I almost forgot about the Pinnacle Tournament. Turns out Cat Cub and his master both entered this time. Last time, I remember the master eliminated Cat Cub.”

“Let me see the game rules! Oh wow, they actually have to run and jump together. Cat Cub should be right at home in this round!”

“Rolling barrels—hilarious! Isn’t that just Cat Cub’s toy? How could this be any trouble for him?”

“Maybe it’s tough, I don’t know, but Cat Cub seems so happy!”

“Just checked the rules for this year’s Pinnacle Tournament. Players get to pick their own modes and teammates, so how did Cat Cub and Master instantly team up? Their relationship progressed in just a few days?”

“Did you see them interlock fingers just now?”

“I also glanced at Cat Cub’s teammates—they’re all grouped up with Brother Feng’s teammates. Was there a team merger? Why does this feel like a wedding?”

“Why do you call the streamer Cat Cub and Brother Feng Master? Is this some new kind of play?”

“You must be from Qi Feng’s stream, huh? Tsk, tsk, tsk, not telling!”

As the Pinnacle Tournament began, the player streams went live, bustling with noise.

Yan Jiyun gracefully leapt across the spinning barrels, his movements light and effortless, almost as if he possessed some lightness skill. If not for the fact that no items were allowed when entering, people might believe he’d used a prop.

After the barrels, he moved to the next segment: a rotating turntable. Timing was key—he counted the beats, noting it spun quickly for five seconds, then slowly for another five. As long as he jumped during the slow window, he’d clear it without falling off the cliff below.

Many other players also managed to clear this section—this was only the first level, and the difficulty seemed manageable. Most were able to complete it. Qi Feng was right behind Yan Jiyun. When Yan Jiyun cleared a challenge, he’d wait a moment, by which time Qi Feng would arrive. They were never more than a second or two apart.

Timing their movements, the two hopped across the turntable onto the next stage: a conveyor belt running in reverse. As long as you were faster than the belt, you could cross. The difficulty came from not being able to see the end of it. Some players rushed ahead, only to start screaming moments later.

It turned out there were even more hazards. The reverse conveyor was just one of them; others lurked ahead.

Players who fell returned with pale faces, telling their teammates how frightening it was: the conveyor would suddenly speed up, and massive balls would come hurtling down. One had fallen due to the sudden acceleration, the other for being struck by a ball. Fortunately, they didn’t need to return to the very start.

This was no simple obstacle course for cash or prizes. Failure to finish in time meant death—and no one wanted to die at the first level.

Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng weren’t impulsive. They’d deliberately let others go first to test the waters, and learned a thing or two. Still, they had yet to spot the “audience” NPCs they were specifically looking for—a potential breakthrough.

Yan Jiyun said, “If it keeps up with these little challenges, we may never find what we’re looking for.”

Qi Feng replied, “No rush. This is just the first round. Let’s clear it first—good things come to those who wait.”

“Right, let’s keep moving,” Yan Jiyun agreed. With a hundred levels to go, it was impossible to finish them all in one day; there might be surprises along the way.

Qi Feng knew Yan Jiyun excelled at running, jumping, and observation, but he still warned, “Be careful.”

Yan Jiyun fixed his eyes on the dazzling, multicolored belts ahead. “Got it. Here I go.”

He dashed onto the conveyor—no obstacles could slow him now.

There were ten belts in all, with plenty of players analyzing their patterns to find the best route.

Yan Jiyun’s vision was sharp, reflexes quick, movements agile. Soon, he noticed a repeating pattern in the obstacles.

He leapt onto one belt—just as it abruptly reversed and sped up, he immediately hopped sideways onto the next. Each belt was separated by a fifty-centimeter gap; misjudge your leap, and it was a straight drop down.

This belt ran forward at normal speed. He ran a ways, encountering no balls, but fifty meters ahead, the floor gave way—if you weren’t watching your feet, you’d be bounced back to the start of this segment.

Scanning ahead, Yan Jiyun jumped the breaks, then found that the next belts were different—no more rolling balls, but bars appeared above them. Ten belts in a row; every other belt had a bar. Belts without bars ran at higher speed to throw off players. One had to run along only those with bars—which would shift unpredictably—to proceed.

For Yan Jiyun, this was no great challenge. With a blink, he was across, and Qi Feng—seasoned as he was—followed without difficulty.

Finding the pattern, they breezed through the challenge in seconds.

The first level lasted fifteen minutes, with a long stretch still to go, and no finish line in sight.

But they hadn’t forgotten: they’d chosen the two-player mode, yet so far nothing required actual cooperation. The real difficulty clearly hadn’t arrived.

Stage 1-1 was the rollers;
Stage 1-2, the conveyor;
Stage 1-3 lay up ahead.

Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng were the fastest in their group. After a brief pause at 1-2, they surged ahead. No one had caught up, leaving the two of them alone.

The difficulty now ramped up. Stage 1-3 presented something abnormal.

After clearing the conveyor hurdle, they paused at a turn—before them hung rows of rainbow rings.

Unlike in 1-1 and 1-2, this time the rules were spelled out: Both players must cross together. If one reached the end more than two seconds before their partner, it would count as a failure.

Yan Jiyun instantly recalled the rule from earlier. “Doesn’t this contradict the rule that only one teammate needs to finish for the team to win?”

Qi Feng, expression unreadable, replied, “Just wordplay. That applies to the main levels, not mini-stages. The Pinnacle Tournament never reveals all its rules upfront.”

Yan Jiyun thought the rules unfair, but he had his own methods. Passing together was no big deal for them.

He glanced at his experience card—it wouldn’t last much longer.

He grinned at Qi Feng, reaching for his jacket zipper. “Unzip your jacket.”

“Okay.” Qi Feng’s lips nearly twitched into a smile, and he let Yan Jiyun do as he pleased. By now, he understood Yan Jiyun’s unyielding spirit from those lively eyes.

Yan Jiyun hummed twice, and before any other players arrived, transformed into Caramel, attaching himself to Qi Feng’s chest.

If the game wanted to trick them, it could hardly fault them for bending the rules.

Qi Feng zipped up, leaving only Yan Jiyun’s head poking out. Supporting Caramel, he made sure his paws caught his clothes firmly, so he wouldn’t fall during the run. “Hold tight, Caramel.”

Yan Jiyun wrapped his front paws enthusiastically around Qi Feng’s neck. “Meow~” Okay, no problem!

This time he wasn’t shy about meowing at all.

Always low key, Qi Feng moved with agile grace, quickly climbing the suspended rings. With strong arms and core, he stepped across the swaying hoops with ease.

Below was open air; the wind howled. If he lost his grip, he and his cat would both go tumbling down.

For Yan Jiyun, being carried like this was surprisingly fun. Qi Feng seemed relaxed, but he wasn’t exactly light—if anything, he’d grown sturdier of late.

He couldn’t help but cheer his partner on.

“Meow!” Go for it.

“Meow meow!” Keep going!

“Meow meow meow!” Faster, almost there.

“Meow~!” Yes! Safe!

One man and his cat, stage 1-3 cleared.

Next up, 1-4—still a collaborative effort.

1-4 Game Rule: Both players must cross the balance beam hand in hand. At any point, breaking the handhold counts as a failure, sending them back to the start of the stage. Failing to clear before time runs out means elimination.

The game’s failure to disclose all its rules was its biggest flaw—because Yan Jiyun himself was now the greatest bug in the system.

1-4: Hand in hand across two parallel beams. Each player walked their own, just ten centimeters wide—an extreme test of balance. Not that it fazed Qi Feng.

Yan Jiyun hooked one paw around Qi Feng’s neck, with the other held tightly in Qi Feng’s hand. Qi Feng found it so soft he even brought it to his lips for a quick tap—if he couldn’t kiss the real thing, a peck for his little cat’s paw would do for luck.

Yan Jiyun’s long, sleek black fur ruffled in the wind, head sticking out as he lounged in Qi Feng’s arms—like riding in a racecar. Exhilarating.

“Meow!” Charge!

[“Has Anyone Seen My Cat” Livestream]

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