Cat 304: Yan Jiyun is Missing

Chapter 304 Yan Jiyun Is Missing

The intimacy between Yan Jiyun and Qi Feng had risen from 60 to 80 during the Apex Tournament. It was only a 20-point increase, but now there were only 20 points left until the maximum value of 100—a clear sign that their tacit understanding was deepening.

A new skill slot had appeared in their abilities panel.

The primary pet system was introduced by the game, likely something Yan Jiyun had set up before he lost his memory. The specifics of its implementation were still unclear to him—or rather, he couldn’t quite remember—but one thing was certain: this system was his own creation, and it was his consciousness that had invaded the game’s “system.” The Ultimate Video Game Console.

So in what manner did he “invade” the game system? Since they all existed as consciousnesses, the game must also exist on some plane of consciousness. This raised questions that hovered between the realms of science and metaphysics.

There’s a saying: the end of science is theology.

Yan Jiyun’s memory remained fragmented. Pieces would occasionally drift back, but never more than a fragment at a time, and never in continuity. There was little point in straining for more; he decided instead to try connecting with his kin, hoping that might trigger further recollections. At the very least, he remembered Lin Xie and Jiang Yan’s identities.

The early side quests he had unlocked all related to NPC companions: for every NPC of his own kind, a new ending awaited—an ending that would awaken them.

Side quests were the game’s way of shackling the NPCs. The content of each quest intertwined with the personal experiences of each NPC.

But why was he an NPC in a zombie-themed quest, while Lin Xie and Jiang Yan inhabited relatively “normal” quests?

Could it be that the harsher the quest, the tighter the chains, and conversely, the more powerful the individual, the more difficult the quest imprisoning them?

The twenty teams were being separated, and in an instant, Yan Jiyun understood what Teacher Qu and the others were doing.

This was a quest of mutual probing and acclimatization on both sides. They must have found a method to confront the game but had never had the opportunity to act on it; as the team grew, so did their concerns, but their confidence had also grown.

Teacher Qu had arranged for a rendezvous in the Apex-level quest, which suggested the possibility that one of their own from the top level was imprisoned there.

Since their entry was made through the game system, they had to operate within the framework of the original side quests. In effect, they were using the identities of the game’s NPCs to blend in, while players still needed to follow the storyline. As they tested the players, they must also rescue the imprisoned NPC companion.

It truly was killing multiple birds with one stone.

Teacher Qu had not told him this explicitly—perhaps because there were still traitors among them. The NPC imprisoned in the top-level quest must be extremely powerful.

To the others, this was a trial in cooperation with the NPCs, but for Yan Jiyun—who had only just realized what was happening—it was a journey to find his own kind. Of course, there might be more than one companion imprisoned here; in the animal quest, he had successfully rescued eight NPCs. Might there be several here as well?

In line with early gaming tropes, his companions were always cast in the “villain” role—but their true nature was anything but. If they could just find the NPCs matching this pattern, half their task would be done.

Yan Jiyun shielded his eyes from the glare. Qi Feng and the others stood beside him; all eleven were present and accounted for.

The quest called “Start the Tank” featured no tanks at all—it was just a name.

Before them was neither a signpost, nor a town, nor any special environment.

Only a vast, empty stretch of land—and, in front of them, a giant rippling portal.

A calm, middle-aged woman’s voice suddenly sounded: “Players, please enter through this gate.”

Qi Feng rested a hand on Yan Jiyun’s shoulder. “We’ve done some research on this quest. It’s a bit different from what we previously learned.”

Yan Jiyun nodded. “Indeed, it’s not the same. We need to be extra careful.”

Qi Feng briefed the others: “Just a heads-up, everyone. The info on this quest doesn’t quite match what we were told.”

Sister Liang asked, “Could it be that my actions have been discovered?”

Zhuang You hurried to cover for her. “What action? What are you talking about? We’re just here to do the quest.” He feared the game had noticed their unusual activity in entering the quest. The Ultimate Video Game Console.

Sister Liang clapped a hand to her mouth—she had nearly slipped, but it didn’t matter much; everyone was just considerably more cautious now.

Shi Yan offered, “Side quests always have unknown variables. Let’s just try not to split up; everyone stick together.”

Gu Wenzhu spoke up, “Could it be that, since the game glitched before, the way side quests work has changed?”

Yan Jiyun nodded. “It’s possible.”

Before them, the rippling curtain of light shimmered like a watery veil; only by passing through could they enter the real quest.

Qi Feng wondered aloud, “Could it be that we’ve really been… discovered?”

Yan Jiyun replied, “I’m not sure either. We’ll have to go in to find out.”

Qi Feng responded, “Right. If something does happen, remember to summon me.”

Yan Jiyun replied, “With luck, this side quest won’t require that. Maybe we won’t be separated at all.”

No sooner had he spoken than Qi Feng—and Lan Mo, whose instincts were the sharpest in their group—said, “I think there’s a chance we’ll be split up.”

Qi Feng couldn’t help but nudge him with a foot. “Quit jinxing us at a time like this.”

Lan Mo looked wounded. “Just a feeling, Feng-ge. You’re too jumpy.”

It wasn’t about being jumpy—Qi Feng just couldn’t afford to be separated from Yan Jiyun right now. They had come to meet the NPCs and negotiate an escape from the game, but so far, they hadn’t seen a single NPC, only uncertainty everywhere.

Having entered this quest, everyone instinctively followed Yan Jiyun’s lead. He was the real linchpin this time—the bridge between NPC and player. Lose him, and they would lose their “emissary.”

Yan Jiyun understood Qi Feng’s concern. He said quietly, “When we go in, hold tight to my hand.”

Qi Feng relayed to the others, “Everyone, hold hands as we go in—don’t let go for anything.”

Truthfully, holding hands made little difference; it was mostly a psychological comfort. They all knew they existed as consciousnesses, not physical bodies—which meant they didn’t even know where their real bodies were.

Yan Jiyun whispered his suspicions to Qi Feng, “There’s a real possibility we’ll be scattered when we go in. If that happens, look for anyone who seems villainous on the surface—they might actually be our companions. If this is a story-driven quest, we’ll need to discover a new ending. And then, do whatever you can to regroup. My companions should all be hidden among the NPCs—they’ll give us a sign when the moment is right.”

United as one, the eleven of them linked hands and walked toward the rippling veil.

Yan Jiyun led the way, stepping in first, the rest of the team watching as each ahead of them vanished into the bluish shimmer.

Only beyond the veil did the real quest world begin—the rhythm, at last, felt familiar again.

Sister Liang called out, “Everyone, count off! One!”

Lan Mo: “Two.”

Shi Yan: “Three.”

Qiu Xi: “Four.”

Gu Wenzhu: “Five.”

He Yuanle: “Six.”

A He: “Seven.”

Zhuang You: “Eight.”

Chang-ge: “Nine.”

Qi Feng: “Yan Jiyun is missing.”

They had prepared for the worst: that everyone passing through the veil might be split into small groups. What they hadn’t expected was that, yes, they’d been separated—but the only one missing from their group was Yan Jiyun himself.

Qi Feng’s expression darkened, his whole bearing sinking, a glint of ice in his eyes.

Lan Mo, closest to him, reflexively shrank back. “Feng-ge, he’ll be fine. Xiao Yan’s got great rapport with those NPCs—they probably just came to get him.”

Yan Jiyun’s relationship with the NPCs was based on a 100% favorability rating, and no one had ever objected to his serving as the bridge to the NPCs—they trusted him, and that trust was underwritten by Qi Feng, which was why the collaboration had ever gotten off the ground.

But now Yan Jiyun had vanished, the other teams had been scattered too, and cooperation seemed a far steeper road.

Qi Feng said, “Whatever the case, let’s get out of here first.”

Right now, their greater worry should have been themselves, as each of them, after passing through the curtain, found themselves clad in a peculiar uniform: prison garb.

A din hammered their ears; someone was banging ferociously on the iron bars, the clamor pounding straight into their skulls.

It was simply too loud to keep talking.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

“Hit him! Hit him!”

“Knock him dead!”

“Bighead, haven’t you eaten? Put your back into that throw!”

Gu Wenzhu, always attentive, still managed to remind the others within this noisy chaos: “My livestream isn’t active—what about yours?”

Only then did they check their livestream controls. All shook their heads—the livestreams had been forcibly shut off.

Only Qi Feng had ever entered the Apex field before.

He warned them, “In the Apex field, the livestreams are always on. Clearly, there’s something strange about this quest. Be extremely careful.”

Qiu Xi asked, “How are we supposed to find Yan-ge?”

No one could answer him just then—not even Qi Feng.

The din persisted: spoons rattling against the bars, people bellowing up ahead.

There was no doubt—they were in a prison dining hall.

There were men and women clad in prison uniform all around; this was a mixed institution.

Every one of the inmates looked like trouble. Still, fighting only piqued Sister Liang’s competitive spirit—she was nothing if not combative. The chopsticks and the handle of her spoon before her could turn into weapons at any moment.

Sister Liang remarked, “Tsk, interesting. First time in a prison quest.”

Qi Feng, meanwhile, worried over Yan Jiyun’s whereabouts. If they provoked someone, they could stick together as a group, but Yan Jiyun was alone now—how would he manage?

They needed information.

This quest had neither system guidance nor active livestream, nor even a visible time limit—everything would depend on their own initiative.

The lack of system guidance was likely the handiwork of Yan Jiyun’s NPC comrades—a most welcome outcome.

Now, Qi Feng and the others were left with just two tasks: one, find Yan Jiyun; two, find Yan Jiyun’s NPC companions.

But that was easier said than done. This was a prison—they could avoid trouble, but trouble would find them anyway; and all about, prison guards stood watching the fights as if they weren’t even there.

Not far away, the prisoners’ recreation area took the shape of a clumped-together row of tables. Up there, a wiry man and a hulking brute were brawling.

The brute’s forearms were as thick as the wiry man’s thighs—he looked about to choke the skinny opponent senseless, but then stopped all at once.

The wiry man had used quick cunning, plunging the sharpened handle of a toothbrush into the brute’s artery. The big man, clutching his bleeding throat, managed only a hoarse gurgle before collapsing on the makeshift ring.

The bigger man easily outweighed the wiry one by two sizes—but he had just been killed in a flash. Incredible.

Everyone frowned—this was a truly top-tier quest, no illusion.

Qi Feng could barely remain seated—this prison was hell in all but name. The level of difficulty was literally infernal.

He glanced down at his prison garb; the words “Ninth Prison” printed across the chest. Above their heads hung a board marked “8”—they were probably in Sector Eight of the facility.

No telling how many sectors in total—but from this, Yan Jiyun ought to be elsewhere.

If every sector was this brutal, how could he possibly survive on his own?

Lan Mo tried to reassure his leader. “Feng-ge, don’t worry—Xiao Yan will be fine.”

Qi Feng broke his chopsticks in two, tucking the sharp pieces into his shoes as makeshift weapons.

They had yet to speak up, when the wiry man on the makeshift stage kicked the fallen brute off the platform. He swept a predatory gaze over the crowd. “Who’s next?”