Cat 328: Capsule Pod Players

Chapter 328 Capsule Pod Players

Su Qiuming had achieved so much—becoming the system’s White Fang was no accident. The fact that he was able to use his duplication technique three years ago to disrupt Yan Jiyun’s plans showed that he understood Yan Jiyun well enough.

Dodging Yan Jiyun’s slashing claws, Su Qiuming said, “Yan Jiyun, you’re impressive, but I’m even more powerful.”

Taking advantage of Su Qiuming’s penchant for talk, Yan Jiyun struck, his claws raking across Su Qiuming’s abdomen before he could finish, leaving three bloody gashes.

Landing lightly aside, Yan Jiyun sharpened his claws menacingly. “Are you jealous of me?”

Su Qiuming replied, “Yes, I am jealous. You so easily won Qifeng’s trust, while despite all my efforts, in the end, he still suspects my motives. Tell me—why is that?”

Grinding his claws into the ground, Yan Jiyun fixed Su Qiuming with emerald eyes, knowing well that this man was no soft touch—he was cunning beyond measure.

He said, “Have you ever heard the saying? Sincerity for sincerity. I treated Qifeng with genuine care, and so he gave his heart to me; that’s how we became friends. You, on the other hand, approached him with ulterior motives from the start, always aiming to break his trust in you as part of your game. People like you don’t count as friends.”

Su Qiuming said, “Not a friend? But I haven’t even done anything yet, and he abandoned me all on his own.”

Yan Jiyun could not be bothered with such diversions. “Stop changing the subject. You don’t really care if players feel friendly toward you—you just want to use Qifeng to keep tabs on the players.”

Su Qiuming sighed, “I really can’t fool you.”

Yan Jiyun replied, “You have no such feelings, so don’t waste my time.”

It seemed Su Qiuming had never found a worthy conversational partner; he appeared to have a chest full of words he’d been longing to spill.

“When did you first guess it was me?”

“Since you want to know, I’ll tell you. I suspected from the moment I woke up. The traitor I was looking for wasn’t from my own circle, but from among the players. Among all of them, your actions were the most suspicious. The Christmas instance was the first time we met face-to-face. Your vice guild leader, Xu Xian, was loyal to you, always protecting your reputation—yet after his death, you were completely unmoved. And most importantly, only the system or someone with system privileges could send out those little cards. Am I correct?”

As he spoke, Yan Jiyun lunged again. This time, Su Qiuming took the blow head-on, yet still managed to remain calm. “That’s reasonable.”

Yan Jiyun’s attacks didn’t let up. Using a nearby pillar to launch himself, he pounced on Su Qiuming once more.

Struck by his immense mental force, Su Qiuming staggered back several steps, feeling his chest tighten, while Yan Jiyun didn’t so much as break a sweat.

“Then came the Children’s Day party. But with Mr. Qu and the others present, you accomplished nothing—because the technique they used was one I taught. All you could do was let your substitute enter the game. Back then, I didn’t mind the ‘Su Qiuming’ I saw—because that was your doppelgänger, Su Qiubo.”

Su Qiuming nodded, “Once again, you’re right. Too bad there’s no prize for you.”

Yan Jiyun replied, “That’s just as well.”

His keen eyes never left Su Qiuming’s throat as he wondered if he could end things with a single blow.

But crafty Su Qiuming retreated, saying, “Kitten, do you want to know where your master is?”

Yan Jiyun, not falling for the bait, lunged without pausing. Blood flowed from Su Qiuming’s neck, staining it red as he tried to stem the bleeding.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll get angry and cut off your master’s lifeline?”

Suddenly, Yan Jiyun shifted back into his human form, unleashing a flurry of kicks.

“First, he is not my master. Second, your anger means nothing to me. Third, Qifeng is fully capable of protecting himself; he’s no fragile flower in need of rescue. That is the difference between you and me—you don’t understand him.”

Faced with Yan Jiyun’s composure and calm, Su Qiuming felt unexpected pressure.

He said, “It seems you’re nothing like you were three years ago.”

Yan Jiyun replied, “Everyone grows. Even a single stumble makes you wiser.”

Suddenly, Su Qiuming laughed. “But most of your companions have already been captured. With a single word from me, they’ll die.”

Yan Jiyun remained unfazed by the threat. “It doesn’t matter. They made their peace with that fate long ago. Didn’t you hear the training instructions last time? Everyone must be prepared to die bravely. Having already crossed the line, why beg miserably for life? Living in this game is worse than death. Better to die for a cause than to eke out a meaningless existence.”

At last, Su Qiuming realized something: he could not win a war of words with Yan Jiyun. No matter which topic he tried to provoke, Yan Jiyun responded with calm composure, utterly unshaken.

Once he saw that, his first thought was to run.

But Yan Jiyun pursued him relentlessly.

Fighting was only one tactic. Now unwilling to face Yan Jiyun’s next attack, Su Qiuming opened a channel with his mind, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Yan Jiyun darted after him but the passage closed instantly.

Of course, there was no way Yan Jiyun wasn’t worried about Qifeng and the others. They had little practical experience, and even his own was based on the last time. In three years, the game was sure to have evolved.

But Su Qiuming would not escape him. He could close the passage, but Yan Jiyun could still track him down.

In fact, Su Qiuming’s flight had only given him a precise direction.

During their struggle, Yan Jiyun had more than fought—he had left traces of his own “fur” and “scent” consciousness on Su Qiuming. Not easily detected, they were the very reason he had chosen to battle Su Qiuming in his feline form—to set his mark.

No matter how far he ran, Yan Jiyun would find him, just as he had found Qifeng once the “serum” consciousness was imparted. Even with missing consciousness, it had led him to his target in the end.

Tracking Su Qiuming’s escape, Yan Jiyun followed in pursuit. The passage he chose was close to a main corridor; Yan Jiyun proceeded along it.

The closer he drew, the more palpable the tension became.

After several minutes of pursuit, Yan Jiyun saw more than scattered minor guards; now there were ranks upon ranks of mindless, automatonic security personnel, identical in form, armament, stride, and expression.

Yan Jiyun used several invisibility cloaks he had purchased from the system shop, passing through them unimpeded.

Perhaps the system had never imagined that its own items would be used this way.

To Yan Jiyun, this was his final instance within the game, and it was all interconnected; props worked everywhere. Only places like Central City had restrictive settings put in place, while here, as they approached the core, it seemed the system had simply forgotten to limit small props—or never considered it at all.

Because he had followed Su Qiuming’s channel, he did not enter from the grand front entrance of the luxurious sci-fi building. Instead, the passage led directly to a patrolled security corridor—surely within the system’s central zone.

Whether intentional or not, Su Qiuming had done Yan Jiyun a favor by revealing the location of the system’s control center.

This control center, like something out of a sci-fi film, was everywhere monitored with the strictest surveillance.

Moving invisibly, Yan Jiyun quickly found the very heart of the center. Destroy this point, and the game would collapse along with it, releasing all imprisoned consciousnesses.

He marked a symbol on the wall—the signal agreed upon with Qifeng and the others.

He wondered if any of them had found their way here.

The entire control center comprised only one floor, yet held innumerable corridors and countless identical rooms. Each room pulsed with red light.

Seizing his moment as the security passed, he quietly opened a nearby room in which, though silent, red lights flickered.

He stepped in and closed the door, turning to see lines of capsule pods, stacked two rows high, each containing a person lying serenely with closed eyes.

Every capsule pod bore a small screen displaying a name and number—the digit count matching that of the players’ ID badges. One could tap on a name to access further information.

At random, he selected a player’s details.

[Name: Fang He]

[Deaths: 3]

[Remaining Deployments: 2]

[Most Recent Death Instance: Advanced Instance “New Year’s Gift”]

[Converted to NPC: No]

[Consciousness Destroyed: No]

[Awaken Immediately: Yes/No]

Gazing around, Yan Jiyun saw countless capsule pods in every room—filled with players who had “died” within the game. Some had apparently been deployed multiple times; upon each death, their memories were wiped, and once again they re-entered instances as “newbies.”

This was the truth of the players: no wonder the population remained stable no matter how many died. When a player’s consciousness could no longer maintain their status, their mind was either destroyed or repurposed as a redundant NPC—waste not, want not.

While he had no privileges to move freely about the control center, there was much else he could do.

Each room, beyond the capsule pods, was equipped with a central console—capable of opening multiple pods at once.

On the console, he selected all pods marked “deceased” and triggered them to open, exiting “hibernation mode.”

Better to share joy than enjoy it alone.

The consoles responded with “successful activation” messages as he moved swiftly to the next room.

He listened outside the doors as the reactions spread within. One by one, the players began to awaken, immediately chafing at their confinement.

Once certain his goal was accomplished, Yan Jiyun proceeded to the next room, opening the next wave of capsule pod players.

Pods in room after room were unlocked, players revived, each seeking to understand their situation.

Alarms blared in the control center as more and more security arrived, attempting to subdue the newly awakened players. But these were seasoned by the game itself—no strangers to a brawl.

Having achieved his aim, Yan Jiyun shifted back into a small black cat, moving undetected through the control center.

Wherever there was chaos—or the opposite, utter calm—there lay the true core of the game.

This process of elimination was proving effective.

The clamor within the control center only intensified. Before long, someone traced the marks Yan Jiyun had left.

For now, Yan Jiyun put aside searching for the central point to rendezvous with his companions.

He followed their voices, at last finding Teacher Qu and two of the players—Sister Liang and Lan Mo.

Lowering his voice, Yan Jiyun asked, “It’s just you three? Where are the others?”

Teacher Qu replied, “Only found these two; I brought them straight here.”

Sister Liang added, “We ran into a lot of guards on the way.”

Lan Mo, ever Qifeng’s top follower, grumbled, “It was rough getting here. But where’s Feng-ge? Haven’t seen him.”

Yan Jiyun answered, “We split up. He might not be here yet.”

Teacher Qu said, “It’s too hard to get into the control center. There are too many barriers. With just the few of us, it’s dangerous. Should we wait for more?”

Yan Jiyun agreed, “All right.”

He told them about the capsule pods, and together they decided to go big—the security was limited, but the number of players imprisoned in pods was vast. With them distracted, finding the key target would be easier.

Teacher Qu led Lan Mo and Sister Liang to investigate the pod rooms, while Yan Jiyun mingled among the revived players, posing as one newly awakened, studying the surroundings.

After all, the corridors swarmed with unfamiliar faces—no one knew anyone else.

Seizing the moment, he called out, “Look—over there, is that the exit?”

A horde of players surged toward the indicated area.

In fact, that was precisely the area Yan Jiyun wished to explore, and with the crowd, it would be much easier.