Cat 93: Task Trap
by CristaeChapter 93: Task Trap
After turning into a cat, Yan Jiyun had idled away a year, never expecting he would once again become a “corporate drone.”
Even in this small scenario world, the meetings and speeches from leadership felt all too real.
This was a supervisor-level meeting of the zoo.
Yan Jiyun saw the high-spirited deputy director presiding over the meeting up front, but there was no sign of the director.
Dr. Peng had been promoted to director of the medical wing, while Dr. Zhou had been stripped of his post—so why was Zhou here attending the meeting as well?
The meeting was relaxed; departmental supervisors weren’t required to sit together.
Yan Jiyun chose a seat in the back row. As a player who had slipped into the ranks, he would not dare to outshine the NPCs at their own meeting.
When Dr. Zhou deliberately acted chummy with him, Dr. Peng conspicuously distanced himself.
Yan Jiyun felt no need to cozy up to Dr. Peng either. He’d earned this position on his own, not through Dr. Peng’s help.
As a newcomer, he chose a humble seat in the last row, not wishing to draw attention.
Dr. Peng, now a principal talent in the zoo, sat up front, clearly in Deputy Director He’s favor.
Dr. Zhou entered behind them and sat right next to Yan Jiyun without hesitation.
“Congratulations, Xiao Jiang. Not here long and already promoted.” Dr. Zhou smiled faintly at him.
Yan Jiyun maintained his composure, replying with pride, “I rely on my own hard work.”
Dr. Zhou adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke in a low voice, “Aren’t you curious how I can attend this meeting?”
Yan Jiyun feigned innocence, “What do you mean?”
A flicker of disappointment crossed Dr. Zhou’s eyes. “Nothing. Do drop by my office for tea sometime.”
He stood up and left the conference room, not returning for the rest of the meeting.
So, he’d come just to invite him to tea?
Did this NPC have some kind of obsession with tea?
The meeting was dull, but Yan Jiyun stayed for the whole thing.
Deputy Director He read out a list of staff members being disciplined—all Dr. Zhou’s people. Next, she announced the promotion of Dr. Peng and others, including Yan Jiyun.
With his promotion, Dr. Peng lost some of his former caution, now bearing a hint of pride between his brows.
Yan Jiyun guessed Peng probably wasn’t protagonist material after all; true leads were usually the beautiful, strong, and tragic type, and Peng’s ascent had been far too smooth.
Maybe Peng was simply a task-giving NPC?
Since resting, Yan Jiyun hadn’t received any tasks related to Peng. Perhaps it was time to move on from his questline?
The first crisis was over—supposedly, the animals wouldn’t get violent again.
The animal agitation had not been labeled as Dr. Zhou’s doing; at the meeting, everyone was demoted or fired for violating rules, but no one was turned over to the authorities for the animals’ agitation.
The instance gave players five days to search for clues and unravel the mystery for good reason. Yan Jiyun felt he’d only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg.
It didn’t make sense—he’d met nearly all the important NPCs except the director, and must only be separated from the truth by a thin veil.
But what was that thin veil?
From Peng’s slightly smug expression, Yan Jiyun confirmed something: Peng simply wanted to expose Zhou’s experiments in order to get a promotion and raise. On the surface, the zoo’s first crisis was resolved—but what were the other crises?
Yan Jiyun disliked “peeling onions” step by tedious step—the tears, the effort. At home, he had always played with onions as balls, anyway: peeling for eating, poking for fun.
Maybe Dr. Zhou was the true key of the scenario.
The motive—why did Dr. Zhou conduct experiments in the zoo?
He needed to discover Dr. Zhou’s motivation; there must be a very important reason.
Family? Friendship? Love? Or maybe just an obsession with his career?
On second thought, career ambition seemed unlikely—if so, why would he settle for being an insignificant zoo vet?
He needed to visit Human Resources and find information on Dr. Zhou.
No wonder he’d found nothing in Finance; he’d assumed too much, when the next room—HR—was what players truly needed.
As soon as the meeting ended, Yan Jiyun fixed his sights on the HR manager.
Dr. Peng was surrounded by compliments after his promotion; Yan Jiyun, who hadn’t praised him, was nearly forgotten.
But Yan Jiyun had no interest in NPCs who had nothing left to give—everything was mutual exploitation.
Now, all he wanted was to get into HR and find Dr. Zhou’s records.
He’d been here yesterday, but no one now recognized him as the job applicant from then. Now they all saw him as the recently promoted Supervisor Jiang.
The meeting room was on the third floor, HR on the second.
He made a show of visiting the third-floor restroom, waiting for the meeting room to clear out before sneaking to the HR office.
HR had four staffers, always hiring for various posts. Interviewees were always unfamiliar NPCs. Right now, the HR folks were busy interviewing in small conference rooms, leaving the office itself unoccupied.
It would be easy to find an excuse to enter HR; he wasn’t stealing anything, just looking up files.
He glanced at the nameplates and spotted the HR supervisor’s desk.
The last remaining HR staffer left for an interview, and Yan Jiyun told her he needed to see the HR supervisor. Seeing his rank, she was cordial with him.
“You can wait for her inside; she’ll be back after this round of interviews.”
“Alright.”
Upstairs, he heard the HR supervisor hurrying to take applicants’ interviews.
The personnel files should be stored with contracts—each employee should have a file folder.
Yan Jiyun scanned the office; the file cabinets weren’t big enough for hundreds of files, probably just for stationery. The actual records must be in the inner office.
He tried the door but it was locked.
Spotting a bunch of keys in the supervisor’s pen holder, he grabbed them and tried one—success.
The good thing about this scenario: there were virtually no obstacles for these sorts of places. The Finance office password had been written right on the calendar; here, the key was in plain sight. Evidently, the info was auxiliary, and the system assumed no player would get this far—placing the key front and center didn’t matter.
He heard footsteps outside and slipped into the file room.
It wasn’t ventilated, stifling and dusty.
Covering his nose, Yan Jiyun opened the file cabinets. All locked, but he could open each in turn.
There were myriad files—hundreds at least—making a careful search a great waste of time.
Listening to be sure no one was passing, he slipped back out and tried the HR supervisor’s computer.
He’d noticed in the meeting that the supervisor herself was impeccably put-together, but her computer desktop was a cluttered mess, icons and folders everywhere.
To mislead? Yan Jiyun ignored the desktop and searched storage drives and taskbars instead.
Sure enough, he found a zoo-specific HR management system.
Clicking it, he found the supervisor account was already logged in.
All sorts of info and pending tasks filled the interface.
He hadn’t expected the game to be so detailed—the software was every bit as functional as those in real companies.
Yan Jiyun hunted a while before finding the personnel files section.
Search: Zhou Yiqun.
Result: You have no permission to view this employee’s file.
What—?
So who did have access?
Dr. Zhou’s data was confidential, even from ordinary HR; the supervisor lacked authority.
That explained everything: not even the deputy director could fully dismiss him—clearly his status was exceptional. The HR system contained nothing on him. What about Dr. Peng?
Yan Jiyun immediately entered Peng Yu’s name.
Search: Peng Yu.
Information popped up at once: basic details, alma mater, work history, other employment.
So, Dr. Peng was less important in this scenario than Dr. Zhou—major, but perhaps only for early tasks.
Could the file room have anything the computer didn’t?
Determined, Yan Jiyun searched the archives, but the more critical the NPC, the less likely their information would be here. Not even Dr. Peng’s file.
Had he looked in the wrong place all along?
In the hall, he noticed an unmarked office next door.
Just then, an HR staffer walked by, and Yan Jiyun asked, “Isn’t the HR manager in?”
The staffer replied, “He’s away with a colleague on a hiring fair.”
“Why doesn’t his office have a nameplate?” Yan Jiyun asked.
The staffer laughed, “Director He wanted all the door signs redone, so we took his down to try out the new ones.”
Yang Jiyun got what he wanted and then retreated to the second-floor restroom.
So Dr. Zhou wasn’t simple—his information was multiply restricted.
It was easy to come and go in HR, but not in the manager’s office.
After waiting until the coast was clear, Yan Jiyun picked the old lock with a folding knife.
Luckily, the manager used a desktop PC, easy to boot. The password wasn’t on the calendar, but a photo frame of a little girl—presumably his daughter—sat on the desk. Turning it over, Yan Jiyun found a date, and entered it successfully.
The desktop was much tidier, the HR system shortcut right there, logged in automatically.
With more confidence now, Yan Jiyun navigated directly to the search function.
Search: Zhou Yiqun.
Two seconds later, Dr. Zhou’s file appeared!
He picked up on a relevant detail: Zhou and Peng were graduates of the same institution, with Zhou only one year behind.
The focus, though, was Zhou’s research: individually, the words were clear, but put together they baffled Yan Jiyun. He jotted the titles down:
“Research Project on Human-Animal Consciousness and Experiential Sharing Technology,”
“Research on Human-Animal Consciousness Exchange,”
“Research on Soul Exchanges between Humans and Animals”—all highly ideological topics.
Dr. Zhou had already earned his doctorate. Young and daring, his vision was truly ahead—no, beyond belief; he was researching souls!
Did souls persist after death?
Yan Jiyun felt he should discuss this with Zhou; after all, he had died and become a cat—had his soul swapped bodies, or was his consciousness projected into an animal shell?
He found Zhou’s projects fascinating, but what exactly was he experimenting on in the zoo?
Human-animal consciousness exchange—had he succeeded?
If so, were all the zoo’s animals problematic?
If not, everything remained in the research stage.
Had Peng discovered something and sabotaged the research? Or did he simply want to steal Zhou’s results?
Those who did research were not necessarily villains; those who broke up research weren’t always heroes.
For now, Yan Jiyun could not discern good from evil.
At least he now knew the direction of Zhou’s experiments: human-animal consciousness exchange. The zoo was the perfect place, with hundreds of high-quality animals—a peerless setting for such work.
But one question remained—why?
Yan Jiyun quickly noted Zhou’s personal data and got ready to leave.
But escape wasn’t so easy; staff passed by in the corridor. This was only the second floor, not easy to climb out a window in broad daylight under everyone’s gaze.
Suddenly, two HR staffers appeared on the outside balcony with coffee, chatting outside the manager’s office.
The rich aroma seeped in as Yan Jiyun overheard their conversation.
“Do you know why Dr. Zhou was suddenly dismissed?”
“That’s simple—Dr. Peng reported him for illegal experiments in the zoo, with concrete evidence.”
“I heard Dr. Zhou was recruited by the director. He’s always so mysterious—never socialized with us.”
“That’s normal; he’s a doctor, not a grunt. Anyway, I heard the director had a stroke recently. Only then did Deputy Director He feel bold enough to go after him.”
“You mean Deputy Director He wants to replace the director?”
“Of course. Why do you think Zhou was fine for three years, but dismissed the moment the director had an accident? Director He’s just acting for now—but that’s bound to change soon.”
Yan Jiyun was surprised by this unexpected gain.
So the director had a stroke and was hospitalized, and the deputy director couldn’t wait to seize power before he returned.
A stroke was no small affair; perhaps the director would never come back.
Once the HR staff finished their coffee, they returned to their duties, and Yan Jiyun slipped out unobtrusively.
Going downstairs, he finally breathed easy.
Just as he finished digging up Zhou’s information, the system updated the player popularity rankings. Discounting the three who’d died last night, Yan Jiyun was now at the very bottom.
Did being last matter?
He’d taken a completely different path from other players: while others climbed via popularity and animal-centric tasks, he undertook quests related to “humans.”
From the animal’s perspective, it was possible to perceive the issues too; keepers and vets constantly leaked information depending on the system’s arrangement.
For now, Yan Jiyun cared only about uncovering Zhou’s true experimental purpose.
Known information so far:
- Blood test data.
- Dr. Zhou’s personal information.
- The director’s stroke; Deputy Director He’s ambition for the top spot.
Why was He in such a rush to take over?
Next: where were the director and deputy director’s offices?
The management area had three buildings, each set apart with abundant landscaping.
What Yan Jiyun knew: the first was administrative, the third staff housing; the second must be the executive offices.
Just as he set off for the elusive second building, his walkie-talkie buzzed—not the sweet little secretary’s voice this time, but a gruff man’s.
“Supervisor Jiang, get to the gorilla zone now—Tata’s in trouble! Been asleep since morning and won’t wake up!”
Yan Jiyun pressed to reply, “Has a doctor gone over?”
But no matter what he asked, there was no response.
Yan Jiyun: …
A task notification flashed.
[Side Quest: Treat the Gorilla Tata.]
Of course—a quest.
No wonder the details were so vague; he’d have to check it himself.
At the admin entrance he found a supervisor’s car waiting—a definite mood lifter!
No more weak battery golf carts or rickety bicycles.
Promotions really did have their upsides.
Yan Jiyun hopped into the roomy electric vehicle and drove off.
He knew exactly where the gorilla zone was—he’d been last night.
On the way, he saw many tourists holding figurines of the big white tiger and Xixi.
No surprise—the white tiger player had taken first, now could even jump through hoops, a rare and beloved animal all around.
As for Xixi trouncing so many, that was unexpected.
He overheard people gushing to hear Xixi’s swearing.
Yan Jiyun: …
Where had Xixi learned profanity? The kid had vanished last night—must have been up all night picking up foul language. Surely it was the myna player—said yesterday he was always chased by a parrot, and as a talking species, gleefully spewed curses.
Fine, after handling the gorilla, he’d have to go lecture Xixi.
Arriving at the gorilla area, Tata had been moved indoors, surrounded by an intern vet and two keepers.
Yan Jiyun: “What’s the situation? Is it serious?”
The intern, a fresh-faced graduate, looked worried: “His pulse is getting weaker. I’ve tried emergency procedures, but I don’t know what’s causing it.”
Yan Jiyun knew an intern wouldn’t suffice. “Who did Tata’s last health check?”
The intern: “Dr. Zhou. But Dr. Peng assigned Tata to me this morning, and now I can’t find Dr. Zhou.”
Yan Jiyun snapped, “You can’t handle this lightly—go find Dr. Zhou at once!”
The intern jumped: “But I don’t know where Dr. Zhou is.”
When internal friction grew, all sorts of problems surfaced.
Tata had originally been Dr. Zhou’s responsibility but was now switched to Dr. Peng—logical, yet incongruous.
Workplace politicking could be deadly in medical care; how could you swap doctors so casually?
Zhou’s history of experimenting on animals made him risky—likely he’d only remained thanks to the director’s protection.
On the other hand, Peng had just been promoted and was likely tied up with celebrations.
Yan Jiyun realized he would have to find Dr. Zhou himself.
Back at the supervisors’ meeting, Zhou had left early—who knew where he’d gone.
But first, he had to get to the bottom of Tata’s sudden collapse.
The intern vet checked the gorilla again. “Supervisor Jiang, his breathing’s getting rapid—he’ll need emergency care right now! I can’t do it—only Dr. Zhou can!”
Wonderful—he was being forced into a corner.
“Get him to the Emergency Center at once—I’ll find Dr. Zhou.”
His two subordinates and the intern hurried off with Tata.
A new system notification popped up—not task details this time, but a warning.
[Task prompt: Gorilla Tata is currently in a weakened state. You have 10 minutes to find a suitable doctor for treatment, or the story will be affected.]
[Time left: 09:55]
For the first time, Yan Jiyun felt anxious as he watched the team load Tata onto the animal ambulance.
Tata had been one of the six large animals blood was drawn from last night—now, suddenly, he was critically ill.
A heavy sense of foreboding settled on Yan Jiyun.
Finding Dr. Zhou was his only option.
Suddenly, a bulletin went out looking for a lost child. Yan Jiyun immediately dashed to the broadcast room.
Three minutes later, he barged in, shoved the NPC at the mic aside, and shouted:
“Dr. Zhou Yiqun, please report to the Treatment Center! Dr. Zhou Yiqun, please come at once! Dr. Zhou Yiqun, if you hear—”
An NPC yanked out the mic cable.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the NPC snapped.
Yan Jiyun barked back, “Who will be responsible if something happens to the animal?”
The NPC, flustered at being outdone, fell silent.
Yan Jiyun shoved him aside and broadcast three more times before rushing to the Medical Rescue Center.
He knew this move would lead to two outcomes—but it had to be done. As the system said, failing this side quest would affect the story.
Speeding to the treatment center, he arrived to find Dr. Zhou waiting at the door.
Dr. Zhou gave him an easy smile, swinging his lab coat. “Jiang You, your days as supervisor may be over.”
Yan Jiyun said nothing, feeling as if he could see the world only through a haze of mist.
[Countdown: 3:55]
The seconds ticked by—Yan Jiyun forbidden entry, forced to wait outside.
He was waiting for a result—a consequence that would affect the plot.
He got one: unexpected, yet entirely reasonable.
Time expired, and the system leaped out gleefully at the exact instant:
[Player failed to treat the gorilla. “Treat Gorilla” side quest failed. Player will be demoted as penalty.]
Yan Jiyun: …
So that’s what this was about.
Even a starter scenario could be ruthless—demotion as punishment. He hadn’t expected that.
Before he could check his penalty, a crowd of people arrived, and Yan Jiyun slipped into another treatment room to hide.
Soon after, Dr. Zhou was led out, hands bloodied, under escort. He offered no defense.
Perhaps he knew there was no need nor point.
“Zhou Yiqun, you are suspected of harming zoo animals and conducting illegal experiments. The evidence is conclusive. You are to cooperate with authorities.”
Yan Jiyun: … He finally understood the meaning behind Dr. Zhou’s smile just now.
Tata the gorilla’s death had been a trap set for Dr. Zhou.