The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 220

Chu Tingwu turned as she spotted the sign ahead.

The total distance of this endurance race spanned approximately 860 kilometers, featuring both downhill and uphill routes. Counting all possible branches along the course, there were eight paths to choose from—only the start and finish points were fixed.

Snow marathons like this weren’t unique to Texas; pushing human limits was inherent to our nature. However, most other events opted for safer, curated slopes, measuring the longest route skiable within a single day while allowing participants rest periods.

The Texas Endurance Race was different. The terrain was treacherous, deliberately set in the wilderness. Even with staff pre-clearing obstacles, not all risks could be eliminated.

There had been cases where wild animal carcasses, buried under snow, lay unseen across the path. Skiers collided with them at high speeds—fractures, sprains, frostbite—all common injuries here.

Chu Tingwu ran through these possibilities in her mind, then dismissed them, immersing herself in the challenge… no, the *thrill* of this race.

To ski a long-distance endurance route she’d always wanted to attempt—pre-cleared by staff, monitored for safety, with emergency responders on standby, and seasoned veterans guiding the way—wasn’t this a win?

And she’d always wondered: *Could I finish all 860 kilometers?*

As she focused, the sounds around her sharpened.

The starting stretch still carried voices, the rhythmic crunch of ski poles plunging into deep snow. Farther ahead, wind howled, its gusts weaving through the landscape, followed by the faintest traces of wildlife.

Chu Tingwu caught the scent of wolves.

But human activity had likely driven them off—only a lingering trace of blood remained, the pack long retreated to quieter grounds.

She surged into a narrow fjord, its frozen stream glinting below. The next leg, according to the markers, was uphill. Those hesitant about wild slopes could detour around, but the alternative route added distance.

In the distance, spectators lingered after the opening stretch. Barred from entering the course, they clustered around live feeds near the start—one screen tracking all racers, another randomly switching between them. By chance, it now displayed the skier ahead of Chu Tingwu.

Racer #4 had a strong following, having once clinched Olympic gold in cross-country skiing’s team event.

Cross-country shared similarities with this endurance race—both were snowbound marathons, with uphill sections as the toughest hurdle. Early on, momentum helped, but later, it felt like hiking uphill on skis, slower than walking.

And the untamed wilderness lacked the groomed trails of competitions, adding another layer of grit.

#4 could’ve let others break trail first, conserving energy by following their tracks.

But drawn to this sport for the challenge itself, he’d opted to lead.

The staggered start—five skiers every half-hour—meant these early entrants hogged the spotlight.

Chu Tingwu chose the ascent.

Her spatial reasoning was sharp. Before the race, she’d studied the route with friends, even modeling it digitally. Yet she’d avoided testing it in the "Dream Classroom."

For one, while the system’s scanning range had expanded after upgrades, it couldn’t perfectly replicate an untouched path. Relying on simulated experience, she feared, might backfire.

For another, she *liked* the unpredictability.

Uphill techniques typically involved herringbone steps or side-stepping, both labor-intensive, punctuated by pole thrusts for stability and speed.

…Pure physical grind.

During training, skiers observed each other. #4 recalled Chu Tingwu favoring the sidestep—yet now, as he glanced over, she *glided* upward first.

The girl leaned low, her grip on the poles firm. She’d clearly decided early: ski the gentler incline until momentum faded, then seamlessly shifted to sidestepping, anchoring herself before—

*Lightly.* That was the word.

If he’d trudged up, she’d *skipped*.

And as she skated past, she ignored the path he’d carved.

A young, assured face flashed in his mind. When he crested the slope, Chu Tingwu was already ahead, a figure slicing through the snow without hesitation.

No one led now, but she wouldn’t get lost.

In fact, she relished it:

"If those behind me lose their way, they can follow *my* tracks. Not bad, right?"

She vanished into the snow-laden forest.

Twelve minutes in, the uphill stretch had eaten time—and hundreds of kilometers of climbs remained. On the sports channel broadcast, commentators tempered viewers’ expectations with route analysis while dissecting Chu Tingwu’s technique.

——After all, Chu Tingwu was currently in first place among the five competitors, so the cameras (non-live shots) frequently cut to her.

The host, though pleased that the Chinese contestant was effectively in the lead (albeit among the first batch to start), worried that fans might project too many expectations onto her performance and be dissatisfied with the final results. The girl had paid her own way to compete abroad and clearly saw it as a hobby, not some national glory mission.

One of the hosts remarked:

“The Texas Endurance Race spans 860 kilometers. Even excluding rest time, if someone pushes to ski 300 kilometers a day, it would still take nearly three days to complete… In extreme winter sports, the greatest challenges besides endurance are cold resistance. Even with proper gear, prolonged snow activities risk frostbite… Not to mention injuries—low temperatures can numb the pain, making it easy to overlook damage.”

Of course, this wasn’t the most time-consuming extreme event. Among the well-known ones, solo non-stop global sailing arguably held that title—some sailors ventured out, only to be claimed by the sea forever.

Unaware that Chu Tingwu had plans to attempt that very feat someday, the host enthusiastically analyzed her technique and route choices.

Another host voiced a hint of concern:

“Chu Tingwu isn’t slowing down.”

—

Entering the dense, obstacle-riddled forest, most skiers would logically reduce speed to navigate and avoid collisions.

Earlier, viewers had simply admired Chu Tingwu’s crisp movements, her seemingly boundless stamina, and her confident demeanor despite her youth. But as she weaved through the woods, the rapidly switching camera angles left everyone—audience and commentators alike—wondering:

*Are you skiing on instinct? Dodging obstacles without even thinking?*

Or was her reaction time so sharp that no terrain could force her to decelerate?

She only widened the gap between herself and those behind.

Some even speculated whether she’d secretly competed here before under a different name, memorizing the route like a speedrunner memorizing game levels. But this time, Chu Tingwu truly hadn’t.

She was simply sensing… *the wind.*

Due to the terrain, strong gusts frequented the course, sometimes aiding, sometimes hindering. When the wind blew, Chu Tingwu could read its shifts to anticipate obstacles ahead.

This wasn’t conscious calculation—it was a primal, animal-like reflex.

On the other side of the globe, as the commentators grew increasingly absorbed, one suddenly stiffened, instinctively slapping the desk to yell *“Watch out!”* At her current speed, Chu Tingwu was about to slam straight into a tree—likely breaking a rib or two.

The broadcast swiftly cut to a tree-mounted camera, capturing the skier hurtling forward, head low. Just three meters away, the terrain beneath her skis jolted her airborne—

Yet the host relaxed.

On-screen, Chu Tingwu and her skis pivoted 90 degrees mid-air. The skis struck the tree, but her torso stayed coiled, using the rebound to launch forward without losing momentum, seamlessly veering onto the third path.

Viewers felt an odd phantom kick in their own ribs—not anger, but a thrill.

Watching the livestream, Zhou Qiang squeezed Three-Five-Five’s paw and muttered:

“…Is she a cat?”

Using skis like claws—wasn’t this just a cat’s wall-jump?

Perhaps realizing they’d lingered too long on Chu Tingwu (despite her lead), the cameras shifted to other racers entering the forest. The audience in the starting lounge grumbled, then cheered as their favorites appeared.

Zhou Qiang, however, didn’t need to switch views. She watched the official feed on her phone while a giant screen projected the system’s live footage. Thanks to some sponsorship perks, their setup accessed course cameras and drones—though interference was forbidden.

When the sports channel cut away for other programming (no one could air a three-day race nonstop), viewers were left to seek updates elsewhere.

Five hours later, all competitors had started.

—

Even Chu Tingwu’s stamina had limits. After nonstop skiing, fatigue seeped in.

Wilderness skiing was as much a mental game as a physical one—early stretches relied on energy; later ones, sheer willpower.

She “chatted” with the system now.

Though *chat* was generous—it was a monologue. Before the race, she’d told the system not to speak, wanting to confront challenges without distractions.

The system, now deemed a *distraction*: *“…”*

QAQ

So, though her planned rest break hadn’t arrived, soreness gnawed at her focus. Muttering to the system like a voice memo, she answered her own questions aloud:

*“Take this path.” “Push a bit longer—I’m still okay, no need to stop yet.” “Practice runs never felt this draining. The wild really taxes the mind too.” “I just skied over a hibernating snake… didn’t notice until after.”*

Snow muffled scents, making prey hard for local wildlife to track. Chu Tingwu’s senses surpassed most animals’, yet here, she realized how little real *hunting*—or *evading hunters*—experience she had.

*Hmm… If I ever trek through untamed wilderness, I’ll need way more prep.*

She tried to distract herself from the physical exhaustion by focusing on other thoughts—perhaps only someone like her could afford to split their attention during such intense activity, since sometimes instinct made the choices for her, eliminating the need for overthinking.

The system remained silent as Chu Tingwu called out, "Phoenix, Phoenix," almost feeling like she was bullying it.

Hmm… right, the system had mentioned that its name could only be called three times a day—morning, noon, and night. But it could say what it wanted; Chu Tingwu would call it whenever she pleased, embodying the feline motto of "a cat does as a cat pleases."

After eight hours of continuous skiing, she finally slowed down and detoured around a steep slope.

Considering her long-term goal, she saw no reason to waste energy on that incline.

…Even though the sign pointing uphill was accompanied by snapshots of past participants triumphantly climbing it, as if the organizers were encouraging everyone to follow suit.

Chu Tingwu: "……"

Truly, a cat does as a cat pleases.

She suspected it was a misleading suggestion, but the photos were undeniably real.

The weather… nightfall came so early here.

—

The photos were indeed real.

The organizers monitoring the real-time routes of all participants could confirm that, but when they saw Chu Tingwu’s choice, they fell into contemplation—the photos were real, but they had been taken during the day.

The race had started at 9 a.m., but now it was already evening.

Chu Tingwu hadn’t encountered a single competitor yet, as the closest one was twenty kilometers away, on a different route—meaning they wouldn’t cross paths again.

Many racers familiar with the course would rest for half the night before reaching that slope, resuming at dawn when their energy was replenished for the morning climb.

Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are publish𝒆d on ƒreewebηoveℓ.com.

The supply points had tents with sleeping bags, twelve in total along the route. By skipping the upcoming one, Chu Tingwu would have to ski another sixty kilometers in increasingly dim lighting.

This wasn’t a speed-focused descent—assuming an average skiing speed of 60 km/h, sixty kilometers would take just an hour. But complex terrain would slow her down, night skiing (assuming no accidents) would cost extra time, and after eight hours of exertion, fatigue would make maintaining that pace impossible… By the most optimistic estimate, she might reach the next rest point in three hours.

One staffer muttered, "Does she have a cleanliness obsession? Doesn’t want to share a sleeping space, so she’s pushing to the next one?"

Or maybe she simply wanted to maintain her lead without resting too long.

—

In Qihe City, the Chu family was watching too—split between a computer screen showing Chu Tingwu’s "fan-focused live feed" and the official endurance race broadcast on TV.

Chu Xiao’s mother had already tried to convince Great-Grandma to rest, but the elderly woman just curled up on the sofa, squinting at the screen. "I’m not tired yet. If you are, go ahead and sleep."

Chu Xiao’s mother could only laugh helplessly.

Truthfully, the elders in the room had already played two rounds of mahjong to stay awake.

The sports channel had scheduled the endurance race for evening programming, but after eight hours, the sun was nearly up back home.

The family was less concerned about Chu Tingwu’s ranking than her well-being—even bundled up, enduring the freezing wilderness for so long, surviving on nothing but compressed rations without a single warm meal, all while expending energy nonstop… How exhausting and miserable must that be?

Her cousin chimed in, "That’s extreme sports for you. Otherwise, why call it ‘pushing limits’?"

At the end of the day, she could’ve lived a comfortable, easy life—but she loved this. So while they watched her suffer, perhaps Chu Tingwu was savoring every moment.

Chu Xiao’s mother wished she could drag her son over to help reassure the elders… but Chu Xiao was at school and might not even know the race’s current status.

…Well, Chu Xiao actually did know.

The sun was about to rise in Shangjing City, and he’d pulled an all-nighter, thanks to his friends in Texas bombarding him with updates.

Shao Lingwu spamming the group chat was one thing, but why did Zhou Qiang personally message him just to share commentary when he went quiet for a while?

Zhou Qiang: [ ? ]

Chu Xiao: [ ? ]

Was staying up all night to "cheer on" his little cousin-in-law actually helpful?

Besides, among their group, Chu Tingwu was the expert in sports. Whatever choice she made, she must have her reasons.

—

The sky had fully darkened now.

Chu Tingwu deliberately slowed down.

After nightfall, snow began to fall again… Yet the darkness wasn’t absolute—starlight pierced through, and the snowflakes reflected that faint glow, scattering like moonlit stardust.

She had adjusted her posture to conserve energy and reduce strain on her limbs, leaving no room for chatting with the system. Instead, mid-glide, she stole a glance at the time displayed on her wrist.

After checking, she even looked up at a passing camera, waving cheerfully.

In endurance races like this—where determination and timing were everything—every moment a competitor rested was an opportunity for others to catch up. That was why many racers minimized nighttime breaks.

But skipping sleep entirely was suicidal; it could ruin any chance of finishing the race.

Chu Tingwu had discussed this with others before. Past participants shared that they usually slept for four hours, prioritizing deep sleep.

Some trained to enter deep sleep faster, while others focused on creating a stable rest environment.

Thinking of this, she clasped her hands behind her back and picked up speed.

Deep into the night, the staff silently switched camera angles, following audience requests to keep the focus on Chu Tingwu—

At this hour, all other racers were asleep. Only she, still on the move, was worth watching.

Everyone wondered: How much longer would she go?

Only two kilometers left to the rest tent.

Night skiing drained energy—surely she’d stop here?

Then, Chu Tingwu paused.

A staffer exclaimed, "Huh?" and nudged his colleague awake—

A sudden stop could mean an injury. They had to be ready to send help.

Chu Tingwu set off again.

Staffer: "Whew…" Good, probably fine.

She skied another two hundred meters… then stopped once more.

The staff member: "……?"

Then, she set off again. But on the surveillance footage, she kept glancing to the left, as if observing something.

The staff found it baffling. Currently, Chu Tingwu was in first place, and there were only surveillance cameras along the roadside—no competitors could possibly appear. The organizers had also confirmed that no enthusiastic fans had trespassed onto the racecourse. Was she looking for markers? But this was a straight path, so there shouldn’t be any…

Huh?

In the darkness, a small shadow suddenly darted out, as if trying to dash right in front of Chu Tingwu.

The staff member abruptly stood up, realizing instantly: a wild animal!

Yes, on this night, while the competitors were resting, these wild creatures might still be chasing each other, hunting. If it was a wolf—

But the contestant on the screen didn’t falter. Instead, she sped up—her spirits visibly lifting—and abruptly accelerated, chasing after the fleeting figure. Just as the animal was about to vanish beyond the race route, she reached out and caught it.

Then she carried it to the rest stop.

The staff recognized it: a wild roe deer.

But what was she…?

Chu Tingwu fed the roe deer and gave it water. After a brief rest, the deer surprisingly didn’t run away. The two stayed in the same campsite with silent understanding. When Chu Tingwu lay down, the deer curled up beside her.

Now, not only did she have a breathing companion to share her bed, but she’d also gained a self-warming heat source.

The staff member: "=="

…And it wasn’t against the rules.