The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 223

Halfway through their journey, Chu Tingwu, Shao Lingwu, and their cat, Three-Five-Five, stopped at a roadside fast-food joint to replenish their supplies. Chu Tingwu remarked, "Not tasty."

The ingredients in the fast food couldn’t compare to the cattle and sheep raised specifically for her by the system on its ranch, but she wasn’t too bothered. Once the snowfall outside had nearly stopped, they got back on the road.

It was worth noting that their parked motorcycle had drawn quite a crowd—and nearly got stolen.

As for why it was only *nearly* stolen… well, when Chu Tingwu “defended herself” by stealing it back, Shao Lingwu stood guard for her.

Then, the duo and their cat rode off into the distance, leaving behind the would-be thief sprawled in the snow, howling in frustration.

Three-Five-Five yawned.

Since they’d left in a hurry, they hadn’t brought a cat carrier—just the usual harness and leash. Worried the cold wind might make the tortoiseshell mom catch a chill, Shao Lingwu secured her against his chest with the harness and wrapped his coat around her. Apart from the occasional breeze brushing her nose, the cat barely felt the cold. The snow drifted lazily, and soon, she dozed off.

Then, the motorcycle came to a stop.

Traffic ahead was at a standstill.

As Shao Lingwu craned his neck to see, he first heard a loud *thud!*

The holdup wasn’t due to cars—it was a pack of wild wolves crossing the road.

The wolves moved steadily through the center of the highway, while the humans inside their vehicles waited in silent understanding, letting them pass. On a pile of rocks by the roadside stood a large gray wolf, perched high, watching over its kin with sharp, alert eyes. Occasionally, it glanced away, as if scanning for threats.

The *thud* Shao Lingwu had heard was another wolf casually trotting over and hopping onto the hood of a car.

The motorcycle revved back to life, weaving nimbly between the stalled cars until Shao Lingwu got a closer look at the wolves… and then it hit him:

Everyone else was safely encased in metal, but their bike had no such protection.

If the wolves suddenly turned aggressive, the humans inside their cars at least had a layer of steel shielding them. As for him? His only weapon was the violin strapped to his back—was he supposed to play them a concerto?

A few members of the dangerous, family-oriented pack turned their heads, eyeing the humans.

A nearby car rolled down its window, and the driver waved at them, warning, "Back up, kids. Don’t get too close."

Three-Five-Five wriggled free enough to poke her head out, sniffed the cold air, and let out a soft *"Mrow?"*

In theory, a cat wouldn’t have seen wolves before—but in her kittenhood dreams, she had.

She’d once met a great white wolf, exchanged scents, and chosen peaceful coexistence.

Still, as a small predator, instinct and experience told her wolves were dangerous. She slipped free from Shao Lingwu’s hold, leaping onto Chu Tingwu’s shoulder.

—Two wolf pups, sheltered in the middle of the pack, paused curiously to peek at them before being nudged along by their elders.

Then, the gray wolf atop the rocks suddenly leaped down.

Humans were encased in steel, but its dark green eyes locked onto the figure straddling the motorcycle. Chu Tingwu had been resting her elbow on the dashboard, waiting for the pack to pass, but now she turned her head, meeting the wolf’s gaze.

At this close distance, her inherited abilities flared to life—just as she could instinctively discern when blood ties were broken, she *recognized* this wolf.

It had once belonged to the Michel family.

A grown wolf now, no longer a pup. It had left its original pack, becoming the leader of a new one.

Its scent had changed over time, but Chu Tingwu’s likely hadn’t. As she recognized it, the wolf recognized her too.

It didn’t approach—just watched her with those green eyes until the last wolf crossed the road. Then, it turned and followed, guarding the rear.

Engines rumbled back to life as cars began moving again. Just before disappearing behind the jagged rocks, the gray wolf suddenly sprang into the air, twisting mid-leap before landing on a high outcrop. It threw back its head and let out a long, echoing howl.

But this time, Chu Tingwu didn’t answer.

The howl carried far across the cold sky. She stared at the powerful wolf, while Three-Five-Five arched her back uneasily and yowled:

*"Mreeowr!"*

The wolf glanced at them one last time, then vanished.

Riding with a cat on one’s shoulder wasn’t exactly safe, so Shao Lingwu took Three-Five-Five back, cradling her securely. Even with traffic roaring around them, he could still hear the distant sound of the wolves moving off—the leader occasionally reprimanding its pack with sharp barks, fading further and further away.

Shao Lingwu lifted a hand to block the wind, raising his voice so Chu Tingwu could hear him over the engine. "Are we heading to Redstone Reserve?"

Redstone Reserve was in Stansdeck State, just a few hours’ drive away.

Chu Tingwu: "No need—"

There was no point.

The legend of the white wolf king had ended, but the Michel bloodline lived on. Some wolves might fall to poachers, others might wander lost—but some would find new lands and start new packs.

If she ever returned to Redstone Reserve, it would likely be as a researcher. Today, she was just a passing rider, with no particular destination in mind.

…Still, she pulled up a digital map from the system and found a decent hotel before sundown, sparing them another night in a tent.

Behind the hotel ran a river said to originate from Redstone Reserve—though judging by the thick layer of trash floating downstream, nobody wanted to get close to it. Upstairs, someone was shouting obscenities in the local dialect. The hotel’s simple meal came drenched in salad dressing, but the cat food from the convenience store downstairs was surprisingly good. Chu Tingwu poured a handful for Three-Five-Five and nibbled on a few pieces herself.

Shao Lingwu gave her a weird look.

Chu Tingwu: "Tastes pretty good, like little crackers. Want some?"

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Shao Lingwu: "?"

His nose told him this was a bad idea, but trusting her judgment, he…

Shao Lingwu: "Pfft—"

That trust was now dead.

Chu Tingwu burst out laughing, then headed to the store for sandwiches and Spam. Somehow, she also dug out a miniature grill—probably a kids’ toy—and decided to cook up a proper meal for her travel companions, human and feline alike.

Shao Lingwu attempted to help but only succeeded in causing more chaos, so he resigned himself to maintaining his violin nearby. Yet as soon as he played a few notes, a cat's paw reached out beside him—the feline seemed intent on stopping the noise but was quickly distracted by the sizzling sound (and aroma) of grilled meat from the other side.

Originally, Shao Lingwu had planned to play a serene nocturne, but on a whim, the melody that flowed from his strings turned into a spirited march.

The tortoiseshell cat, crouched beside him but already lifting its hindquarters restlessly: "……?"

Somehow, it felt like it was being mocked.

An urge to swat this human rose inexplicably.

Shao Lingwu chuckled and was about to shift the tempo when the smoke alarm in the room suddenly blared.

Him: "……"

Chu Tingwu: "Hmm…"

She flipped the meat and took a moment to lock the door.

The next second, loud knocking erupted from outside—normally, Shao Lingwu would have answered and tried to silence the alarm. But just then, his violin slid into a prolonged note, the fervent melody subtly shifting to blend the alarm and the knocking into an impromptu composition. Chu Tingwu stared at the grilling meat, then suddenly couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter.

By the time she opened the door, all "incriminating evidence" had been disposed of—though the lingering scent of meat remained. The staff eyed them suspiciously but, after a few warnings and a generous tip, let it slide.

The homemade barbecue served merely as an appetizer. Slightly sated, the two decided to venture out for a proper meal.

—

Zhou Qiang was waiting for her connecting flight at Haiden City Airport. After dinner, she dialed Shao Lingwu again—

After all, Chu Tingwu had just finished a competition. Surely she needed rest? Maybe she was even asleep right now?

But it was Chu Tingwu who picked up the video call.

She was straddling a public bench, the lights of the city reflecting on the river behind her, broken ice drifting as faint collisions were drowned by car horns and the murmur of crowds. She waved at Zhou Qiang and summarized her day in a few clipped sentences:

"Went out."

"Ate."

"Now walking off the meal."

Zhou Qiang hadn’t yet realized that "went out" meant traveling a hundred kilometers from the competition’s hotel to another city. In the corner of the screen, a horse clopped past. After exchanging pleasantries, Chu Tingwu casually complained, "This place is so backward. Half the shops don’t take cards."

Zhou Qiang wasn’t worried about her running out of money, but it struck her:

"You’re out of cash? Why are you using Shao Lingwu’s phone?"

Did she casually pawn it off somewhere?

Chu Tingwu: "Not exactly."

She’d just casually "pawned" Shao Lingwu himself.

She flipped the camera to show Zhou Qiang the band tuning up across the street—

They’d stumbled upon an impromptu outdoor performance just as the guitarist abruptly quit. Chu Tingwu patted her pockets and realized she’d spent all her cash tipping earlier.

Shao Lingwu: "I had some in my violin case…"

After a quick negotiation, Chu Tingwu offered to babysit the band’s black cat and "loaned" Shao Lingwu as a temporary guitarist in exchange for the night’s performance cut.

Shao Lingwu: "I’m pretty sure my case had—"

Now she’d lost a companion but gained a green-eyed black cat.

A black cat!

With raucous rock music as the video call’s soundtrack, Chu Tingwu proudly showed off her new feline friend to Zhou Qiang. The cat wore a tiny top hat and a handmade cape, perched primly beside her like a polite little guest.

So she’d even scrounged spare change from Shao Lingwu’s violin case to buy treats for both cats.

Shao Lingwu: "……"

Zhou Qiang: "=="

She stifled a laugh, adjusting her posture in the airport lounge. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the moon hung suspended over the tarmac. Most travelers dozed or read quietly, while her headphones carried the distant clamor of music and city noise.

Chu Tingwu kept the call open, Shao Lingwu’s violin case slung over her shoulder. Three-Five-Five balanced on her other side, and she cradled the black cat, lifting its paw to "dance" along with the music like a tiny fan.

Black cat: "Meow~"

[“Who dances in the wind, who sings in the dark?”]

[“They say life still needs a little romance!”]

Zhou Qiang mentally scoffed at the lyrics:

Romantic, sure. The moment she’d left Stansdusk, Chu Tingwu had clearly ditched the hotel to gallivant instead.

After several songs, Shao Lingwu finally escaped his involuntary street performance and slunk back. Chu Tingwu returned the band’s cat, though Shao Lingwu suspected he’d only gotten the gig because she’d first taken the cat hostage.

Still, the band had been impressed—Shao Lingwu’s musical versatility, his ability to memorize songs at a glance, even his age ("Perfect for a band!").

Shao Lingwu: Goodbye.

He retreated swiftly, half-expecting Chu Tingwu to trade him for the cat permanently.

Even hundreds of meters away, the lead singer’s voice still reached them, floating through the snowfall:

[“They say life still needs a little romance!”]

[“So I step out, become the wandering wind.”]

The cleared sidewalks were slick, and Three-Five-Five kept lifting its paws mid-step, refusing to be carried but mincing along like a dainty sprinter.

Shao Lingwu lagged slightly behind. Under the streetlights, their shadows stretched and shrank—once, his foot landed squarely on Chu Tingwu’s shadow.

Snowflakes melted into puddles, rippling once before vanishing.

Chu Tingwu walked ahead, hands behind her back, a short leash looped around her fingers. She didn’t pause, and when they rounded a corner where the lights vanished, the shadows disappeared abruptly.

"Chu—"

When he looked up, he realized he had wandered to a bus stop. His violin case was still carried by Chu Tingwu, and his phone wasn’t in his hand either—it was as if he had been sent out to work, only to return and hand over his earnings, forgetting to reclaim what was his.

His pockets were just as empty, and to make matters worse, he probably didn’t know the way back.

The bus stop was lit, with a homeless man dozing in one corner. Nights in Stardust State didn’t seem particularly safe, yet Shao Lingwu didn’t rush to find help. He listened carefully but heard no familiar footsteps—not even the sound of a cat’s paws. Instead, all he heard was his own heartbeat.

*Thump, thump.*

A ripple of water echoed faintly.

He turned around just as Chu Tingwu, who had silently circled the bus stop, reappeared, holding a towel from the convenience store to wipe Three-Five-Five’s paws.

She carried Shao Lingwu’s violin on her back. When their eyes met, she merely paused, then tilted her head with a puzzled expression—as if encountering a stranger in need. With a faint smile, she asked, “Hello?”

Shao Lingwu: “……”

“…Hello.”

“This is our first meeting. I’m Jaffier… though you can also call me Shao Lingwu.”

Chu Tingwu nodded in realization. “Do you need help?”

Shao Lingwu: “I don’t have any money, and I don’t know the way back to the hotel.”

Chu Tingwu nodded again.

His gaze flickered to the violin case on her back, but she showed no intention of returning it.

The homeless man in the corner shifted, as if irritated by their chatter.

Shao Lingwu: “Then I’ll sing you a song instead.”

Earlier, he had performed several songs as a substitute band member. Now, he didn’t mind playing the street performer for his friend, who was pretending not to know him, in exchange for fare home. But when he opened his mouth, he hesitated.

Three-Five-Five leaped onto the bench between them and yawned.

Shao Lingwu sat beside the cat, letting the tabby wipe its paws on his pants with practiced ease.

*"The sun rises—"*

The sun rises, spreading over the seas.

The sun sets, calling us home.

I toil day after day, fishing under the sun and moon,

And when I hear the crow’s call, I know it’s time to return.

The crow follows at dusk, trailing behind my boat,

And I sail home with a hull full of sunlight.

*Golden crow, golden crow,*

Bathed in the last rays of day—

Yet how I adore it, for it is both home and sun.

*Golden crow, golden crow,*

I hear your cries and sing my love,

And at last, I sail home with a boat full of light.

Without accompaniment, Shao Lingwu’s voice wavered at first, the lyrics of this folk song from a distant land echoing through the snowy night. There was no sun in the sky—only the distant glow of a passing bus, its lights sweeping over them before vanishing with its passengers.

The bus stop’s sign flickered, declaring it under maintenance. No bus would stop here tonight.

This was the *"Jizhou River Boat Song,"* from Chu Tingwu’s hometown. Perhaps her name had been inspired by it—or perhaps it was just coincidence. Shao Lingwu had once mentioned wanting to rearrange the song, composing countless variations over the years, only to change his mind again and again, leaving the melody unfinished, undecided.

He had imagined many, *many* scenes where he might perform it—but never like this: penniless, stranded at a broken-down bus stop, with no audience but a homeless man eyeing him like he was some kind of fool.

No accompaniment, no rewritten lyrics—just his voice and the rhythm tapped out by his hands.

The girl who had stolen his violin watched with an unreadable smile.

*Don’t burden a song with too much expectation,* Chu Tingwu had once told him. *If there’s any truth in music, there’s only one kind—the desire to sing for someone, whether they respond or not.*

*Golden crow, golden crow,*

You arrive bathed in sunlight.

You are not the distant sun,

Yet you carry its glow.

I see the light draped over you,

And I begin to love every day I hear your call.

The song dissolved into the snow. Chu Tingwu noticed Shao Lingwu’s hair had grown longer—long enough to make him look like a down-and-out street musician. But she couldn’t just let him wander off, so after the song ended, she dug into her pocket and fished out some change, dropping it into his palm.

The blond boy’s eyes dimmed slightly, but he reached out anyway—only for Chu Tingwu to snatch the money back at the last second.

She simply turned and handed him the violin case.

Shao Lingwu: “Ah, the money…?”

Chu Tingwu: “What money? Hold onto your bag properly.”

“Aren’t we going back together, Jaffier?”

---

The next day, Shao Lingwu rode the bike, guided by the cat so they didn’t accidentally trespass through someone’s farm.

On the third day, Chu Tingwu received a call from Zhou Qiang, who ominously demanded her location and offered to cover travel expenses for “one human and one cat.”

Chu Tingwu: “Are you planning to send Little Shao and Three-Five-Five back?”

That would work—Shao Lingwu probably wouldn’t mind playing bodyguard for a mother cat.

Zhou Qiang: “…Just hurry back and take your exams, will you?”

Under Zhou Qiang’s *persuasion* (coercion), the two wanderers finally returned to Shangjing City. But when Zhou Qiang and Chu Xiao came to pick them up at the airport, they were met with an unexpected sight:

Zhou Qiang: “…Why do you have a motorcycle now?”

Chu Tingwu had acquired a motorbike for getting around Shangjing—except Shao Lingwu was the one riding it.

…Because she didn’t have a license.

Zhou Qiang could *sort of* understand that. But the next day, when she arrived at Huake University, she found the same motorcycle parked on campus—along with an uninvited chauffeur.

Zhou Qiang: “…Did you finish that assignment?”

Shao Lingwu, hunched over and scribbling away at other homework, didn’t look up. “Sort of.”

Zhou Qiang: *Finished is finished, unfinished is unfinished—since when did this guy, who switched from science to arts, start talking in riddles?! What does ‘sort of’ even mean?!*

Shao Lingwu: “I turned it in. As for the grade, I don’t know yet.”

But he looked inexplicably pleased.

Zhou Qiang chose not to comment. Unlike her, a master of time management, Chu Tingwu’s schedule was packed—balancing her workload, preparing for November’s competition (which she could fly to over a weekend), and then wrapping up finals early so she could head to Antarctica.

Chu Tingwu still managed to carve out time amidst her busy schedule to meet up with her high school friends who had come to Beijing, accepting blessings from Chang Yixin and An Shiyan for her upcoming competition.

But after she left, An Shiyan nudged Chang Yixin lightly with her elbow: "Among Tingwu’s friends of the same age, there’s also that nephew of hers, right…?"

If it was just a girls’ gathering, why had Shao Lingwu been brought along? But if it was a general friends’ meetup, then why hadn’t Chu Xiao come? Was he too busy?

Chu Tingwu was indeed swamped—even the system dared not disturb her.

Evenings were often reserved for scheduled lessons, but on this rare night without classes, the system followed its usual routine: silently, silently, silently replaying recordings of its young charge. It ran another scan of Chu Tingwu’s physical condition, then fell into contemplation.

Her ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‍hormones had stabilized… but these readings… her physique didn’t seem to have changed much… If measured by human age standards…

Wait—no!

The system didn’t need sleep, but that didn’t stop it from jolting awake in the middle of the night with a sudden realization:

Was someone trying to steal their kitten away?