The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 224
The system had thoroughly investigated Shao Lingwu from head to toe.
However, in truth, the system had already run background checks on all of Chu Tingwu's new friends when she first met them. It just didn’t share all the details with her—because meeting and getting to know new friends were essential life experiences for a youngling like her. Besides, Chu Tingwu’s social progress was already moving faster than most people’s.
At just a first meeting, she could sense a stranger’s attitude toward her.
This time, the system merely double-checked. Unsurprisingly, the information hadn’t changed.
Just another human who had fallen for its cat.
Humans who adored kittens were a dime a dozen.
…But few could genuinely bring joy to its youngling.
The system never interfered with Chu Tingwu’s friendships. If anything, it quietly ensured no accidents befell these fragile humans—lest its youngling grieve over their loss.
So, the next morning, when Chu Tingwu woke up, the system solemnly asked:
"Have you decided to adopt Shao Lingwu?"
Chu Tingwu: "...Huh?"
The system seemed reluctant. "If this human makes you happy, we might as well adopt him."
For the sake of its youngling, it could extend its affection from "Wu" to "Lingwu."
Chu Tingwu vaguely grasped the idea and didn’t argue. Instead, she asked, "And how would we raise him after adopting him?"
The system was horrified.
[He’s a grown adult with functioning limbs and the ability to support himself. How could you possibly be responsible for raising him? Merely granting him the title of being 'adopted' is already a great honor!]
[In this world, adopted humans are supposed to offer tribute to their cats. You don’t need that, so just schedule regular meetups—twice a week like now is fine.]
Chu Tingwu: Hmm. Juggling tutoring sessions and exams while traveling halfway across the city twice a week?
She had a feeling the system was already being unusually generous toward Shao Lingwu.
Humming to herself, she got out of bed and headed to class without confirming or denying the idea. When her schedule was packed, Chu Tingwu stayed in the dorm. But on weekends and before holidays, she stayed at Teacher Zhang’s place.
The house had grown increasingly lived-in. Sometimes when Chu Tingwu pushed the door open, she’d find Teacher Zhang’s former students visiting. The elderly woman had lived in Shangjing City for nearly thirty years, and on weekends, she often took Chu Tingwu out to explore.
Meanwhile, Three-Five-Five was rapidly establishing herself as the new neighborhood overlord. Thanks to the local Shangjing feline dialect, she’d already gotten into several fights. Occasionally, when Chu Tingwu came home, she’d look up to see cats darting across rooftops, fur flying, startling birds perched in the trees.
She hadn’t specifically mentioned the changes in her romantic life to the adults around her—mostly because Chu Tingwu herself wasn’t entirely sure:
"Liking someone now doesn’t mean I’ll like them forever. Who knows how things will be years from now? Might as well just enjoy the present."
She sat holding out her arms as Aunt Mei wound yarn around them, her eyes fixed on the ball of wool in her lap, fingers twitching with playful temptation.
Aunt Mei had decided to knit scarves for each of the household cats: black for Three-Five-Five, red for Shikuai, and a pink hat for Wu Classmate—who adored the color!
It was Aunt Mei who brought up Shao Lingwu, steering the conversation. Now, she simply chuckled and said, "Fair enough. You’re still young."
Aunt Mei had served in the military in her youth, then driven trucks for a few years after discharge. She married, divorced years later when no children came, and eventually became Teacher Zhang’s live-in helper—eighteen years now, exactly as long as Chu Tingwu had been alive.
During that time, she’d learned two languages, earned new driver’s licenses, traveled to unfamiliar places, stood by Teacher Zhang as she buried her husband, and greeted every student who came to visit. Having walked half her life’s journey, she could often see through the struggles of the young at a glance.
Sometimes she wondered if Teacher Zhang had seen her own struggles back then—why else would the woman, after hiring her as a part-time cleaner, have asked her to try cooking a meal? That led to a permanent position, and now, nearly two decades of companionship.
Over the years, people had tried to set Aunt Mei up. Relatives questioned why she never remarried. Some fairly impressive suitors had pursued her. She turned some down, accepted others:
"You might be young, but you have the ability and courage to make choices. And you’ll keep growing."
At different moments, under different circumstances, even with different moods, one might make different decisions. But she believed Chu Tingwu would never make a choice that would diminish her.
She was a proud little cat who never forced herself into anything.
---
For now, Shao Lingwu remained blissfully unaware that he’d nearly been adopted.
If he’d known, he’d probably have mused: *If Chu Tingwu adopts me, and I’ve adopted Electric Tricycle 819… what does that make 819’s relationship with Chu Tingwu?* Well, whatever it was, of course she could ride it whenever she wanted.
Students at the Central Conservatory often saw him zipping through campus on the three-wheeler. Only a few ever noticed the modified vehicle was… suspiciously fast. Possibly speeding.
Today, however, he kept to the limit—his backseat was piled with flowers.
After a heavy rain two days prior, a classmate mentioned their family’s flowers were selling at a discount, but buyers had to pick them themselves. So Shao Lingwu took his tricycle and returned with a full load.
When he called Chu Tingwu, her phone was off—likely in the lab.
The automated reply he received seemed AI-generated, but what did *"Unadopted individuals may not receive return calls"* mean? Was she planning to adopt another cat?
He bought a stack of wrapping paper at a convenience store, leisurely pedaling while stopping at red lights to randomly bundle flowers for passersby.
Pulled over at the curb, a car slowed beside him. The driver rolled down his window, eyeing him hesitantly—
Shao Lingwu handed him a bouquet.
Driver: "Uh, thanks. Am I supposed to be in a video or something?"
Where was the camera? Was there a QR code to scan? Were these *actually* free?
Just as he debated whether to return them if payment was expected, Shao Lingwu beamed. "Nope."
"Have a great day."
By then, he’d reached the gates of Huake University.
Only a few flowers remained. Shao Lingwu picked the best one—a yellow rose, dewdrops clinging to its petals. Chu Tingwu took it, examined it, and declared: "Looks like Three-Five-Five’s nose."
*Give it to Three-Five-Five.*
Shao Lingwu nodded.
Chu Tingwu: "..."
Shao Lingwu: "...Okay."
He swiftly rolled aside, yielding the driver's seat to Chu Tingwu and settling himself in the back, which had once been filled with flowers. Now, the rear seat was strewn with broken stems, leaving a trail of lingering fragrance as the wind swept through.
Three-Five-Five: *"Achoo."*
The mother cat cast a solemn glance at her kitten, suspecting its sense of smell might be defective.
Chu Tingwu: =v=
No worries—Level 2 allows for targeted sensory dampening, mitigating the negative effects of an overly acute sense of smell.
Shao Lingwu had been appearing at Teacher Zhang’s home with increasing frequency lately. But today, Zhou Qiang, Chu Xiao, An Shiyan, and Chang Yixin had all "spawned" there as well. For the latter two, it was only their second visit, so they were a bit reserved at first—until the girls started chatting and quickly loosened up, promptly shoving the two boys to the sidelines.
They were Chu Tingwu’s friends, gathered to help her pack for her upcoming trip to Antarctica.
Though she’d been once before, that time she’d traveled with a research team, where safety was assured and emergencies unlikely.
This time, however, she’d be accompanying her own company’s expedition. While the boss would undoubtedly lack for nothing, everyone had their own preferences and habits. Better to prepare in advance than to realize mid-journey that something crucial had been left behind.
Chu Tingwu: *"The Antarctic Cup has been in the works for six months..."*
The planned route for the Antarctic Cup spanned approximately 2,880 kilometers—three times the length of the Texas endurance race—making it the world’s longest long-distance skiing challenge.
Even at the theoretical maximum speed, Chu Tingwu would need around eight days to complete it. But this wasn’t just surviving in the wilderness for eight days; it was eight days of intense physical exertion in the heart of Antarctic winter.
Skiing demanded both stamina and mental focus, not to mention battling the cold. Factoring in rest breaks, Chu Tingwu estimated the journey would take her about ten days.
To ensure participants’ safety, twenty-seven temporary checkpoints had been set up along the route, with medical teams from Guman City’s Orthopedic Hospital on standby. The goal was to provide emergency care within half an hour of an incident and transport any injured competitors to a temporary medical center within two hours.
These twenty-seven checkpoints relied on support from six research stations along the way.
While Chu Tingwu juggled preparations for the race and her university exams, the Antarctic task force had already run three emergency drills, simulating every conceivable worst-case scenario.
An Shiyan: *"...And they filmed a documentary in the process?"*
Yep. She was watching it right now.
The competition was scheduled for March of the following year, but participants would need to arrive early to acclimate. For many, skiing in Antarctica alone would be an entirely new challenge.
Chu Tingwu mused: *"I wouldn’t be surprised if some drop out before the race even starts."*
The first Antarctic Cup had twenty slots—allocated via invitation.
The selection process weighted different skiing competitions based on relevance. A participant’s performance in each was multiplied by its assigned weight, then their top three scores were summed for a total ranking. The top twenty who met the basic requirements—completing two extreme challenges—received invites. (Note: Rankings in the extreme challenges themselves didn’t count.)
Most contenders had multiple competitions under their belts, allowing for score adjustments, but Chu Tingwu had only competed in three events—barely enough time for more. Thus, her profile looked conspicuously sparse.
Due to scheduling conflicts, several invitees declined. And thanks to the weighting system, Chu Tingwu ultimately ranked 19th in the final list—tied scores were broken in favor of record-holders.
She’d nearly missed the cut for her own company’s inaugural event... and she half-suspected the system had schemed to keep those absentees away (though it vehemently denied any tampering!).
Leaning over, she skimmed the event’s official page: *"Held in Antarctica, so no live spectators. Limited internet means shaky broadcasts, but extreme sports rarely draw massive viewership anyway—"*
An Shiyan pinched her cheek. *"‘Rarely’? Seriously?"*
Even her roommate, who’d never followed sports in her life, knew about it!
Did Chu Tingwu not realize the sheer impact she’d had on the industry over the years? Between hardware, software, cross-platform collaborations, ties with official bodies, the subliminal pull of her company’s games, and her own growing reputation—
An Shiyan sighed dramatically:
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*"Know how my roommate—who ignores real-world people and only hyperfixates on 2D characters—found out about this race?"*
Chu Tingwu: *"...Huh?"*
An Shiyan: *"She stans ‘Biscuit,’ a niche side character from *We Live on the Ranch*. This month, the game launched an Antarctic Cup collab—limited-edition badges, acrylic stands... Daily website check-ins earn raffle entries for exclusive merch. Tweet about it? Better odds. Top prize includes VIP tickets to *Ranch* events. Desperate 2D fans, exploited yet again."*
Chu Tingwu: *"...My apologies. =="*
An Shiyan shrugged. *"Nah, she’s thrilled!"*
Her roommate had long suffered from a lack of merchandise for her obscure fave. Now, here was a flood of adorable new goods—all because some CEO was willing to freeze her tail off for ten days to boost event visibility. A few clicks, and voilà: fresh merch drops, bonus special editions up for grabs... What’s not to love? *More of this, please!*
