Xu Ye was so sleepy she felt like she could ascend to heaven. Her gaze drifted away from the head of the tricolor cat on her dessert and rested on the bus window as she leaned back to rest. Unfortunately, the bumpy ride nearly gave her a concussion.
She raised her head in confusion, wondering how the female leads in romantic dramas managed to sleep soundly while leaning against the window. After her forehead hit the glass, her drowsiness vanished completely, so she pulled out her phone and squinted to browse forums.
The latest post in the cat section had an intriguing title. Xu Ye genuinely believed the poster should befriend the fringe-banged cat famous for studying whether cats were liquid creatures.
> [We three siblings discovered something fun and proved that skin is indeed a visual organ.]
> 2nd Reply: As stated in the title, we found that if you stare at any human, there’s a 50% chance they’ll sense your presence! This morning, we randomly stared at two humans. Based on stopwatch timing, the man noticed us in three minutes, while the woman noticed us in thirty seconds.
> 3rd Reply: So boring. You three being siblings is starting to make sense.
The second reply included a selfie of three cats—yellow, white, and brown—stacked on top of each other on a windowsill.
Xu Ye’s squinted eyes slowly widened as she recalled the tricolor cat on the balcony earlier.
So just now, had she been honored to become the second test subject for these feline scientists?
> 4th Reply: So, isn’t it fun? Try this at home with your siblings!
> 5th Reply: Thanks, but no thanks. As the third reply said, how are you so boring?
> 6th Reply: Sigh, I wish there were cats who understood my quirks and played cutely with me. Scaring people is actually quite fun, hehe.
Xu Ye saved the selfie of the tricolor cats and silently replied in her heart: “Thanks, but I wouldn’t be scared—just overwhelmed by how cute you are.”
Then she came across a dog’s post asking if anyone wanted to join a 54-player version of Landlord’s Poker.
Seeing this post completely obliterated her last shred of sleepiness. How many more surprises were hidden in Huo Shuyan’s quirky mini-games?
> [54-player Landlord’s Poker is short by 47 people. Anyone interested? I’ve been calling for three days but can’t gather enough players.]
Because this game required so many participants, the poster had spent half a day and was still 30 players short.
Xu Ye felt an itch to gather David and the others at noon to test what kind of bizarre and silly game this could be.
Monday morning’s work was as heavy as usual. On the verge of a mental breakdown, Xu Ye glanced at the guy next to her who had started banging his head against the wall.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together and muttered deliriously, “Hang in there, just 45 hours and one minute to go. Then you can immerse yourself in the joyful forums of Ocean. Keep it up—the cats and dogs are waiting for you.”
The wall-banging colleague turned around, looking sympathetic. “Xiao Xu, you might be worse off than I am.”
Finally, lunchtime arrived. As Yu Qianqian went to grab coffee, she noticed Xu Ye and ran over to say, “Hey, Liu Hao from your team has been transferred.”
Xu Ye had just finished placing her food delivery order and was a bit absent-minded. She asked, “Who’s Liu Hao?”
Yu Qianqian stared blankly for a moment before pointing at a man holding a box. “Him.”
Xu Ye glanced at Liu Hao, who was talking to a team leader, gave an “oh,” and resumed pondering how to play a 54-player version of Landlord’s Poker.
Yu Qianqian admired her attitude. “If I had your mindset, I wouldn’t let clients drive me half-mad every day.”
Xu Ye snapped out of her thoughts, shook her head earnestly, and said, “No, even with my mindset, clients would still drive you half-mad. Trust me.”
As Yu Qianqian went downstairs for lunch, Xu Ye leaned on her desk, pulled out her phone, and saw a new message in the group chat from Huo Shuyan:
> [Huo Shuyan:] All three custom breeds have been deleted, and the pinned post for the help section is ready. I didn’t send a message to the group last night because it was too late. I’m about to launch the feature now; we’ll see if it needs further tweaks later. Also, I’m working on increasing the photo upload limit since users not only share daily life but also need to post pictures for help requests.]
> [Xu Ye:] Thoughtful as always, junior. Thank you for your hard work.
> [Huo Shuyan:] No trouble, just a hard life.
Huo Shuyan immediately retracted the message and replaced it with a positive reply:
> [Huo Shuyan:] It’s my duty.]
Xu Ye didn’t see the retracted message. She opened the forum, which updated briefly before a system notification popped up:
> [The forum’s [Help Section] has been established. Posts in this section will be automatically pinned to the top of the page. Please read the posting rules carefully and use the help function wisely.]
Here’s an accurate translation of the text into English:
—
She navigated her way to the pinned post and scrolled to the bottom. The admin had updated the post:
> Admin Reply:
You may post for help in the [Help Zone] under the following circumstances:
1. When encountering difficulties or dangers that cannot be resolved by your own abilities, such as being punished by evil humans, falling into a pit, running out of food, etc. (i.e., life-threatening situations).
2. When witnessing or potentially witnessing other cats or dogs encountering the difficulties or dangers described in point one.
Liu Shuo mentioned in the group that he had already contacted the photo moderators. When a legitimate help post appears, they can message him immediately. If the post content is something like, “Help! I’ve chewed up the boss’s sofa—what should I do?” they would patiently explain the rules and delete the post.
With the photo moderators keeping an eye on the Help Zone, Xu Ye felt at ease exiting the homepage and opening her private chat with David.
The last message was her “Goodnight” from the previous evening. Up until now, David hadn’t sent her anything new.
Xu Ye typed, deleted, and retyped in the chat box, trying to subtly ask if he had finished writing that amazing thing.
As she kept editing but remained unsatisfied, preparing to give up and send, “Old Dave, stop hiding it—let me see what you wrote,” David finally sent her a message:
> David Boss: I finished writing it. It’s not long—800 words. I noticed human essays are about this length. Writing something as long as a thesis would interfere with my gaming and reading novels.
David Boss: “Analyzing Modern Overbearing CEO Literature Through the Lens of Journey to the West”
It wasn’t a domineering CEO story as she’d imagined but rather an essay inspired by her random suggestion.
Feeling guilty, Xu Ye deleted all the text in her chat box and sent David a loving emoji:
> Xu Ye: [Cute Cat Heart Gesture.jpg]
Xu Ye: David, how long did it take you to finish?
David Boss: Off and on, about three or four hours.
For humans, writing an 800-word essay in three to four hours might seem slow. But for a little cat, David was unquestionably a professor in the feline world.
Xu Ye opened the essay, and upon reading the first paragraph, immediately locked her screen, solemnly staring ahead.
David’s opening sentence brought her back to her high school essay-writing days:
“In this hedonistic age, where everyone—humans, cats, and dogs alike—is so restless and frivolous…”
David had used such a sophisticated term as “hedonistic”! It was such an advanced essay; she felt it needed to be paired with red wine.
Xu Ye grabbed a small packet of instant coffee that Yu Qianqian had tossed her earlier, went to the pantry to prepare it, then put on Bluetooth headphones. She searched on UU Music for “Top 10 Piano Pieces for Sophisticated Individuals,” feeling perfectly attuned. Unlocking her phone, she continued reading.
David’s tone shifted as he wrote, from the literary “hedonistic” to an impassioned “Scumbags! Ugh!”
Five minutes later, David eagerly asked her:
> David Boss: So, how’s my writing?
> Xu Ye: Your critiques are profound—I want to find a feline publisher to get you published.
Xu Ye praised David’s essay with all her knowledge. David, modest as always, said he would continue working hard to create more masterpieces for the feline community.
After discussing the essay, Xu Ye excitedly proposed a game of 54-player online poker. David was momentarily stunned but then regretfully declined.
> David Boss: 54 players?? Impressive… I can’t right now; my little brother just took me out. Let’s do it tonight.
Reluctantly, Xu Ye bid David farewell and rescheduled the poker session for the evening.
She browsed the forum all day without finding any genuinely helpful posts—just a few cats and dogs still unclear on the rules:
> Help: Help! My roommate got into a fight with the robot vacuum. I’ve told him it’s just a vacuum, but he won’t listen.
> Help: Fellow cats, how do you resist the urge to knock things off the table? I see pens on the table and just want to bat at them. I’ve already been scolded three times today.
The photo moderators were diligent, patiently explaining the posting requirements. After being enlightened, the two users deleted their posts.
The second user immediately posted another question after deleting their non-compliant post, which resonated with many cats. Everyone joined in enthusiastically:
> 2nd Comment: I can’t control myself. Knocking things off tables is as natural as breathing. My little brother scolded me five times today. I’m also looking for solutions.
3rd Comment: I used to do this out of sheer boredom. Ever since joining the forum, I’ve lost interest. My advice? Whenever you feel like acting out, open the forum instead. Trust me—the forum cures all.
4th Comment: I used to knock things out of curiosity. Now, thanks to the forum, I’m a well-informed kitty with no need for curiosity.
The original poster summarized after reading all the replies:
> 15th Comment: Got it—I just haven’t been spending enough time on the forum.
—
After work, Xu Ye gave up the idea of scrolling the forum while waiting for the bus. The weather made her feel like wearing gloves.
When Bus 857 roared into view, goosebumps rose on her exposed neck. Xu Ye touched her neck’s visual receptors, recalling that morning’s post. Turning to look around, she finally spotted a distressed white head not far from the license plate.
A boy in a baseball cap carried a poorly made cat carrier. The side of the carrier sagged, squashing the white cat’s face against the transparent shell.
The cat’s upturned eyes glanced this way, its paw struggling to push the sagging side back up.
With her impeccable 20/20 vision, Xu Ye identified the cat.
Abandoning the bus, she jogged up to the boy, bending down to greet the squashed cat joyfully.
“Dai Dai~”
At the moment of eye contact, Dai Dai’s paw froze awkwardly in the air. Finally, resigned to fate, it mimicked the bangs cat’s gesture.
Crossing its front paws like a sigh, it peacefully closed its eyes.
Author’s Note:
Author, you’ve got to work harder (motivational yelling)!
At least David’s name isn’t “Deng Wei” (pun joke).
