Ji Hei slipped back into his room, his mind a whirl of thoughts as he pieced together the web of characters tied to the mission.
He sat on the edge of the bed, mentally sifting through the clues he’d gathered so far:
‘Uncle Ai, a man whose every action seemed to scream his desire to see the players fail.’
‘The old grandmother, sharp-tongued but soft-hearted enough to spin tales for children.’
‘The village chief, an enigma of an NPC who likely held the key to the village’s secrets.’
These were the figures Ji Hei had pinned as pivotal to unraveling the task at hand.
He spritzed himself with cologne, the sharp scent grounding him, and stepped out into the corridor.
His first stop was Su Luo’s room, curiosity tugging at him.
To his surprise, it was empty—her absence a silent testament to her efficiency.
“She moves fast,” Ji Hei muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
“No wonder she said this mission would be a breeze for her.”
Then it hit him: this was only the second day of the task, and Su Luo had already cleared it?
He chuckled, imagining the game designers’ shock.
They probably hadn’t anticipated someone with a talent skill perfectly suited to breeze through this dungeon.
That had to be it—Su Luo’s ability, whatever it was, had given her the edge.
Ji Hei’s thoughts drifted to the protective suit he’d found in the luggage.
He’d been puzzling over how to use it to escape the cat village.
His plan was to fashion a larger garment, conceal the suit beneath it, and make a break for it.
But the risks were glaring—if he was caught, there’d be no explaining it away.
Like Su Luo, Ji Hei had only 17 points to his name.
Failure wasn’t an option, which was why he’d hesitated to act.
Parading through the streets in the suit was a nonstarter.
Su Luo, though, must have some skill—perhaps invisibility or teleportation—that let her slip away the moment she got her hands on the suit.
Ji Hei shook his head, a self-deprecating smile flickering as he pushed aside the strange hollow ache in his chest.
He left the inn, resolve hardening.
Time to pick up the pace.
His first destination was Uncle Ai’s place.
The man didn’t live at the inn, but Ji Hei wagered his home wasn’t far.
After all, when the water glass incident had erupted that morning, Uncle Ai had arrived at the inn with startling speed.
“Excuse me, sir,” Ji Hei called to a passerby.
“Do you know where Uncle Ai lives?”
The man pointed ahead and said, “Oh, Uncle Ai? He’s in that gray thatched cottage just up the road.”
Ji Hei followed the man’s gesture, his eyes landing on a dilapidated shack standing forlornly in the distance.
Suspicion prickled at him.
How could someone who ran an inn live in such a rundown place?
Even a room at the inn would be a step up from that hovel.
“Uncle Ai runs the inn, doesn’t he?” Ji Hei asked, feigning confusion.
“Why would he live in a place like that?”
The passerby laughed and replied, “Ha, that’s what Old Ai wants everyone to think. Don’t buy his boasts—the inn’s not even his.”
Ji Hei tilted his head, playing curious.
“Really? How’s that?”
The man, clearly delighted by the chance to gossip, leaned in.
“That inn was handed to him ages ago by some mysterious stranger. Funny thing is, ever since then, the Ai family’s been a single-line lineage. It’s an open secret around here.”
A mysterious stranger?
Ji Hei tucked the tidbit away, thanking the man before turning—not toward the cottage, but in another direction entirely.
A shimmering fishpond stretched before him, its surface dancing with sunlight.
A handful of cat villagers lounged around, fishing rods in hand, their buckets holding little more than water.
Among them, one figure stood out—a man pulling up fish after fish, each one fat and gleaming, its tail flicking droplets into the air like tiny jewels.
That man was Ji Hei, playing the part of an eccentric angler.
A crowd had gathered, their cheers erupting each time he reeled in a catch.
Some asked if the fish were for sale, but Ji Hei declined with a gentle smile.
He hadn’t forgotten the fleeting look of pain on Uncle Ai’s face at last night’s fish feast.
These fish, it seemed, were a rare commodity in the village.
Ji Hei decided to catch three fish—one for the grandmother, one for the village chief, one for Uncle Ai.
An hour later, his bucket brimmed with lively catches.
Satisfied, he hoisted it and strode off under the villagers’ envious gazes.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Uncle Ai’s voice barked from behind the door.
It swung open, revealing the man’s scowl—though it softened when he saw Ji Hei, the “annoying” guest from his inn.
For some reason, Ji Hei didn’t seem quite so irritating today.
“What do you want?” Uncle Ai asked, eyeing him warily.
Ji Hei lifted the bucket with an elegant flourish.
“I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. I brought you a fish.”
Uncle Ai’s gaze darted to the bucket, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a plump fish inside.
His demeanor shifted, a touch of warmth creeped in and he said, “No need to thank me, kid. You’re a polite one. Come in, come in!”
They stepped inside, Ji Hei setting the bucket by his side as they settled into conversation.
Uncle Ai’s gruff exterior melted as he marveled at the fish.
“This is rare, you know. Must’ve taken you ages to catch. You went through some trouble, didn’t you?”
Ji Hei played along, his smiles calculated, his words warm.
Soon, Uncle Ai was chuckling, his guard lowered, his eyes crinkling with goodwill.
After a while, Ji Hei steered the conversation subtly by saying, “You know, I’m from another world. Back there, we have all sorts of stories about cats and mice—nothing like the ones here.”
Uncle Ai shrugged and replied, “Makes sense. Different worlds, different tales.”
He leaned forward and with curiosity he asked,”What kind of stories do you have over there?”
Ji Hei spun a couple of tales, watching Uncle Ai closely.
The man’s reactions confirmed his suspicions—Uncle Ai likely knew nothing of the village’s deeper secrets.
Still, Ji Hei probed about the mysterious stranger.
But the trail went cold; Uncle Ai said the inn had been in his family since his great-great-great-grandfather’s time, and he knew no more than that.
Realizing he’d hit a dead end, Ji Hei took his leave, ignoring Uncle Ai’s reluctant gaze.
Outside, he retrieved a hidden bucket from the weeds—two fish still swam inside.
Adjusting his collar, he set off for the grandmother’s house.
He’d learned she was the oldest soul in the village, likely a treasure trove of secrets.
At her door, he knocked, and when she saw the fish, her face lit up, ushering him inside with surprising warmth.
Her grandson was out—likely lured away by Brother Hu, which suited Ji Hei just fine.
One less person to charm.
With his silver tongue, Ji Hei soon had the grandmother beaming and treating him like a favorite grandson.
Over tea, she spilled the village’s juiciest gossip: Widow Wang’s scandalous youth, juggling eight suitors; Grandpa Li’s unrequited love for Grandma Hua, who only had eyes for the late Grandpa Zhang; and the chilling fact that nearly all outsiders who came to the village died of “acclimatization issues.”
That last bit jolted Ji Hei.
Did that mean every player who’d come here had perished?
Unlikely.
The system must be tampering with the villagers’ memories.
Testing a theory, he asked, “Do you remember the girl I was with yesterday?”
The grandmother frowned, “Yesterday? You were alone, dear. No one was with you.”
Ji Hei nodded, the pieces clicking.
Those who cleared the mission weren’t remembered, and those who failed were chalked up to “acclimatization.”
No wonder the village felt eerie yet bloodless.
“You said ‘nearly’ all outsiders die,” Ji Hei pressed.
“What did you mean?”
The grandmother’s eyes twinkled when she replied, “Didn’t Ai make you the Stay Soup? Drink that, and you can stay here.”
A chill ran down Ji Hei’s spine.
Thank the stars he hadn’t touched it.
Even if he had, as a non-cat, it might’ve killed him on the spot.
Better dead than trapped here forever, he thought grimly.
“I drank it,” he lied smoothly.
“What happens to those who stay?”
“They struggle at first,” she said, “but eventually, they settle in happily.”
Happy?
Ji Hei doubted that.
No one from a vibrant world could truly embrace this place.
Their “struggle” was likely defiance, crushed by some unknown force.
Then, the grandmother dropped a bombshell.
“Oh, right! The current village chief? He’s an outsider.”
Ji Hei’s heart skipped, but she clammed up, unwilling to say more.
He didn’t push.
Instead, he kept her talking, sifting through her gossip until another gem surfaced.
“The village chief,” she mused, “he was such a sunny young man. All the girls swooned over him. But once he became chief, he changed—became distant, like a different person. Almost like the last chief.”
Ji Hei’s pulse quickened.
This was it—a critical clue.
“What had turned the chief so cold?”
Curiosity burned, but the grandmother shook her head when he pressed further.
“It’s a village mystery,” she said.
“Many have tried to uncover it, but none succeeded.”
The sky had darkened and it was too late to visit the chief.
Ji Hei returned to the inn, where brother Hu greeted him, unsurprised to hear Su Luo had already cleared the dungeon.
“That girl moves fast,” Brother Hu said, echoing Ji Hei’s earlier thought.
Ji Hei smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself.
‘She sure does.’
Over dinner, they swapped stories of the day’s findings but the weight of the village’s secrets pressed heavier on Ji Hei’s mind.