The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 172

As the chicks of the Red-beaked Falcon started to learn to fly, Chu Tingwu's thesis was also halfway done.

The weather was getting colder, and rainy days became less frequent, but one could always see these little red-beaked creatures shaking their feathers as they poked their heads out of their nests, chirping loudly, as if calling for their mates or discussing with their neighbors—

The wind is picking up, the weather is getting colder, should we leave? Should we leave?

As Chu Tingwu passed by, she could always hear the "incredulity" in their voices, as if they were wondering: This place should be one where it's always warm and flowers bloom year-round, how could it be getting cold?

Chu Tingwu: "...?"

Soon, the chicks began to be pushed out of their nests.

The chicks seemed to grow by the day. When peacocks strolled outside the fences, tourists with cameras in hand crowded nearby, eagerly watching the learning chicks—

Shanwan Ranch's official account daily recorded data on the Red-beaked Falcons, and all followers knew that these little birds would soon leave. Of course, humans would do their best to rescue those that didn't leave, hoping to bring them to a nature reserve, though it was uncertain if two or three out of ten could survive.

Chu Tingwu had also been less active in live-streaming lately because she had inadvertently exposed during a previous stream her ability to accurately identify each Red-beaked Falcon. Despite her fans being accustomed to her occasional surprises, consistently asking her to identify birds became tiring. So, Chu Tingwu disappeared from the streams.

Earlier, she had renewed her contract with Fenghua Network. The new agreement no longer stipulated live-streaming times, given her status as a shareholder.

As the weather grew colder day by day, everyone seemed to sense something—almost every day, under Shanwan Ranch's account, there were speculations about whether the main group of Red-beaked Falcons would leave that day.

Chu Tingwu also felt it coming. Elusa and her team had already set up camp, while Chu Tingwu, on the morning of the seventeenth, rode her horse and stood far away on the slope, gazing out. She turned on her live stream.

The camera slowly floated, rising from a vantage point where a few birds could be seen taking off and landing, to one where the small lake at the Shanwan Ranch could be viewed from above. A gentle breeze rustled the green trees, their shadows swaying, though a hint of coldness had seeped into the scenery.

[Isn't the weather forecast for Qihe City saying it will snow next week?]

[Is this year's snow coming early? Ps. Though my place has already snowed, isn't yours in the south?]

[My parents keep asking me why I'm staring at my computer watching birds, and I tell them these birds are ones I've watched hatch. Pfft, they don't believe me!]

[That sounds more convincing when Chu Chu says it... since she really did watch them hatch and can name each one by number.]

All Red-beaked Falcons only have numbers; their "names" are just casual terms, not official, though Chu Tingwu truly knows each one.

She knows when they hatched, which one flies best, which is the fattest and naughtiest, living in which nest. When Red-beaked Falcon couples groom their feathers on the trees, she counts them from below, occasionally rescuing a chick that has accidentally fallen into the pool, returning it to its nest.

In the camera's view, chicks are flying, weaving between the trees without landing, their movements slightly urgent. Then, in what seemed like a ordinary morning—

The Red-beaked Falcons began to leave their nests one by one.

Their wings cut through the sky, quickly forming streams as they circled the small lake at Shanwan Ranch, their shadows on the water. The glittering lake shimmered with red dots... then suddenly one flapped its wings, darting to the front of the formation.

All the formations silently took shape at that moment.

The chicks were guarded in the center of the formation, flying southeast, soaring into the sky.

...But some chicks were left behind.

Or rather, they desperately flapped their wings but failed to keep up with the group.

A few parents left the group, hesitated for a moment, circled their chicks, calling out softly. But soon, the calls turned sharp—yet the chicks still couldn't take off, only chirping coquettishly. Either due to insufficient training or being born weak, lacking the strength, they didn't realize what was happening. It was getting cold, and the chicks didn't want to leave their nests.

Some parents cried out sadly a couple of times, circled the nest, then flapped their wings forcefully, catching up with the group.

Others directly pushed the chicks out of the nests, urgently called out, then turned, leaving their chicks to flap frantically, move forward a bit, but—

"They can't keep up," Elusa's voice was tinged with sadness.

The so-called "southward journey" isn't just flying south. The entire flock needs an experienced leader, choosing directions, braving the cold winds, knowing when to rest, adjusting the formation with calls, and understanding how to avoid predators... Lucky chicks might catch up with the still-accelerating group, while the others would likely hide in their nests, awaiting human rescue.

Chu Tingwu looked up at the shadow that flew farther and farther away, then nodded at Elusa—

Halfway in the air, it seemed a phantom appeared. The viewers in the livestream, surprised, found it to be a projection of the Red-beaked Falcons.

They circled in the air, chirped, while the chicks below cooed, spurred on. A few more chicks took off, trying to catch up with the "parent birds," the projection split, guiding the chicks towards where the adult Red-beaked Falcons had left. The drone was among them.

Some chicks found their parents and flew over by themselves, but some flew aimlessly and eventually fell.

The viewers were deeply concerned—because this wasn't a documentary, but something happening in another city right now. They had been educated about what fate awaited these chicks if they failed to join the migration.

But some half-teased, half self-comforted—

[Isn't this count as part of the Red-beaked Falcon's migration? It seems like they’re treating the drone like one of their own...]

But wasn't the drone shaped like a seagull? Did they redid the beak when no one was watching?

Unlike the viewers, Chu Tingwu listened to the chick's chirps and even easily identified which nest's chicks they were. She had the system adjust the projection's "calls," leading many more chicks to peep out of their nests, hopping on the grassland.

But they didn't spread their wings.

Chu Tingwu propped on her knees, slowly crouching down, scanning these birds, sighing silently in her heart.

They can't keep up anymore.

The projections in the air gradually disappeared. The left-behind chicks still haven't realized what had happened. Without human intervention, they wouldn't survive this chilly night.

The drone, a seagull-like model, landed on Chu Tingwu's arm. The expert team planned to move the chicks to a newly built structure next to the aviary, bringing in other birds capable of raising chicks to take care of them until they could hunt and fly on their own... Though they might not learn how to migrate, or even change their habits, it was still a new trial.

As Chu Tingwu passed by an aviary, she heard parrots chirping about how cunning little thieves moved next door.

Actually, next door was also temporary. Should the success be achieved, the chicks over the winter would be taken to a nature reserve.

Cats also found the sudden winter unreasonable. When Chu Tingwu entered the aviary, she found San Wu lying on the sofa, pressing a hole she had dug with her body.

The temperature here was more comfortable, just as next door, obviously: the chicks, temporarily deprived of their parents, when the nests move over, were momentarily bewildered at what felt like the winter warmth transitioning to indoor constructed scenery.

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Chu Tingwu heard two or three chirps.

She answered a call from Teacher Zhang, discussing the southward journey of the Red-beaked Falcons with her—

The scene of the red-rain falcons' migration had already made the news early on. Perhaps due to excellent prior publicity, footage of their passage through each city was captured, and now, just a few hours later, the hatchlings could no longer keep up.

Chu Tingwu was talking with Teacher Zhang while also listening to the commotion next door. Her voice paused for a moment before she turned and exited the bird pavilion.

Outside, it was drizzling, and the wind hadn't picked up yet. A hatchling was frantically crashing into the glass.

It seemed to have realized the true meaning of its parents' somewhat serious calls earlier, but it couldn't catch up.

Chu Tingwu recognized it—

It was the second hatchling from that particular nest. The audience, who struggled to remember the long serial numbers, often gave the young birds their own nicknames—and frequently got them wrong. Chu Tingwu knew they had named this one "Spotty," since it was the second.

So she wondered, would the third one be called "Spotty-Spotty"?

The hatchling, bearing a nickname reminiscent of a puppy, began to emit desperate cries. Perhaps influenced by it, other hatchlings started showing self-destructive behaviors.

No one noticed Chu Tingwu entering; everyone was too busy.

She stared at Spotty through the glass, hesitating, doubting... but eventually, she didn't alter her "scent."

Chu Tingwu saw others opening the glass to transfer the "ringleader" hatchling. Ultimately, they moved it back into its nest, which had been modified to at least keep it safe for the night.

Lying in her hotel room, Chu Tingwu could still faintly hear the birdcalls—but unlike the soothing white noise they used to provide, the sound from the same direction now was a solitary, indistinct cry, mixed with the rain, perhaps barely audible even to the birds themselves.

When the rain stopped around three in the morning, Chu Tingwu instinctively opened her eyes and rolled over.

In that instant, she heard the sound of wings flapping.

"Thump"

The wings' motion was weak, the owner straining to fly but quickly losing power to the wind. Finally, Chu Tingwu heard it collide with the glass and fall to the ground.

She silently sat up, barefoot, and walked to the window. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass, Spotty carefully picked at its ruffled feathers, tilting its head as if having fixed them. Then it began pacing on the window ledge, cautiously practicing its flight.

But Chu Tingwu noticed its sunken belly.

—Even hatchlings that follow the main group might die on the way because they cannot store enough food for long flights. And if they fall behind, apart from their parents, the rest of the flock won't wait.

Those left behind aren't without the courage to catch up, but for birds like the red-rain falcon, death comes either from hunger or solitude.

Chu Tingwu slipped on her shoes, threw on a coat, and stepped out, walking directly to the external platform on the third floor of the hotel.

The LEGO-like hotel seemed to have been built at random, with external platforms resembling stepping stones for jumping and running.

As the sound of flapping wings grew closer, Chu Tingwu slowly exhaled, altering her pheromones. Then, with a sudden leap, she began to run.

Spotty emitted a joyful, surprised chirp—it seemed to have caught the scent of its parents, right there, just ahead. But as it drew near, the scent shifted, becoming that of another red-rain falcon hatchling.

Still, Spotty only hesitated briefly before dashing ahead, propelled by the belief that either its flock or its parents must be in front.

Chu Tingwu could feel the cold wind rushing into her chest, carrying various scents. Everything around her blurred too quickly to distinguish clearly; she relied on instinct and habit. Without wings, she crossed between buildings as if walking on flat ground.

Though Chu Tingwu was adept at parkour, she had never run like this before...

Because she had to outpace a bird, even if it was just a hatchling! It felt like returning to the purest purpose of parkour: to move faster, even just a bit faster, across any structure above ground—

Suddenly, the park's alarm went off briefly, then stopped.

Only a few late-night users of Wu Voice App were momentarily puzzled... Just now, didn't they see a blurred photo in the "Trespassing at Ranch" violation records, showing someone vaulting over a fence? The figure looked oddly familiar, but why had it disappeared upon a refresh?

Was this some kind of horror movie?!