The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 218

Two minutes before the bedside alarm was set to ring, Shao Lingwu opened his eyes and reached out to turn it off.

It was six in the morning now. Stepping onto the hotel balcony would reveal a beautiful snowy landscape.

However, neither the guest in this room nor the duo (plus a cat) next door had any interest in the scenery—Shao Lingwu estimated Chu Tingwu wouldn’t wake up for another hour, so he decided to log into a game first, claim the accumulated rewards, and clear some daily tasks.

The hotel in Texas wasn’t equipped with a full-body immersion pod, but it couldn’t stop guests from bringing their own VR gear.

He logged into several games he’d played before, contributing a tiny boost to their online activity stats, then opened the mobile version of *Cat Can’t Learn* and played a couple of matches.

As an AR game more focused on in-person experiences, the remote-match version of *Can’t Learn* was purely an online knowledge competition—essentially, a battle of problem-solving.

For many, without the integration of AR technology or the sense of pride from city-wide tournaments, pure studying and answering questions was dreadfully boring—

If anyone had been watching, they’d have seen Shao Lingwu’s expressionless face while "gaming."

But he actually found it quite engaging.

"Arriving at an answer through reasoning" was tedious for those who couldn’t solve it, but for those who could, it was inherently interesting… though "interesting" didn’t necessarily mean "fun."

After winning three matches, he wisely stopped, his mind already turning over the new concepts he’d just encountered, unconsciously committing them to memory.

*Might as well find a couple of books on this later.*

Shao Lingwu planned to minor in mathematics during university.

As he set his phone down, he heard the sound of a door opening and closing. The hotel’s soundproofing was actually quite good, but they’d booked a suite, and though he didn’t hear footsteps, he knew exactly who was outside—

He opened the door and found Three-Five-Five drinking water in the suite’s living room.

The mother cat had spent the night curled up with Chu Tingwu, her fur slightly mussed from sleep. Shao Lingwu checked the automatic water dispenser, confirming it hadn’t been contaminated overnight or collected stray cat hair and dust, then went to boil some chicken breast for Three-Five-Five.

After placing the simply prepared cat meal on the table, the tortoiseshell leaped over to her bowl, and Shao Lingwu fetched the pet grooming brush.

Once he’d rolled the loose fur into a ball and deposited it on the shelf by the door, he turned to find Three-Five-Five already waiting by the suite’s entrance, her posture unmistakably impatient.

Shao Lingwu raised a hand. "Let me grab my phone."

Three-Five-Five lifted a paw in response:

*Permission granted.*

And so, he found himself taking Chu Tingwu’s cat for an early morning walk.

Most cats dislike unfamiliar environments, reacting with stress and hiding in corners. But Three-Five-Five was different. She had the same feline instincts… but also a stronger urge to conquer.

A new place? Then she’d just familiarize herself with it. Everywhere could be her new territory, so whenever they arrived somewhere unfamiliar, Three-Five-Five made a point to explore.

Shao Lingwu knew Three-Five-Five’s collar had a tracker—even a tiny camera—and Chu Tingwu always seemed utterly confident in the cat’s abilities. But he couldn’t shake the thought… cats had limits. A cat could handle cat problems, but not accidents, let alone deliberate harm.

He’d never voiced this to Chu Tingwu, partly because he suspected she had some other layer of assurance, as if she were certain she could react instantly if anything went wrong.

There was no need to question the source of her confidence, nor to debate it. His upbringing had taught him—if you believe you should do something, then just do it.

So Shao Lingwu quietly added “follow Three-Five-Five outside” to his routine.

In reality, it wasn’t so much him walking the cat as the cat walking him.

…At least, that was how Three-Five-Five seemed to see it.

Initially, the mother cat had been visibly annoyed by the clumsy human trailing her, but she’d eventually grown more considerate, pausing to wait for him or disappearing briefly only to reappear, as if worried he’d panic without his “elders” in sight.

The day after Three-Five-Five’s attitude shifted, Chu Tingwu shared an app with Shao Lingwu that tracked the cat’s collar.

Meanwhile, cats didn’t need GPS to locate their humans—their keen noses were more than enough.

While following Three-Five-Five downstairs, Shao Lingwu noticed her suddenly backtrack at a turn—

A dog’s bark echoed from further away.

Ah. She’d smelled an old "friend."

The tourist on the third floor with the dog was also a participant in the "Texas Endurance Race," and since the hotel was provided by the organizers, all competitors were staying here, giving them a chance to get acquainted beforehand.

Chu Tingwu hadn’t seemed to warm up to them much, but Three-Five-Five had clearly memorized every single dog in the group.

Cats weren’t exactly ideal skiing companions, but dogs were everywhere on the snow.

*The Mountain Horror 1* also had a dog.

Later, with time to spare, Shao Lingwu replayed the game with different characters, quickly uncovering most of the branching paths before setting it aside.

He’d played in single-player mode, but this immersive movie was actually more fun with random matchmaking—the AI followed character logic, but real humans sometimes made baffling yet in-character choices, leading to even more interesting side stories.

Shao Lingwu didn’t try matchmaking, though he did play as the dog twice. Most players wouldn’t remember the nuances between barks, but his memory and auditory discrimination were sharp enough that he could mimic the in-game dog’s sounds almost perfectly afterward.

When the hotel dogs got a little too enthusiastic around their cat, Shao Lingwu muttered, "If you believe you should do something, then just do it."

Then he attempted to dissuade the dogs in their own language—only to be caught red-pawed and swatted by Three-Five-Five.

Chu Tingwu, passing by with a late-night snack: "...Don’t stay up too late, you two."

Shao Lingwu: *Whimper.*

He suspected Chu Tingwu knew everything but could somehow act completely unbothered, flawless in her nonchalance.

Turns out, even the right thing required prior negotiation—unless you wanted a paw to the face.

Cats had their own code of conduct, and he clearly still had much to learn.

After taking Three-Five-Five out for a stroll, Shao Lingwu bought the tortoiseshell cat a canned treat on the way back. That’s when they encountered a street musician performing with a cello outside the hotel.

Three-Five-Five crouched nearby, devouring her snack, while the cellist smiled at the majestic feline beside her. The previously tranquil and soothing melody suddenly turned lively and cheerful, as if the musician’s mood had shifted with the cat’s presence, leading to an impromptu performance.

However, Three-Five-Five clearly didn’t think the performance had anything to do with her. After indifferently polishing off half the can, she pushed the remainder toward Shao Lingwu with a paw, signaling her useful servant to dispose of it.

Just as she nudged the can, the cello’s melody shifted again, syncing with the cat’s movement.

The can scraped against the ground with a *“Zzz—”* sound, which the cello mimicked and amplified.

Three-Five-Five: “?”

The cat seemed to grow alert.

She flicked her ears and hooked a claw into the can, dragging it back toward herself.

*“Skkrt—”*

The moment she stopped, the cello’s sound also cut off abruptly.

The small crowd that had gathered to listen burst into good-natured laughter, clearly recognizing this as an extension of the earlier improvisation—now featuring a feline wildcard.

Three-Five-Five: “…”

She lowered her head to take another bite, and the cello responded with *“skkrt-skkrt”* noises. When she looked up, the sounds ceased again.

The tortoiseshell’s tail twitched in mild dissatisfaction. Though silent, the swaying motion seemed to conjure musical notes in the air, and her bright yellow eyes locked onto the cello with unwavering focus.

The musician chuckled and raised a hand in mock surrender. “No clawing the instrument, little cat.”

She had noticed Three-Five-Five’s collar and the human accompanying her, assuming the well-mannered, regal feline was safe to tease.

But she definitely didn’t want those untrimmed claws anywhere near the strings.

Three-Five-Five: *“Meow—”*

She turned to Shao Lingwu, her claws still resting on the can’s rim, glinting ominously.

If this were a comic, a sweatdrop would have appeared on Shao Lingwu’s forehead.

Having had her fun, the cellist decided not to provoke the cat further and readied her instrument to resume her performance—only to see the young man borrow a violin from another street performer nearby.

The cellist’s eyes lit up.

Though no words were exchanged, she immediately understood: this fellow musician intended to respond in kind.

Musical disputes called for musical solutions… so what would he play?

The cellist continued her piece, a serene, forest-like melody enveloping the audience—until two abrupt *“meows”* shattered the tranquility.

Cellist: “?”

Wait—the cat hadn’t made a sound. It was Shao Lingwu, skillfully mimicking feline cries with his violin, weaving them into a spirited, triumphant march.

The cellist faltered, trying to steer the atmosphere back to her original tune, but the mischievous *“meows”* threw her off, and she accidentally slipped into the wrong key.

*Damn these cunning cat sounds.*

After two failed attempts, she conceded defeat, lowering her bow just as Shao Lingwu played the final note.

With a rueful shake of her head, she apologized to Three-Five-Five: “Sorry, little one.”

But the cat wasn’t looking at her. Instead, Three-Five-Five was staring at Shao Lingwu in utter disbelief.

Cellist: “Huh?”

---

By the time Chu Tingwu got out of bed, she’d already heard about the incident downstairs—though in truth, she’d been awake earlier and had gotten Three-Five-Five’s *alternative* retelling.

For example, Shao Lingwu might seem quiet, but he was secretly quite wild, fluent in all sorts of *feline profanity*, and so on.

Of course, this version had been filtered through Three-Five-Five’s interpretation and further embellished by Chu Tingwu’s imagination, while Shao Lingwu remained blissfully unaware.

Because he was in class.

Their circumstances were unusual—taking extended leave wasn’t feasible, so online lessons had to suffice.

Shao Lingwu didn’t have a valid excuse (even if the sewage system had exploded ages ago, surely it was fixed by now), but he *had* scored third nationally in the college entrance exams and first in his major when admitted to the Central Conservatory of Music in Shangjing City… so a little leniency wasn’t unreasonable.

The faculty still didn’t understand how this academic prodigy had landed in their laps and lived in constant fear that he’d suddenly regain his senses, drop out, and transfer to the prestigious university just across the street.

(Unfortunately, relocating him to the conservatory’s branch campus in another city wasn’t an option.)

Chu Tingwu patted Three-Five-Five’s head. “I’m heading out to check the venue. Coming?”

The cat mother considered the possibility of being dragged along with the dogs and dealing with crowds.

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She leaped back onto the bed, clearly indicating she’d rather nap.

On her way out, Chu Tingwu spotted Shao Lingwu with his violin case slung over his shoulder, enthusiastically insisting he needed to play her *another* piece to prove he wasn’t just skilled at *“swearing in cat language”*—or, well, he *could* play human curse words too if she preferred!

Chu Tingwu: *Hard pass.*

Zhou Qiang watched from the other end of the hallway as the two approached, narrowing her eyes. Shao Lingwu seemed to be bouncing a little *too* high—or maybe it was just a trick of the overhead lights?

*Why does he look like he’s about to float away?*

Once in the car, Shao Lingwu finally settled down—likely because there wasn’t room to fidget. He hugged his violin case almost pitifully, and Chu Tingwu tried redirecting his energy with small talk:

“You haven’t finished your homework, have you?”

Zhou Qiang: “==”

*Master Chu, why does our companion look like he’s just been spiritually obliterated?*

Unlike Chu Tingwu and Zhou Qiang, Shao Lingwu had been genuinely struggling with his latest assignment: composing or arranging a piece of music, with no restrictions on genre. On paper, it shouldn’t have been difficult for him, but he’d hit a creative block.

Songwriting wasn’t like solving equations, so the two could only offer verbal encouragement.

Zhou Qiang glanced sideways. When Chu Tingwu stood among them, she naturally occupied the center. Even when she wandered off to mingle with other competitors during venue rehearsals, that central space remained, as if reserved for her return.

Zhou Qiang mused that, given her personality, had it not been for Chu Tingwu acting as the bridge, she would never have grown close to people like Chu Xiao and Shao Lingwu—because at their core, they were cut from the same cloth: geniuses with their noses in the air, disinclined to bother with others.

Even if they’d teamed up during the winter camp, they wouldn’t have become friends. Zhou Qiang herself had never been particularly close to anyone.

Just as she was lost in thought, Chu Tingwu turned toward them from the center of the competition grounds, waving both hands in the air. The gesture seemed meaningless, devoid of any ulterior motive—just a spontaneous acknowledgment that they were watching.

And she had seen them.

Zhou Qiang pressed her lips together, about to pull her hands from her coat pockets, when she noticed the person beside her had already taken out his violin… prompting Chu Tingwu to silently retract her hands and cover her ears.

Shao Lingwu: "Woo—woo—woooo—"

Zhou Qiang: "…"

That was the sound produced by the violin.

Zhou Qiang had finally had enough.

She bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and strode forward to shove it straight down Shao Lingwu’s collar. He ducked, dodged, and promptly took off running—still managing to "accuse" her of brutality through his violin. Zhou Qiang smirked coldly and gave chase, determined to drive him far enough that Chu Tingwu wouldn’t witness the scene.

Her IQ wasn’t lacking, and while her EQ sometimes went on hiatus around strangers, among friends she always made sure to dust it off and slot it back into place. Though she had no concrete proof, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Shao Lingwu had been peacocking lately—flaunting himself in some inexplicable display.

A few days ago, he’d actually gone and learned that Rex’s song, then dragged both of them into listening under the pretense of "getting their opinion." The day before, over dinner at the hotel, he’d offhandedly remarked that the pianist had missed two notes. Later, he’d even asked Chu Tingwu if she wanted to game together… But the last straw was yesterday, when he’d gone out and returned with a fresh haircut, taming his usual mess of golden curls.

Zhou Qiang narrowed her eyes, already calculating the odds of successfully shaving his head bald. But she was merciful—concerned that young Shao might catch a cold sporting a bare scalp in winter—and spared him.

Beyond the slope, Chu Tingwu shrugged, having lost sight of whatever was happening, and resumed her sliding drills.

Meanwhile, Zhou Qiang fell into thought before suddenly declaring, "In a trio, two people are always closer."

Shao Lingwu: "=="

Zhou Qiang: "And the one closer to Tingwu will definitely be me!"

Shao Lingwu: "Hm…"

Despite the bold words, Zhou Qiang still didn’t feel secure. She resolved to move into Chu Tingwu’s room later, sharing the bed with Three-Five-Five.

No ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‍matter how much Shao Lingwu strutted, the most he could manage was camping out on their floor!

Shao Lingwu: "…"

Shao Lingwu: "Hah…"

Perhaps it was the exertion from being chased and pelted with snow, but his heartbeat was still racing. Yet while he and Zhou Qiang differed in temperament, they were fundamentally similar. Now that things were "out in the open," Zhou Qiang wouldn’t hold back anymore.

…She’d just take action.

Shao Lingwu crouched, hands braced on his knees as he caught his breath. The terrain blocked his view, but he could still hear the sounds of independent training—the crunch of snow, the shake of branches shedding their white load. After a moment, he picked out the distinct rhythm of Chu Tingwu’s skis, followed by the faintest hint of laughter.

Someone’s joke had apparently amused her.

Then she smacked her lips and let out a couple of soft, indistinct meows, as if muttering to herself.

Soon after, he heard her glide over to Zhou Qiang, who outlined her plan to move rooms that evening. Chu Tingwu didn’t ask why—just agreed with a smile.

The skis carved clear tracks into the snow. In the distance, someone waved and called out. A gust of wind swept through, blurring the voices like a melody shifting keys… Shao Lingwu closed his eyes.

Then, the crash barrier creaked. The wind seemed to carry something forward—powder sprayed up, and a ski came to an abrupt halt beside him.

Snowflakes danced in the sunlight, casting a hazy glow over Chu Tingwu’s face as she pointed to her ear and said:

"I used to think this path would be lonely. But now that I’m here, it’s actually pretty lively."

A cross-country ski lasting over two days and nights, traversing vast stretches of uninhabited land where competitors could only exchange glances in passing—it should have been an isolating journey.

Yet when she arrived, she found it far livelier than Antarctica. Not because distant spectators might chatter and disrupt the event, but because one particular competitor could hear tunes others couldn’t.

The wind rattled the pines, scattering salt-like snow. It carried over a handful of musical notes.

Chu Tingwu felt that, even if she couldn’t weave those notes into a song, she could at least understand their melody.

Then she turned and left.

As if she’d backtracked just to say those words—accelerating again, adjusting her stance to skim precariously over the barrier before swooping down.

By the time Shao Lingwu processed it, Chu Tingwu had already vanished like the wind back into the grounds. But he instinctively chased a few steps—

The violin strings trembled in the cold, reminding him of their time in Melsmoth Town.

Back then, he’d thought Chu Tingwu might be some randomly spawning NPC—a wandering merchant of serendipity. You never knew when you’d encounter her, trudging through life numb and indifferent, convinced nothing mattered anymore.

Then she’d suddenly appear, plucking the indecipherable menu from your hands and ordering every dish to your taste. You hated that town—unfamiliar and unwelcoming—but in that moment, the food seemed wonderful.

Even a bag of frozen salmon looked appealing.

Then she was gone.

You’d been a prodigy since childhood, aware that other geniuses existed in entirely separate lanes. Your paths would diverge, your goals pulling you apart—and you couldn’t catch up.

She’d throw herself into her passion like a gust of wind, burning bright enough to draw every eye. You couldn’t catch up.

So you racked your brains and played her a tune.

As Shao Lingwu climbed the slope, he heard Zhou Qiang briskly pacing along the outer barrier. The competitors had already skied past, though they were merely simulating the route and memorizing rules for now. Still, their speed betrayed an unspoken race unfolding between them.

Shao Lingwu glanced to the right.

Zhou Qiang was also engaged in a certain... one-sided competition with him. For instance, she was currently recording Chu Tingwu's various data points—from hobbies to favorite colors and dishes—clearly determined to boost her friendship score through data collection and mutual understanding.

She didn’t hesitate to ask her rival either: "Do you know what else Chu Chu likes to eat?"

Shao Lingwu thought about the menu at Melmo’s restaurant, then about Aunt Mei’s cooking, and confidently declared: "Aunt Mei’s cooking."

Zhou Qiang immediately began scanning the area for a suitable weapon.

Shao Lingwu: "=="

Memories crystallized into scenes he could replay at will. He distinctly remembered—back at the restaurant...

Back at the restaurant...

Had he ever actually pointed at the menu in front of Chu Tingwu?

He *had* been about to order the crispy roasted pork and smoked salmon, but mostly because he knew they were the Norwegian restaurant’s signature dishes. Plus, he’d caught their scent from the kitchen. He was sure of it—he’d even subtly sniffed the air again at the time... Thinking back, the Norwegian words on the menu slowly surfaced in his mind.

An inexplicable unease settled over him. He pulled out his phone and immediately started translating with an app.

Nothing.

The menu he’d been given didn’t list those dishes.

The scene played back frame by frame in his mind, finally freezing on the slightly crumpled menu tucked under the server’s palm.

...The server had handed him a special menu meant to fleece out-of-towners! One with inflated prices and fewer of the messy-but-delicious options!

Shao Lingwu: Negative points!

Nearly a year later, he’d only just realized he’d almost been scammed—but that wasn’t what bothered him. What gnawed at him was: *How had Chu Tingwu known what he wanted to order?*

*He* hadn’t even known! He’d nearly ended up ordering the *chef* instead!

Right… her sense of smell. Hmm, her hearing too... And her intuition... Her reflexes... She could even detect the heartbeats of people around her!

Shao Lingwu silently crouched into a ball.

Zhou Qiang, mid-snowball-rolling: ?

She hadn’t even attacked yet? Why did he look like he’d just died?

...Are you *faking* this?