The subway at night was hushed.
Stark white lights glowed on the boy’s face as he quietly watched the little fish swimming in the bag.
A faint thought drifted through Gu Chuan’s mind—the strange, ECG-like waveform that had flashed across his vision just after parting with Wen Tinghan.
It vanished in an instant.
No answer came from the brief pondering, so he gently pulled his focus back.
His eyes no longer held that fleeting image, only the real, darting fish before him.
The tiny fish swam lively, utterly unaware it was destined to become a catgirl’s meal.
He’d decided: if Xuechun was in cat form when he got home, he’d give her the fish raw.
If not, he’d simmer it into a small pot of fresh soup—a reward for waiting patiently.
Subway rules allowed sealed fish, but not live cats.
Next time he took Xuechun out, bus or taxi would be safer.
Since bringing her home, she’d been cooped up inside.
Did she long to go out too?
Gu Chuan recalled her perched on the high windowsill, gazing outside. He murmured,
“Maybe… take Xuechun for a walk tonight.”
Holidays could be for longer trips.
Just then—a soft buzz. His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Who was it?
Curious, he pulled it out.
A profile picture both familiar and odd greeted him: an elegant Ragdoll cat.
Gu Chuan froze for a second. *That* shady merchant who sold him the so-called “Care Manual”!
A tiny e-book—and she charged him a hundred yuan!
What could she want?
Wincing at the memory, he opened her message.
A string of links.
Pet snacks. Clothes perfectly sized for Xuechun’s frame—styles that made his ears burn (maid outfits, school uniforms, nurse costumes…).
Even a niche-brand formula he’d never heard of.
So… a reseller? Pushing products?
But every single item fit Xuechun *exactly*.
Some seemed tailor-made: skirts and shorts with discreet tail holes; hats that hid real cat ears while sporting cute faux ones.
“…"
What was her game?
Sales pitch… or had she *noticed* something?
Was he not the only one who knew catgirls existed?
His thoughts tangled. He typed a reply, deleted it. Typed again. Deleted. Repeated.
Then—a new message popped up.
Yan Ran: “Such a hentai.”
Gu Chuan: “?”
In that heartbeat, he felt like a fool who’d overthought everything. Was she just bored, testing if the “believer” would react?
Send catgirl merch links… then drop a mocking line.
It made him huff a bitter laugh.
Still—he genuinely appreciated the effort. Not sarcasm.
If the links were useful? That was enough.
Gu Chuan: “Thanks.”
He checked Alipay.
Balance: a five-digit number… with a decimal point.
314.50 yuan.
Buying any of those would wipe out next week’s food budget.
*Take gigs tonight*, he thought. His speed meant even cheap orders flew by.
The train slowed. Door chimed. Gu Chuan stepped out with the fish, merging into the sparse crowd heading for his usual exit.
…
Elsewhere, in a secluded pavilion nestled among blossoms,
a languid woman reclined on a naturally formed jade bed glowing with soft luminescence, her presence fragrant.
As Gu Chuan’s final reply arrived, she set down the “pinnacle of human wisdom”—her phone—and closed her breathtaking eyes.
Fingers tapped the jade surface: her thinking rhythm.
“People shouldn’t… or at the very least, really shouldn’t.”
A sigh escaped her lips, followed by a faint, unreadable smile.
She opened her eyes, amused, annoyed, worried—for the little cat who’d sneaked out last week.
Worry melted into quiet envy.
She must be living quite “happily” with her master now.
After all, he’d even bought *that* book—the one used only in dire need. Youthful passion, indeed.
Though trouble would follow.
Seventy percent confidence he’d care for her well. Thirty percent worry.
The seventy kept her distant. The thirty sent the links.
She’d already prepped future essentials: nutrient meals, tiny clothes, formula…
“And toys!”
A red-clad girl slipped in unnoticed, swaying a fluffy tail. Her amber-brown eyes sparkled with childlike innocence… and sly mischief. Slit pupils sent a chill down the spine.
The woman on the jade bed furrowed her willow brows. Her wide eyes revealed stunning heterochromia—one deep as a tidal sea, the other like shattered gold atop a pagoda.
Yet her voice stayed gentle, a disarming contrast to her cool gaze.
“Si Qiqi,” she murmured, “I believe another room needs a fox-fur duster. How about… you supply the materials?”
Si Qiqi stiffened instantly. Her huge red tail shot straight up—then nearly vanished between her slender legs.
*Tucking tail and fleeing*… reality painted the idiom perfectly.
