The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 232

【???】

【Like yellow flowers blooming behind the shrubs, emitting a faint glow in the darkness】

【(Having never learned any gathering techniques, you find it difficult to successfully collect them)】

Chu Tingwu clapped her hands and placed a small marker on the map.

She took a different path forward, stopping at a small pond.

【???】

【A rare fish with a tail fin as long as an arm—the moment it gazes at you, you feel as if your soul has been stolen】

【(Having never learned any fishing or trapping skills, you find it nearly impossible to catch it)】

This time, Chu Tingwu didn’t need to mark the spot, as the path she had cleared made the pond’s location visibly distinct from the rest of the terrain on the map.

Her bag was now stuffed with miscellaneous items, since many wild materials were labeled as "difficult" rather than "impossible" to collect. That meant there was still a chance—though success might require brute-forcing through sheer quantity to improve her gathering skills. But after collecting a few things, Chu Tingwu realized—

Some of the materials in her bag had notes: certain plants only bloomed in spring, others could only be gathered in summer, and some were so rare that cultivating them required precious medicinal elixirs.

So, Chu Tingwu gave up on recklessly plucking flowers.

Of course, it might also have been because her inventory slots were full.

When she finally circled the mountain path and reached the sect’s entrance, Bu Li, the Daoist priest, looked at her with a complicated expression.

Chu Tingwu: "Hmm… was I not supposed to pick them?"

Bu Li: "...No, that's not it."

In truth, the academy had set up small trials along the main path—such as the Bewildering Mirror, designed to amplify emotions and reveal the students’ strengths and weaknesses, or a deliberately placed spirit beast (actually a pet belonging to one of the elders) to test how students reacted to danger.

Of course, none of these would actually harm them.

But Chu Tingwu had "gotten lost" as soon as she started climbing the mountain, veering off into a far more dangerous, secluded path. She had somehow bypassed all the hazards (and her fellow students), haphazardly gathered medicinal plants, stolen an egg from a Qingquan Beast, and then taken a shortcut to the sect’s gates.

Bu Li: "...Aren’t you exhausted?"

Chu Tingwu: "Oh!"

So, her HP loss was from hunger.

At first, she had wondered why her health bar was gradually dropping. She’d chewed on some herbs that seemed to restore HP, but after doing the math, she realized it wasn’t sustainable—so she hurried up the mountain.

Of course, the fatigue and hunger were noticeable—the game simulated those sensations realistically, though not as severely as in real life. After all, gaming wasn’t supposed to feel like work; it was just a reminder for the player.

Holding Bu Li’s hand, Chu Tingwu happily followed him to get some food.

She even pulled out the egg from her bag and asked, "Can I bring my own ingredients?"

"...No!"

"Then can I just eat it raw for HP?"

"Hand it over, and I’ll convert it into contribution points for you… A first-year like you wouldn’t be able to hatch it anyway—"

"Really?"

【You have received a quest…】

Ah.

So it was true.

While Chu Tingwu was figuring out the game, the development team of *Daoist Academy* was quietly watching from the sidelines. This was like submitting homework—letting the boss test their game—so everyone was nervous, eager to see her feedback.

"The boss didn’t trigger the main storyline on the way up… She didn’t meet any of the important NPCs her age!"

"Damn, she bypassed it again! How? Does she have a full map hack or something?"

"No way. Theoretically, players shouldn’t be able to reach Kunlun’s summit just by wilderness survival and climbing… Not many people in real life can even do that. But apparently, the boss is one of the few who can."

"Uh… Player stats don’t vary much in our game, but the boss allocated 10 points to Physique, 5 to Focus, and 0 to Qi Cultivation? That means she’ll only get the minimum Qi point per level-up later—her progression will be slow! But with high Physique, she can move freely through the mountains, and our mechanics are realistic enough that she seems to have deduced animal distributions from plant details… She even stole a spirit beast’s egg! Well, at least first-years can’t raise beasts—let’s have an NPC buy it back."

"Somehow… I feel like the boss is just going to go full wilderness survival mode after learning the basics. With all the rare materials, beasts, and random treasure chests out there, will she even bother with the main quest?"

Skipping class like this is a surefire way to get expelled!

A developer rubbed his forehead and switched to another beta testing channel. Thankfully, this one was following the main story properly.

While Chu Tingwu was still rolling around in the wilderness, Zhou Qiang had ascended the mountain step by step.

She had met four NPCs along the way—the system-assigned companions for the player, two boys and two girls: Yu Puhe, Luo Xiuqi, Sui Xingying, and Pu Yefei. Their personalities covered the classic tropes: the tsundere young master, the impoverished genius, the naturally gifted airhead, and the righteous, dependable ally. In the future, they would specialize as a healer, talisman master, spellcaster, and swordsman respectively, ensuring that no matter which path the protagonist chose, there’d be at least one NPC to romance—ahem, accompany them.

By following the main quest and completing every side quest, the player could raise their affection and receive comments like—

"You’re such a handful."

"What did you hear? Stay out of my business!"

"Huh? Thanks? Oh, I lost something? Wait, who are you again?"

"I can handle this myself. Thanks, but no thanks."

Zhou Qiang: "This is the difference between the advertised product and the actual experience, huh =="

Once an NPC was encountered, their profile would appear in the player’s "Fate Links" menu. But clearly, real interactions didn’t match the descriptions. To truly befriend them, players couldn’t rely on just one or two side quests—they’d need to repeatedly trigger events to raise affection.

Zhou Qiang could already imagine the future: certain players would dedicate themselves to maxing out every NPC’s affection—the higher the difficulty, the more obsessed they’d become.

Of course, the first-year class wasn’t limited to just these four students. Each year, the academy accepted around thirty disciples, but the others seemed more ordinary, and the upperclassmen were often away on missions.

Yet, upon closer inspection, every character had unique backstories—meaning they could all potentially become romance options in this dating sim.

Certainly, Zhou Qiang wasn’t that type of player. After completing the initial main quests, smoothly securing her basic rewards, and unlocking several maps, she began exploring the intricacies of this "cultivation world hidden behind modern devices."

At the very least, she needed to understand the economy, right?

In the first year, players could choose a primary path of study and receive their class schedule. However, selecting one didn’t lock them out of learning others—it simply meant their progress in the primary discipline would accelerate.

As for classes, attending the first session was mandatory, but subsequent lessons could be skipped. Skipping didn’t prevent the random triggering of special events, though sticking around increased the odds of boosting NPC favorability. Additionally, attending lectures slightly improved the chances of obtaining rare items during crafting activities.

Zhou Qiang sat through one lecture and was surprised to find it genuinely informative.

But what truly caught her attention was—

How did this world’s pricing system work?

Specializing in alchemy, she exhausted all her materials processing herbs and sought guidance from her mentor. That was when she learned about the "Mall?"—a shop called Qi Wu Pavilion, the largest chain in the cultivation world, where players could also sell items with only a 10% commission.

...And thanks to modern technology, she could simply search prices on her phone and send her goods to the sect’s logistics department for delivery.

Zhou Qiang: "=="

This blend of modernity and cultivation was exactly what defined contemporary immortal sects. After memorizing the current market rates for materials, Zhou Qiang immersed herself in the Qi Wu Pavilion app (…), though she didn’t neglect the library. She soon discovered that while the game might not have fully mapped the entire cultivation world, it was far vaster in lore, complete with demons and monsters. There were records of senior disciples secretly handling supernatural threats in the mortal realm, and by their third year, students would undertake missions to hunt these creatures down.

In other words, middle schoolers had to complete fieldwork. Fail, and you wouldn’t advance to high school.

Other reclusive sects existed, some so archaic they didn’t even use phones. The Daoist Academy, however, was a joint effort by several major sects that had embraced modernization, wiring their mountain strongholds with internet.

The four great sects included the sword-wielding Kunlun Sect, the talisman-specializing Mystic Void Sect, the alchemy-focused Pure Unity Sect, and the spellcasting powerhouse, the Carefree Sect.

Though the Daoist Academy had operated for over a century, to cultivators, a hundred years was but a blink. Tensions lingered among the four sects, their ancient grudges still simmering—hints of which players might stumble upon during quests.

Of course, lore-focused players would uncover even more... details?

Take Zhou Qiang, for instance. She noticed something off about the price of "Purple Aster Herb," suspecting market manipulation. This common ingredient was vital for many elixirs, most notably the Qi-absorption Pills that boosted cultivation. Players could use them too, but their effectiveness was capped per level, with long cooldowns—better to grind quests for XP.

NPCs, however, had no such restrictions. Overconsumption led to pill toxicity...

And wasn’t it interesting that the Pure Unity Sect’s detoxification specialist had gone into seclusion three months ago?

Or that a sixth-year senior at the academy was rumored to be descended from a Kunlun Sect inner disciple?

The feud between Pure Unity and Kunlun...

After piecing it together, Zhou Qiang made her move.

Designer A: "Look at her strategy—does she realize this is a hidden quest, or is she clueless?"

Designer B: "She bought low, sold high... Her capital’s ballooned to 20k? Wait, is she buttering up classmates for favors?—Damn! She’s just borrowing money after all! That persuasion roll succeeded... she got the loan."

Designer A: "She’s derailed the hidden quest... No, wait, checking the logs—her meddling saved the NPC! The quest’s gone!"

Designer B: "Who cares about hidden quests..."

Zhou Qiang: "I just wanna make money =v="

The ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‍full-dive game capped daily playtime at six hours—any longer risked physical strain. Most players logged off after three, but even though Chu Tingwu didn’t feel fatigued, she exited the immersion pod.

This beta test wasn’t limited to their group; veteran collaborators with the developer, Huan Yu, were invited to the company HQ. As Chu Tingwu stepped out, she overheard others chatting outside, heading to debrief sessions with the designers to refine gameplay.

One complaint stood out: "Why can’t first-years sword-fly? We’re stuck riding cranes on fixed routes!"

(If you could sword-fly, you’d realize the map’s not that big, wouldn’t you?)

She met Shao Lingwu and Zhou Qiang for tea. Zhou still seemed distracted, mentally juggling in-game schemes. Chu Tingwu asked casually.

Zhou Qiang: "Hmm... I wonder who really runs Qi Wu Pavilion. Maybe players can take over someday?"

Chu Tingwu: "Planning to start a business in-game?"

She turned to Shao Lingwu.

His expression was calm, but a closer look revealed him lost in thought—about the game. "Why’s the pre-enrollment dungeon so brutal? Even Teacher Bu Li got hurt. Is that really necessary?"

Chu Tingwu: "...?"

Shao Lingwu had gotten lost.

In VR or PC games, he never strayed with a map. But the realism of full-dive bypassed his navigational instincts, leaving him disoriented.

Players following the mountain path wouldn’t get lost, but halfway up, Shao Lingwu decided to shortcut—pulling out his character’s phone to use the navigation app.

The "unreliable maps" led him in circles until nightfall. The academy finally sent Bu Li to retrieve him, only for both to be dragged into a dungeon—a breach in the mountain’s protective array.

Chu Tingwu broke the news gently:

"This was supposed to trigger in your third year."

And you were meant to tackle it with peers, not a teacher.

【Want to read the extra chapter "System Mistook Me for a Cat" Chapter 232: Side Story 4 (Part 2) by Sā Wū? Remember the domain [()]? 『Visit [] for the full chapter』()】

Because this "Mountain Gate Illusion" dungeon scales with the challenger's strength—its difficulty adjusts based on the player's capabilities.

Shao Lingwu looked calm, but upon closer inspection, he had already adopted a Zen-like indifference. He picked up a piece of meat with his chopsticks: "We're trapped in here now, and Teacher Bu Li has just started one-on-one lessons with me. Might as well make the best of it—where else would I be studying anyway?"

Might as well study while waiting for rescue!

Shao Lingwu: "...Ugh!"

Shao Lingwu: "Why is this ginger?!"

In the afternoon, as Chu Tingwu was about to log back into the game, the lead designer stopped her: "Boss, want to try being an NPC?"

"An NPC... in a single-player game?"

Lead Designer: "Not exactly. After some deliberation, we realized the game's map is essentially larger than the real-world map—it includes modern cities as well as an entire fantasy cultivation realm inaccessible to ordinary people. It’d be a waste to limit it to just a single-player experience. For now, the single-player version will only unlock the academy, a few major sect mountains, and some modern metropolises, with the rest restricted."

Chu Tingwu: "So, once the full map is complete, it’ll transition into a massive online game?"

Lead Designer smiled: "Exactly. The current single-player version is more of a pilot. We’ll also extract smaller maps from the main world to create standalone single-player spin-offs."

For example, a management sim. For Huan Yu Studios, creating a full-fledged VR management game would be effortless once the main map is done—just design the management mechanics. Players would finally see what a true VR management game looks like.

These smaller games would collectively build the cultivation IP Huan Yu is developing. By the time the MMO launches, there’d already be a cultivated audience.

The lead designer suggested Chu Tingwu take on an NPC role in the online version—

This character, named "Tingwu," would function as a rare encounter NPC, appearing randomly (meaning Chu Tingwu could log in as this NPC whenever she wanted). Her arrival would trigger a server-wide announcement, and she could freely roam the world, gifting players rare materials or weapons—the rules of distribution entirely up to her.

Of course, the real goal seemed to be getting Chu Tingwu involved in game design through this role.

The design team walked her through their process—

With so many NPCs and such a vast world, manually inputting data for each was impossible. Instead, they relied on "evolution": defining key NPCs and settings, then letting stories emerge naturally through interactions, eventually shaping the main questline.

"From our perspective, we can see the unfolding narrative. We pre-model player behavior as just another type of NPC influencing the story... until we finalize the main quest progression."

"Of course, with countless real players, some will inevitably make choices that diverge from the main path, even altering the game's future..."

Here, the lead designer sounded almost wistful:

"Sometimes, we feel like the game... is its own living world."

Suggesting Chu Tingwu play an NPC meant they’d already modeled her character’s role in this evolving story.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

Curious, she entered the VR pod and logged in with a special backend ID. When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing on a skyscraper’s rooftop, still in her original clothes.

Her interface now displayed several abilities—including the coveted "Sword Flight," something players still dreamed of unlocking.

She knew they’d already developed it!

Chu Tingwu decided to check her NPC profile—

【You seem to have appeared out of nowhere in the cultivation world. None know your origins or which sect you hail from. Once, you stormed Kunlun Mountain with enough treasure to found your own sect—yet faced no repercussions. Some speculate you’re from the Beast Taming Sect, as beasts naturally trust you, and you understand their speech...

After the Kunlun incident, you vanished, only occasionally resurfacing.

You claim to wander secret realms and immortal mountains at whim, appearing anywhere to anyone.

Many believe you possess limitless treasures. Yet disciples from Kunlun treat you with reverence, as if their divinations revealed something...】

Chu Tingwu: "Revealed what?"

She guessed the lore implied her character hadn’t truly disappeared—just living incognito, perhaps as an ordinary student or worker by day, exploring mystic realms by night. Maybe even vacationing on celestial islands. Behind the scenes, her status was formidable enough to cow even Kunlun.

Was the design team buttering up the boss with an overpowered NPC role? A bit late for that, and not very useful.

At the profile’s bottom was a lone skill, seemingly placed there just for her. It read:

【Summon】

Chu Tingwu had an inkling.

Standing at the rooftop’s edge, she selected the skill with a smile.

Golden light burst forth, the breeze warming peculiarly. Then, a massive form materialized—a radiant vermillion phoenix, its wings unfurling in a shower of luminous motes. It circled above her, its resplendent tail feathers trailing like celestial brushstrokes. Every hue in its plumage melded into harmonious brilliance, and its golden eyes held only her reflection.

The system chirped: "Chirp!"

Do phoenixes even sound like that?

Chu Tingwu laughed helplessly: "Phoenix..."

No, in a xianxia game, "Phoenix" would suffice.

An English name would feel out of place.

But the system clearly didn’t mind. It descended, gesturing for her to climb onto its back—

Chu Tingwu reached out and felt the touch of feathers beneath her palm,

() sensing the warmth radiating from the body in front of her. Eventually, she climbed onto the broad avian back, large enough for her to sprawl across entirely.

Once seated upright, she watched as the system soared into the sky. The humans below seemed oblivious, their vision shielded from the phoenix weaving through the city. But then, a cultivator passing by on a flying sword caught sight of the scene from a distance and nearly tumbled off their blade in shock.

Chu Tingwu flashed them a wide, beaming grin.

Huan Yu had truly created a game that took her by surprise.

It turned something intangible in reality—a mere program—into a tangible, living presence within the game. Though it couldn’t compare to the realism of the dream classroom, Chu Tingwu decided then and there that she was going to love this full-dive game.

Because now she could proudly show off to everyone: *Look, this is my system!*

Chu Tingwu: “I have a little guess about my character’s identity—”

The system cheerfully confirmed it: “That’s right! You’re my child!”

Who said a phoenix couldn’t give birth to a kitten?!

Back when they first bonded, the system had probably struggled to cross the line between “host and system,” acting more like a babysitter or a butler. But now, in the game, it declared boldly:

*“You’re my child!”*

Chu Tingwu: *Mhm!*

She decided—from this moment on—that she loved full-dive games!

They were *so* much fun!

---

Designer A: “If the boss of Phoenix wants to play games with Little Chu’s boss… well, them spawning as random NPCs together isn’t *that* weird.”

Designer B: “But *why* would someone choose to play as a *mount*?!”

Sure, the lore established a familial connection, but at first glance, it was just a mount—one that couldn’t even shapeshift into a human!

The entire team was scratching their heads in bewilderment. *Why?!*