Xia Lening couldn’t sit still.
After confirming that Gu Yucheng had gone back to sleep again, he patrolled the entire territory and gave Gu Yucheng’s home a rating of “extremely boring,” before swishing his tail and returning to the balcony to call for Wangcai.
After all, Wangcai was the only living thing nearby that could talk to him.
Wangcai strolled out slowly. “Xiao Zhu isn’t home during the day. Why don’t you come to my place and play?”
Xiao Zhu was Wangcai’s “cooperative partner.” By day, he was a drained salaryman programmer; by night, he transformed into a pet blogger.
This was Xia Lening’s deduction based on Wangcai’s description: “During the day, he uses a big glowing claw board to tap-tap-tap at work; at night, he uses a small glowing claw board to shine light at me.”
The “claw board” was most likely what humans called a keyboard.
Xia Lening sincerely mourned Xiao Zhu’s computer and phone.
He poked his head out. “How do I get to your place?”
With his current tiny body, he couldn’t reach doorknobs, and he couldn’t even jump onto the balcony railing.
“You could just jump—” Wangcai started, then paused, looking him over before suddenly realizing something.
Xia Lening bristled slightly. “I was just born. I’ll grow.”
Wangcai nodded, not sure whether he believed him. Then he stepped back and leapt lightly onto his own railing.
Xia Lening looked up at the tall, graceful figure and felt deep envy. He silently vowed that he too would become such a majestic cat one day.
Wangcai effortlessly jumped over to his side and lowered himself. “Get on. I’ll carry you over.”
Without hesitation, Xia Lening climbed onto the fluffy back. “Be careful, don’t drop me.”
“How could I possibly drop you?”
Wangcai moved smoothly between the two balconies.
Xia Lening experienced a full roller-coaster ride and meowed nonstop from excitement.
Wangcai’s home was a cat paradise—an entire wall of climbing structures, vine-woven tunnels, and another wall covered in scratching boards that made even Xia Lening’s claws itch.
He played there all afternoon, completely lost in joy.
At night, Wangcai carried him back again, watching him leave with worried eyes.
He had never met such a foolish cat before. Its fur was messy, it got stuck on scratching boards, and it even fell when jumping from low heights.
Meanwhile, Xia Lening had no idea about any of this. He was already planning how to make Gu Yucheng build him a cat amusement park.
When he returned, he immediately ran into Gu Yucheng in a suit, ready to go out.
“Hey, Gu-surname,” Xia Lening shouted, “install me a climbing wall.”
Gu Yucheng, expressionless, adjusted his watch. “Cat food is already poured. It’s over there.”
“Your fever’s still not gone. Why are you dressed like that? Going to seduce someone?”
Gu Yucheng ignored him and left, shutting the door.
Xia Lening stared at the closed door and muttered a few curses, then suddenly remembered—
Chen Wenlu had told Gu Yucheng to go home for dinner that night.
Oh. Then nothing unusual.
The Gu family dinners were always boring. A fake harmonious family performance by three pretenders.
Xia Lening dragged out the cleaning robot, turned it on, and lay on top of it while drifting into thought, replaying everything since becoming a cat.
Suddenly, he jumped down.
He still hadn’t watched his esports tournament—what a loss!
There should be a livestream, or at least a replay.
He pushed a small stool over, climbed onto Gu Yucheng’s desk, and opened the computer with practiced ease, typing in the password just as smoothly.
“Beep beep!”
Password incorrect!
Xia Lening frowned and carefully recalled the password Gu Yucheng had once told him.
It was correct.
Maybe he misclicked?
He straightened up and tried again carefully.
“Beep beep!”
Password incorrect!
That damned Gu Yucheng had changed it again!
Why change passwords?!
A strange thought rose in his mind. He straightened again and slowly typed the date of the car accident.
“Click!”
Password incorrect!
Alright. At least Gu Yucheng hadn’t gone completely insane.
Defeated, Xia Lening slunk away.
Meanwhile, at the Gu family dinner, Gu Yucheng received a photo.
A close-up shot of an angry little cat’s face.
He paused, then chuckled softly.
It was the automatic snapshot triggered by three failed password attempts on his laptop.
Originally, he had set it up to prank Xia Lening again—but instead, it had caught his cat.
He opened a hidden album and scrolled to a similar close-up photo of Xia Lening.
In the image, the teenager’s hair was slightly messy, black strands sticking up at his forehead as if blown by wind—or irritatedly ruffled by his own hands. His eyes were wide, cheeks slightly puffed, lips pressed into a straight line, like he had a dozen things to say but forced them down.
Gu Yucheng lightly touched the clear eyes on the screen.
It was the “evidence photo” from high school—taken when Xia Lening had entered the wrong password three times in a row.
Back then, Gu Yucheng had been in a speech competition. He was the last speaker and had been waiting backstage, bored.
He had wondered what Xia Lening was doing. He wanted to see him.
Without realizing it, he had already initiated a video call.
The ringtone rang three times and was hung up. A message followed.
Xia Lening: [?]
Xia Lening: [Are you crazy?]
Gu Yucheng: [Important matter.]
Xia Lening: [Speak.]
In truth, there was no important matter. He just wanted a video call.
But he knew Xia Lening wouldn’t agree, so he settled for a phone call instead.
This time, Xia Lening picked up.
“What imperial decree is this?”
Gu Yucheng relaxed in his seat, idly flipping his speech稿.
“I brought the wrong speech draft.”
“Congratulations,” Xia Lening said cheerfully.
“Can you send me mine from your computer?”
“No.”
Not surprising.
Gu Yucheng lowered himself slightly, trying to prolong the call.
“Please.”
There was a pause on the other end—probably regret that he hadn’t recorded that.
Rustling sounds came through.
“Begging requires attitude.”
Gu Yucheng guessed he had turned on speaker and was changing clothes.
“I’ll do your chores for the next few days.”
During summer break, both of Xia Lening’s parents went abroad. Xia Xiaoyao interned at the company and gave all household staff paid leave, calling it “training survival skills.”
Cook yourself, wash dishes yourself, dry clothes yourself.
If they discovered he hired help, they would cut off his travel funds.
Resistance was useless.
So he washed dishes obediently.
But within three days, he was already exhausted.
The kitchen was chaos, dishes piled up, clothes forgotten in the laundry basket.
Gu Yucheng’s offer felt like divine light.
“Are you going to snitch to my sister?” Xia Lening asked.
“I’m not as childish as you.”
“You talk again and I’m deleting your speech file.”
Gu Yucheng leaned against the door at the Gu residence, greeting the servant, then entered the room and sat at the computer.
“What’s the password? You don’t have any ‘study materials’ in there, right?”
Gu Yucheng casually gave a string of numbers.
“Wrong password. Whose computer did you steal?”
He tried again, claiming he had “recently changed it.”
Still wrong.
“You should stop competing in speech contests and go see a psychiatrist. Memory loss is early dementia.”
“You’re only two months younger. Let’s go together sometime.”
“Password.”
Another fake password attempt.
A photo arrived.
The angry cat close-up.
He laughed.
And finally, he paid for it—seven days of servitude later, until he went to Turkey.
To prove sincerity, he had once brought all devices to Xia Lening’s home and entered every password in front of him.
Completely transparent. A sincere reform.
But Xia Lening had pretended not to care—while memorizing every single one.
A cough pulled him back.
“Why are you looking at your phone during dinner?” Chen Wenlu said coldly.
The illusion faded.
He sat at a long dining table under crystal lights, every dish glowing too perfectly.
Too refined. Too fake.
“Quit your law job and come back to Hengxiang internship. You’ll inherit the family anyway.”
Gu Yucheng ignored him completely.
He merged the cat’s face and Xia Lening’s close-up photo, then posted it to a private-only moment.
Caption: “Biological.”