“After placing the third set of tables and chairs, the activity space for the pet staff has shrunk.”
Having saved enough to buy the third set of tables and chairs, Qu Yuan frowned as she looked at the shop area.
The previous two sets of furniture fit just right—not crowded nor empty.
But adding the third set suddenly narrowed the space, giving off a somewhat oppressive feeling.
Qu Yuan opened the renovation feature, moving furniture around inside the shop.
With the three sets of tables and chairs and two pet staff, Qu Yuan finally earned enough to buy a third pet employee.
Eagerly, she entered the pet shop. There, she found many fuzzy creatures—the same ones she first saw when starting the game.
The pet shop was packed with these fluffy animals, varying in appearance and color, and priced both high and low.
Now, Qu Yuan’s funds only allowed her to purchase a cheap pet employee.
She quickly chose a tabby cat, and when it appeared in her shop, her heart melted.
Hastily, she scooped the tabby cat into her arms, petting it as she opened the store to buy living supplies for the new pet staff.
Bowls for food and water, toys, and a cozy nest—after purchasing all, her account balance dropped to double digits, yet she felt very happy.
Petting the fluffy creatures, Qu Yuan whispered, “If only the shop were bigger, so I could separate a customer reception area and a play zone for the pet employees.”
As soon as she said this, she received a mission: 【Serve one thousand customers within five days to expand the shop area.】
Qu Yuan’s eyes lit up immediately. “This is fantastic!”
In the following days, Qu Yuan meticulously tended to her pet employees’ stats.
High stats could bring extra tips; low stats would sharply reduce customer spending or even prevent spending altogether.
This lesson came from the forum—a newbie player’s bitter experience.
Every player earns only modest money at first, with pet supplies being necessary store expenses.
However, not every player cared for their pet employees like Qu Yuan did.
Some players noticed their pet staff’s stats dropping from green to red, but not to zero, and thought, “Let’s not feed them.”
Though the pets had low stats, they didn’t die.
These players rejoiced, thinking they saved on unnecessary early expenses.
But soon, regret set in.
With pet stats too low, they refused to attend customers; no customer spending meant no income.
Worse, low fullness, hydration, and mood dragged down even the usually stable health stat.
Pets with low health got sick, requiring treatment—a significant expense.
But the player lacked funds to pay for pet medical care.
Over time, the system declared the player bankrupt and repossessed their shop.
That player never expected their early stinginess would trigger such a disastrous chain reaction.
He posted on the forum, regretting his actions and begging for another chance.
Other players sighed but didn’t pity him—not because they were heartless, but because he had the chance to make amends but didn’t act until it was too late.
His behavior served as a valuable cautionary tale.
The takeaway: When profit conflicts with pet staff welfare, prioritize the pets’ well-being.
After all, they form the foundation of the shop’s operation; one must not put the cart before the horse.
Sure enough, following the proper pace, Qu Yuan successfully served one thousand customers within five days, earning the chance to enlarge her shop’s area.
With the expansion, the previously cramped three sets of tables and chairs filled just a corner of the shop.
Even adding the counter and various pet supplies, the shop still felt spacious.
“Expanding the shop makes the mood much better. Now I can finally designate separate zones for customer reception and pet play.”
Saying this, Qu Yuan opened the game store, starting to select suitable partitions.
As for upcoming gameplay, it was simple: buy more sets of increasingly expensive furniture, host more customers, earn more money, and provide better lives for the pet staff, repeating this cycle.
Clearly a straightforward game formula, yet for players like Qu Yuan, it was pure enjoyment.
Because they could gain profound emotional satisfaction.
For example, Qu Yuan yearned to own many fluffy pets and make them happy—if they were joyful, she was joyful.
Elsewhere, player Ying Jia lounged on the sofa attending customers, cradling her fluffy pets, occasionally nuzzling them with delight filling her face.
“I’m so glad I started this game; otherwise, I might have missed out on you all.”
This thought filled Ying Jia with bittersweetness and fear.
Unlike Qu Yuan, who actively sought Jiang Rong’s new game, Ying Jia was just one among many on the Carnival platform.
She chanced upon “Home of Adorable Pets.”
With so many tournament entries on Carnival, and so many players, nobody could try every game.
Most players chose games based on instinct.
Ying Jia wasn’t looking for a specific game but estimated that games from well-known developers were usually higher quality.
Jiang Rong was not well known—at least Ying Jia hadn’t heard the name or found it familiar.
But just as she prepared to choose a game from a famous developer, she unexpectedly noticed the cover of “Home of Adorable Pets.”
The cover featured a group of soft, cute furry animals, styled in bright, joyful colors—standing out starkly from the surrounding dark-themed covers.
Drawn by this uniqueness, Ying Jia clicked into “Home of Adorable Pets.”
Initially, she hoped the game wouldn’t disappoint, but upon playing, she discovered she’d found a gem.
The game wonderfully depicted all the adorable pets shown on the cover.
Moreover, their behaviors weren’t robotic; each pet had a distinct personality—some clingy, some quiet, some aloof.
When customers arrived, they served them well; when no customers were present, they roamed the shop as if patrolling their territory.
Just like… real pets.
Playing the game felt like truly owning a shop with a group of furry pet employees.
“Now that we’re earning money, you all can eat better,” Ying Jia said, buying better food and water for her pet staff in the store.
After purchase, she opened the grain bags and water bottles, serving food and water to each pet’s bowl.
Then she looked up and unexpectedly saw a small, scruffy creature outside.
It was a kitten, tiny and extremely thin; Ying Jia could clearly see its emaciated belly.
Its fur was dirty and unkempt—not even close to the neat, clean pets inside.
Ying Jia was stunned, spilling the water from her hands without noticing.
“Oh my, where did this little one come from? How pitiful.” Ying Jia snapped back to reality and hurried outside carrying food and water.
The little creature bristled in fright as if ready to run away.
Seeing this, Ying Jia slowed her steps, not rushing forward. She pulled out a piece of jerky and gently tossed it toward the little one.
The creature crouched, seeming to sniff the food, cautiously inching closer.
Once it confirmed Ying Jia remained still, it swallowed the piece in one bite.
Seizing the chance, Ying Jia threw another piece; the little one kept eating.
Unconsciously, the little one came right up to Ying Jia.
This time, Ying Jia gave it a handful of jerky and some water.
“Eat slowly, I have plenty more,” Ying Jia said kindly.
Obvious from its ravenous hunger, the little one devoured heartily.
Tentatively, Ying Jia touched the top of its head with her fingertip. The little one whimpered but did not flinch—accepting her touch.
Once it was full, Ying Jia gently stroked the creature.
She took the little one back inside the shop and saw its health gauge was very low—it was clearly sick.
“I’m taking it to the pet clinic. You all behave here,” Ying Jia instructed her pet staff, holding the little one carefully.
Fortunately, the pet employees wouldn’t leave the shop, allowing her to exit with peace of mind.
Though the pet hospital wasn’t far, this was Ying Jia’s first visit—after all, her pet employees had never been ill.
She knew the hospital existed before but never thought she’d have any dealings with it—never imagined this day would come.
Arriving at the clinic, she found the vet who examined the little one quickly.
“It’s suffering from malnutrition caused by long-term homelessness and common parasitic diseases in pets,” the vet diagnosed.
Ying Jia was stunned. “Long-term homelessness? Why would there be homeless pets?”
“There are generally two cases for roaming pets—either they wandered away by accident, or were abandoned by owners. The latter is far more common,” the vet said with pity.
“Abandoned pets? Seriously?” Ying Jia was dazed. In the Interstellar era, pets should be cherished—how could anyone abandon them?
“Not everyone takes full responsibility for their pets. They shower them with love while they want to, but abandon them mercilessly when they don’t,” the vet sighed.
Suddenly, Ying Jia realized something; her eyes flickered. “Are there many pet owners?”
“Many, but correspondingly, if they stop wanting to care for them, the number of stray animals rises.”
Ying Jia finally understood—the world setting in “Home of Adorable Pets” differs from the real Interstellar situation.
In the real Interstellar, most species are extinct. The surviving animals are precious treasures, cherished and protected.
But in the game’s worldview, pets are common and ordinary to humans. Once their numbers rise, many neglect them.
And the people of the Interstellar era treat animals as treasures—proof that rarity creates value.
Ying Jia could easily imagine: should the real Interstellar pet population grow so abundant they lose their cherished status, strays like those in the game would certainly appear.
“I am powerless outside the game, but inside it, I can make a difference,” Ying Jia whispered, resolved.
“Doctor, may I make this little one a pet employee in my shop?” Ying Jia asked the vet.
“That will require more thorough cleaning and treatment. Otherwise, if it infects your shop’s other pets or customers, it could get problematic,” the vet warned.
Ying Jia smiled. “If that’s possible, that’s fine.”
Even if it meant a hefty expense that depleted all her current funds, Ying Jia was still happy.
She brought the refreshed little one back to the shop and announced, “This is our new member. Let’s all get along well.”
After settling the matter, Ying Jia posted about it on the forum, strongly condemning owners who abandon their pets.
Other players felt aching sympathy.
“That poor little one. If you’d chosen to care for them, take responsibility till the end.”
“Exactly. If you don’t want them anymore, find a new owner. There are always people who want pets. Yet some cruelly let them fend for themselves.”
“If a stray like that showed up at my shop’s door, I’d adopt it and give it a home.”
Reading these words, Ying Jia replied, “The cost of treating and cleaning stray pets is about the same as buying new ones in the pet shop. Please think carefully before deciding.”
She feared some players might think adopting strays was easy, but upon learning the difficulty, might be unable to bear the disappointment.
“Understood. I’ll seriously consider it, thank you for the heads-up,” a thoughtful player replied gratefully.
Although strays appeared infrequently, they were more like Easter eggs in the game compared to the usual method of buying pet staff.
Whenever they appeared, players—without exception—would adopt them.