The System Mistook Me for a Cat

Chapter 225

Xia Guang had just gotten off work when she saw the message from her cousin, unexpectedly asking about the "Antarctic Cup."

Though Xia Guang was a correspondent for the sports channel, her family wasn’t particularly interested in athletics. Her parents had their own careers, and in her memory, her cousin was very much a "real-life enjoyer"—not into gaming, TV shows, or novels, but someone who saved up money to travel, especially fond of road trips.

That her cousin would suddenly take an interest in such a niche extreme sport was something Xia Guang hadn’t anticipated.

Xia Guang replied: "The Antarctic Cup doesn’t start until April. Did you see some promotion about it?"

Her cousin’s voice crackled over the phone: "It’s a cruise discount! I checked—the company sponsoring the competition seems to have partnered with a cruise line. They’re running a lottery for Antarctic travel tickets, spread over four months!"

It was currently December. From January to April, 100 winners would be drawn each month. The prerequisites included sharing promotional posts, completing a basic quiz about Antarctica, and answering questions related to "skiing."

Her cousin was stumped by the latter and, after some digging, discovered that Xia Guang had once interviewed Chu Tingwu—hence the call for advice.

Xia Guang was surprised. "This marketing push is…"

Wu Voice Group often gave her the impression that they couldn’t be bothered to chase profits. She knew, of course, that the company’s cash flow was healthy, bolstered by national support and core technological advantages, so bankruptcy wasn’t a concern.

But the deeper she looked, the more she noticed how the company indulged in seemingly "wasteful, CEO-pleasing" decisions. Having met the CEO in person, Xia Guang doubted these moves came from Chu Tingwu herself.

If it were up to Chu Tingwu, promoting the event would’ve likely meant a livestream or a charity drive at most.

After answering her cousin’s questions, Xia Guang scrolled through her social feed. Though it wasn’t flooded, she noticed many friends—who’d never shown interest in extreme sports—sharing related posts. And judging by their varied captions, they’d each stumbled upon the promotion through different channels.

Some had discovered it while buying electronics, where sharing the campaign earned them discount coupons.

Others found it through video games, where answering quiz questions unlocked in-game rewards like titles or skins.

A few had spotted it while topping up their streaming service VIP memberships—following the event granted them free trial extensions. A small effort for a freebie.

One friend even posted a photo: their usual cat food brand now featured promotional packaging, with a chubby kitten in a ski suit, mid-descent down a snowy peak.

Skiing, though high-barrier in practice, was easy to appreciate—just not always accessible, given the scarcity of nearby slopes, which deterred many potential enthusiasts.

"But now," Xia Guang mused, "there are full-dive VR pods."

Thanks to government subsidies, most financially independent young people in the country saved up to buy one. Meanwhile, in America, only select high-end hotels offered them—with strict access controls.

She opened the New Plum app, skimming the trending headlines… and her heart skipped a beat.

She remembered interviewing Chu Tingwu, who’d once joked that she must love gaming, given how her company had revolutionized play and live streaming.

Chu Tingwu had shaken her head then:

"I’m not actually obsessed with games. I only play when my company releases something new, or when friends drag me into a match."

Xia Guang had nodded in understanding. "So real life is fulfilling enough that virtual worlds don’t hold as much appeal?"

Chu Tingwu paused. "Well…"

"No," she finally said, smiling. "It’s because I can already do in real life what most games only simulate. That’s why they don’t grip me as much."

In truth, she was just an average gamer.

Except in reality, she could scale walls and leap rooftops—better than any in-game character.

Xia Guang whispered, "She really did it…"

From VR live streams to semi-immersive gaming, price cuts to broaden accessibility, and multi-pronged marketing—ordinary people could now experience the thrill of extreme sports digitally, whether or not they ever tried them in real life. At the very least, it gave them a starting point.

This might be the golden age of extreme sports.

And the one leading the charge seemed unaware—whether by her own design or with others’ help, change unfolded steadily around her.

The world was transforming, methodically and surely.

The thought alone filled Xia Guang with exhilaration.

—

Coach Wen Su was exhilarated too.

As the newly appointed head coach of China’s alpine skiing national team, he suspected his role was temporary—his Polish predecessor had recently left, and he’d likely just fill the gap.

Still, he was determined to scout talent. Compared to other, more visually appealing skiing disciplines, alpine skiing remained niche. But over the past few months, after Chu Tingwu shattered the downhill record, it had surged into public consciousness.

Coach Wen immediately reached out to her.

He’d studied every skiing clip of hers beforehand, only to be struck with dismay: Chu Tingwu had first made waves in sports at 15, yet her formative years lacked professional training—her record-breaking run was pure, raw talent.

When they spoke, Chu Tingwu admitted her edge lay in her unique physical gifts and some "professional" training (Coach Wen doubted that) in Antarctica. Most crucially, she had no plans to join the national team.

Coach Wen sighed.

Her snowboarding skills were remarkable, and her endurance runs kept breaking records—yet she wasn’t interested in specializing in winter sports, rock climbing, or skateboarding either.

Her reason? "I want to try a bit of everything."

Coach Wen pressed: "Don’t you want Olympic gold?"

For your country, or yourself? At just 18, she had decades ahead—many winter athletes competed well into their forties. With proper training, she could amass world titles and push her limits further.

He wasn’t just chasing a prodigy to bolster his resume; he genuinely feared she’d regret it years later, having turned away from this grueling yet glorious path.

…Especially since she’d refused so swiftly.

Wouldn’t she reconsider?

He couldn’t even take the "parental approach" to persuade her because he had discovered—this child had been acting as her own guardian for years. The only adult with any real authority in her life wasn’t biologically related, making any advice from them unofficial at best.

Chu Tingwu: "Competition means defeating your opponents under rules set by others. But the kind of competition I want is defeating myself under rules I set."

Coach Wen sensed her resolve but also had a vague feeling that Chu Tingwu’s refusal might simply be because the events he mentioned didn’t strike her as "exciting or fun enough." These extreme sports types—sigh.

Still, Chu Tingwu surprised him by suggesting he try using games to scout talent.

Previously, they’d recruited athletes through specialized institutions, internal recommendations, family-supported training, or athletes proactively seeking out the national team. No matter the method, the channels were relatively narrow.

But *In Progress* was different. This deceptively simple-named game now boasted a massive player base, with its skiing rhythm game often hitting six-digit concurrent users. By picking candidates from the top of the leaderboard, they might miss some geniuses who didn’t adapt to this format, but they’d undoubtedly uncover plenty of surprises.

After her competition, Chu Tingwu took a break to prepare for her December trip to Antarctica. Meanwhile, Coach Wen barely rested after the game’s launch—mobilizing the entire coaching staff to review footage, contact players, evaluate, and deliberate.

Eventually, Chu Tingwu helped by creating an in-game event where players could upload videos and receive likes, with rankings based on engagement. It lightened the workload slightly.

Though he hadn’t secured her participation, Coach Wen didn’t seem to have truly given up. He extended another olive branch, asking if she’d consider… online skill training.

Chu Tingwu couldn’t make it to the national team for in-person coaching, but that didn’t stop them from providing remote training—correcting her form digitally and strategizing for competitions.

Notably, one of the invited athletes was an Olympic gold medalist from the national team’s alpine skiing squad. Due to scheduling conflicts, she’d declined the Antarctic Cup invitation.

But after her own training sessions, she still found time to log into the game and challenge Chu Tingwu to a few rounds.

Before leaving home, Chu Tingwu played one last game, carrying the blessings of friends and family—and the family’s system, aka *the cat*—as she boarded the plane to Antarctica.

Her journey began at Robuina Port, where she’d meet the other competitors before boarding a ship, then a vehicle, joining them for a four-month "environmental adaptation" period.

…And daily online classes.

The twenty athletes hailed from nearly as many countries, but most were seasoned international competitors who could communicate basics even without translators. Some were even multilingual.

Given their physiques, altitude sickness shouldn’t have been an issue. But Antarctica’s unique geography and climate demanded caution, so the group took twice as long as Chu Tingwu’s previous trip to reach Dragon Lake Station—just to ensure everyone acclimated properly.

And yet, spirits were high.

Merris, the British competitor who’d grown close to Chu Tingwu, whispered, "I’ve skied under the Arctic auroras before. Now I’ll do the same in Antarctica, with all of you beside me. Just thinking about it makes me so happy."

Perhaps because extreme sports lack rigid scoring brackets, the athletes cared more about surpassing their personal bests, making the atmosphere far more harmonious than traditional competitions.

Chu Tingwu also reunited with Rex, Louise, and others. She took the opportunity to share Shao Lingwu’s rearranged version of a song with Rex—

It was a folk tune from Rex’s homeland, now reorchestrated with new instruments, giving it a more powerful sound.

Rex adored it. Even if he still sang off-key.

But since he and Chu Tingwu weren’t in the same vehicle, the cat simply shut her ears.

By the time Chu Tingwu arrived at Dragon Lake Station, it was already January of the new year.

Her nineteenth birthday passed quietly—or not so quietly, given the vehicle’s cramped quarters.

Though few fellow Chinese travelers were aboard, coincidentally, those who were happened to be her employees. With unstable internet preventing her from attending Wu Voice Group’s New Year gala remotely, Chu Tingwu compensated by handing out red packets in person on Antarctic soil.

Patting each on the shoulder or head, she intoned solemnly, "Let’s strive together."

When they finally reached Dragon Lake Station, the re

[*Nearly 10 hours to wait (shocked!) (deeply disappointed) (storms off)*]

[I’m a bit worried about Chu Chu. We only have to wait ten hours, but she’s stuck waiting ten hours under the weight of anxiety and tension, the last one to set off… Even though each contestant’s time is counted separately, just idling like this before the competition must mess with performance, right?]

Chu Tingwu didn’t think so.

When speculating about her state, the audience always forgot one crucial detail: she wasn’t just a competitor—she was also the event organizer’s top boss.

Contestants in the waiting area weren’t allowed to watch live feeds of others’ performances, so internet access was restricted. But food, drinks, fitness equipment, leisure items, and even training spaces were all freely available.

After some digging, viewers actually found a split-screen feature in the livestream. Not only could they check the real-time status and location of competing skiers, but they could also peek at what the others still waiting were up to.

Some realized this might also be proof that Chu Tingwu wasn’t leveraging her position for special treatment… right?

Huh?

The four lowest-ranked contestants were playing cards on camera.

That alone wouldn’t have been unusual, but the atmosphere in Chu Tingwu’s livestream felt oddly serene—almost *too* serene. And her card game stats were… unnervingly terrifying.

A mountain of chips towered in front of her, while the other three players had gone glassy-eyed, their hands moving mechanically as they drew cards.

Viewers: “……”

Was their contestant from Hua Nation planning to eliminate a few rivals *before* the competition even started?

Staff who caught the surveillance footage: “……”

Everyone was being livestreamed to ensure fairness, to prove that the boss’s results—whatever they might be—were earned by her own skill. But *this*? This was just luck at cards!

---

Nine hours later, Chu Tingwu geared up and stood at the starting line.

The drone following her hovered diagonally above. The system had muted itself, but when she looked up, the drone dipped slightly lower—as if nodding in acknowledgment.

A faint smile crossed her lips as she felt the Antarctic chill seep through her gear. Her gaze fixed on the distance ahead—

In her mind, the scenes from dream training flashed: the route she’d attempted countless times but never completed; the segmented practice runs where no one had finished the full course; and the complex, quietly proud expression of her mentor, Mo Qiao, when she returned to Dragon Lake Station, all overlapping like a single frame.

She had come, as promised.

The race began!

No competitors beside her, no one behind—she was the last to set off, and now… the race began!

She pushed forward, skis cutting downward. At the same moment, in the semi-holographic game *In Progress*, the newly unlocked “Antarctica” map—previously view-only—activated. Players couldn’t approach, but in the distance, a fully geared skier launched into motion.

Simultaneously, the AR projection at the southern expanse of Shanwan Ranch *moved*. Flecks of light formed distant snow-capped peaks and auroras streaking the sky. Beneath them, the lone skier who had been waiting atop the virtual summit finally took off.

At the same time, *On the Ranch* aired a new episode. The cat guides on their Antarctic team-building trip were cozied up by the fire when suddenly, pairs of feline eyes pressed against the window. The snowstorm had cleared, and outside, an unfamiliar yet faintly recognizable cat on twin skis shot past—nothing but a shrinking silhouette racing down the mountain.

The cats huddled together, watching that tiny dot in the blizzard, murmuring:

“We’ve definitely met her before.”

“Should we follow?”

“Hurry! Let’s catch up!”

“If you’re cold, we can form a bundle—I’ll be the head, you take the tail!”

“—No way, meow!”

Chu Tingwu spread her arms.

For a heartbeat, she was airborne—seeming to plummet into the snow—but her skis carved deep into the powder, twin blades splitting the earth, leaving behind cuts as precise as a master’s engraving.

Beside her tracks, countless others marked the paths of those who had come before.

But she would catch up.

Even if she started last.

She would catch up.