Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 6

“First: total secrecy—no outsiders can know about Xiao Yu’s special condition.

Second: internal observation—figure out the pattern and traits of her human transformations.

Third: keep typing—this mess mustn’t affect the new book’s schedule or quality.”

Ai Qing opened a fresh document in his outlining app, sorted his thoughts, and set the tone for handling the “Xiao Yu-turns-human” incident.

In four words: wait and watch.

First he had to know—was her flip from cat to human a passive accident, or could she control it?

Even if she could, she was still a kitten who didn’t speak human language; he had no way to ask her to pick her moments.

Which meant, even if it was voluntary, he couldn’t get her to cooperate.

Headache material.

Was he supposed to set aside time and teach her to read whenever she sprouted limbs?

She only stayed human for a few minutes—what could you accomplish in that?

Nothing.

Ai Qing sighed at his laptop.

Xiao Yu, playing nearby, didn’t grasp the hassle. After clawing the scratch-post she hopped onto the desk, rubbed her head against his chin, then curled up on his lap.

His hand stroked her back on autopilot—then the memory flashed: the smooth pale skin... the slim waist... the generous view from above...

His fingers slid lower, halfway down her thighs, before he yanked his hand away, scooped her up, and awkwardly dumped her on the bed.

Damn it, Ai Qing—get a grip.

He adjusted his waistband, sat down, and drew a long breath that did nothing to cool his head.

3:30 p.m. No need to see the shrink now.

If Xiao Yu really had turned human, the hallucination theory was dead.

He cancelled the appointment on his phone, stood up, and went for a run to burn off the adrenaline.

...

That night he parked himself in the living-room with his laptop, locked Xiao Yu in the bedroom, and squeezed out another chapter.

Saved draft count: plus one.

After scheduling tomorrow’s upload, he skimmed the comments on the new title.

His last book had been mediocre, but it had earned a handful of followers.

A plug in the old story and a notice in his thirty-member reader group pushed tonight’s bookmark count past 100.

At barely 10,000 words, though, the novel needed 40–70k before the site would even consider a recommendation slot.

Crappy data could kill his shot at the first trial promo.

Those opening chapters would shape the rest of his senior year—and maybe his whole future.

Enough brooding. Work done, brain off.

He carried the laptop back to the bedroom. Xiao Yu trotted over, meowing as if to ask why he’d deserted her to write elsewhere.

Hah.

Your fault, kitty.

Notebook stowed, he launched Genshin for his daily fifteen-minute resin burn, then scrolled short videos until bedtime.

Habit made him start undressing right there in the bedroom—until he spotted Xiao Yu sitting on the floor, eyes fixed on him.

The thought of the pretty girl she’d become turned his ears hot.

For once he was shy.

Fine—change in the bathroom.

He grabbed his pajamas.

Pit-pat of paws behind him; no need to look—she was following again.

She always shadowed him toward the restroom, sometimes darting between his feet when the door opened.

Like now.

The moment the door swung wide she dove for the gap.

Usually he blocked her with a foot.

Tonight his left leg froze mid-kick—how do you boot a girl you just pictured in human form?

He withdrew the foot, stepped inside, bent down, and—both hands, formal as a butler—carried her out.

Door shut, he met her wistful stare and the little paws scraping the wood.

People say they “love cats like children,” yet it’s still ownership.

Only when your cat actually becomes a person do you notice you never truly respected her.

Not that a cat needs human dignity... right?

He rubbed his face, shelved the dilemma, showered, tossed the laundry in the machine, and climbed into bed with his phone.

Time to spam the reader group.

[Zhuanjiao Huakai]: Quick poll—

[Zhuanjiao Huakai]: If your cat turned into a cute girl but kept feline brainwaves, what would you do?

[Feng Qingyue]: Do her, obviously.

[Zui Hanqianzhou]: Plot-hunting for the next book already?

[Nanfeng]: Let me guess—your cat became a beauty, and for 50 yuan you’ll send pics?

[Zhuanjiao Huakai]: ...

Useless lot.

Lights out.

...

3:30 a.m.

Moonlight slicked the room like water.

Ai Qing felt the nightmare clamp down—body pinned, lungs shrinking, a classic case of sleep paralysis.

He fought the sweat-slick sheets—

—and shot upright.

“What the hell—!”

Two mismatched eyes blazed in the dark, sapphire and amber, inches from his nose.

He nearly jumped out of his skin.