Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 9

It must have been the year before last when a survival novel called *Survival in the Underground* blew up on one of the web-novel platforms.

Within weeks the whole “survival” craze had infected every major site, Qidian Reading included.

Raft survival, shelter survival—titles sprouted like bamboo after rain.

One author, Qingshan Xu, had jumped on the bandwagon last year with a shelter-apocalypse story.

His hook: a cheat system that let the hero hoard supplies and lord an easy sense of safety, accomplishment, and superiority over everyone else.

With plenty of templates to copy, the book shattered his personal record of flops—2,000 first-month subs at launch, climbing to 3,000 after it went premium, finally earning Qidian’s Premium Badge.

Monthly royalties averaged 10,000 yuan; during one frantic “burst-update” push he even cleared 20,000.

But he’d burned through his plot too fast. Around the 500- to 600-thousand-word mark the story collapsed, follower stats nosedived, and the average sub count slipped below 3,000.

At roughly 700k words he simply abandoned it—an official “eunuch.”

Ai Qing, a regular reader, reached the abrupt end and couldn’t resist venting in the comments.

Qingshan Xu shot back: “Think you can do better? Be my guest.”

That single retort planted the seed of “why not try?”

The writer himself had no idea that Zhuanjiao Huakai—the pen name Ai Qing now used—had once been the reader he’d told off.

Qingshan Xu just loved holding court in a small QQ group of a few dozen authors.

Anytime someone launched a new book, he’d swoop in as the “Premium-badge author” to lecture them.

In reality, since orphaning that one hit he’d crashed and burned with three straight flops.

His newest title—released two days before Ai Qing’s—rode the current fad for “simulator” genres.

The two books would almost certainly compete on the same new-release list.

Ai Qing, however, hated pointless spats.

He skimmed the chat, said nothing, and went invisible to enjoy the popcorn.

[Bai Tang Zhan Cu]: I once read a guide Peach Jam wrote on dog-food romance.

[Bai Tang Zhan Cu]: He claims the bar for a “cheat system” in dog-food is super low.

Basically, the “special female lead” is the male lead’s cheat.

So, he concluded, Zhuanjiao’s gimmick—turning the heroine into a cat—might actually work.

The only risk: once the information gap closes and the cat secret’s out, the tension evaporates and the story could unravel fast.

This Bai Tang Zhan Cu was the sole 10k-sub author in the group.

Even at a relaxed four thousand words a day, he pulled thirty-odd thousand yuan a month.

He’d started in fan-fiction before switching to mainstream fantasy; the recent boom of fluffy, slice-of-life “dog-food” light novels wasn’t really his lane.

Peach Jam, on the other hand, was a minor celebrity in that niche.

Ai Qing had loved his *Senior, Stop It!*

Bai Tang’s casual remark suddenly lit a bulb over Ai Qing’s head.

This was his first dog-food story; the previous book had been pure everyday life with zero romance.

He’d been running on instinct.

Now, scribble-crazy, he hurried to the bedroom, flipped open his laptop, and captured the spark before lunch made him forget.

He wrote himself into a frenzy; when he finally surfaced it was already 1 p.m.

He sprinted to the kitchen, seared a steak and some chicken breast, blanched a few broccoli florets, and carried the plate to the dining table.

Xiao Yu was already crouched beside the automatic feeder, tail twitching in protest.

“Meow!”

Lunch was usually served at twelve; an hour’s delay was an outrage.

“All right, all right—apologies accepted?”

Ai Qing triggered the feeder, topped up her supplements, and sat down to his own belated lunch.

Between bites he opened QQ and went invisible again, scrolling the back-chat.

Nothing new—just Qingshan Xu predicting doom.

Ai Qing preferred results to arguments.

He closed the app and hunted down a spicy political-commentary video to go with the meal.

Halfway through, someone knocked.

He swallowed a chunk of chicken, walked to the front door, and found Xiao Youqian.

“You’re still eating?” She glanced toward the dining table.

“Ran late today,” Ai Qing said. “What’s up?”

“You cook for yourself?!” Shock widened her eyes, then she grinned. “How about I drop by every day?”

“Hard pass.” Ai Qing rolled his eyes. “Business first—why are you here?”

“My pet hospital’s finally fitted out. I hauled in the equipment this morning and lined up some interviews this afternoon. Come take a look—and boost my credibility.”

“I’m not triad muscle,” he laughed. “But a tour sounds fun.”

“Finish eating and shout. I’ll touch up my makeup.” She waved and ducked back into the opposite unit.

...

Twenty minutes later, trays rinsed and counters wiped, Ai Qing crouched to scratch Xiao Yu under the chin.

Her eyes narrowed in bliss.

“I’ll be out for a bit. Hold the fort, Captain.”

“Meow~”

He dropped a few freeze-dried treats into her bowl, laced his sneakers, and headed next door.

Xiao Youqian emerged freshly powdered, and the two rode the elevator down to her newly renovated clinic.

“Set an opening date yet? Ribbon-cutting, balloons, the whole circus?” Ai Qing asked.

“Probably. Free publicity, right?” She tapped her lip. “First I need staff, then promo deals. Grandma-network might help.”

“Grandma’s on the neighborhood committee and commands the square-dancing auntie battalion. She can plaster Jinpan Yunting Residence with flyers.”

“Deal!” She beamed, patting his shoulder. “Once we’re stable, sis here will find you a girlfriend!”

“Let’s not. I’m allergic to dating.”