The System Mistook Me for a Cat

Red Falcon has started laying eggs in succession.

Chu Tingwu hasn't reacted much, merely shooing away the peacock, but ever since the first egg appeared in Cheng Cai's livestream... the broadcast effect has unexpectedly exploded. Viewers began recording the number of eggs, creating numbered charts, and even privately messaging to ask if names would be given to the red falcon chicks.

Cheng Cai: "Because everyone loves baby birds more than adult ones, right?"

It's more of an "anticipation," as if despite being mere spectators unable to get close or influence the process, they feel a sense of participation in the chicks' birth.

It's almost as if, at this moment, the viewers realized: this isn't a documentary or a wild setting, but these birds live on a ranch just at the edge of the city. A taxi ride away on any given day, a weekend family outing to visit, these extremely rare birds—perhaps extinct in a few decades—are now vibrantly alive, and Qihe City residents have the prime advantage.

When Elusa stepped out with her coffee, she found the number of tourists had increased again. She shook her head, capped her coffee, and scanned a shared bike.

Like the viewers, they too were focusing on the soon-to-be-hatched chicks, but unlike the viewers' anticipation and enthusiasm, the experts' mentality leaned more toward pessimism—

No one knows how many of these chicks will ultimately survive.

The chicks will hatch in about half a month to a month, but the weather will also gradually cool down during this period. As migratory birds, red falcons will sense that they must head south.

The adult birds will encourage the chicks to follow, flying off and returning repeatedly, as if in a lesson, but the chicks' wings are obviously not yet able to sustain long flights.

The semi-transparent quills glimmer faintly in the cold wind, the chicks shivering, some taking off while others stay in the nest, chirping, unaware that they've been abandoned.

Abandoned in the winter.

When Elusa parked her bike, she overheard someone nearby talking about a game and the new quiz bank it featured, pointing at the birds rising and falling in the distance. Passing by the few tourists, she turned and said:

"Those aren't red falcons; they're truly crows."

The group exchanged surprised glances, perhaps due to her Western features and fluent language skills. Turning back, they saw Elusa raise her hand, scanning the "No Entry" virtual projection, which turned into a green checkmark, granting her access.

Though it seemed fancy, not scanning the semi-transparent "wall" wouldn't really stop anyone; it would just be photographed and prompt a nearby robot to approach.

But Elusa found the ranch's design interesting, and the dog nuzzling beside her seemed to think the same, lifting its head to look around as if genuinely aware of the changes.

Elusa crouched down, picked up the tiny Yorkshire Terrier, and decided to find her colleague.

As she walked, noticing the dog's eyes also following the crows, she chuckled:

"There are actually various animals in the city, but people are usually unaware, aren't they?"

Once you start noticing the precious wildlife around you, you realize there are so many "other species" nearby. Unable to legally prevent them from harming protected animals, we can only intervene as much as possible. The animals live in the city but seem to exist in a parallel world, not following or approaching humans, governed by their own wild rules.

She clamped her coffee between her elbow and side, noticing the dog was quite well-behaved. It seemed accustomed to humans, even positioning itself on her arm, pushing a bit with its hind legs when it felt it slipping, making it easier for Elusa to adjust.

Elusa: "Oh my, my heart is melting."

As she said this, she noticed Chu Tingwu turn her head, gazing at her with a hint of curiosity, as if concerned about her feelings.

Elusa couldn't help but smile.

The girl stood atop a slope, vast still clouds behind her, and upon seeing Elusa's smile, she simply blinked.

But Elusa didn't feel it was intrusive. She spent more time with animals than with her family, possessing great patience and curiosity. She occasionally observed humans as she did animals, but quickly lost interest—humans analyze themselves more than animals do, so what more could she discover? But Chu Tingwu was different.

Elusa soon sat in the chair across from Chu Tingwu, listening to the conversations around her.

Professor Mi was chatting with Chu Tingwu, mostly the professor talking while the girl listened.

Elusa ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‍knew she was "previewing her lessons," both boss and student. She seemed curious about everything but wouldn't react excitedly to specific or stimulating examples. Hearing Professor Mi describe the behind-the-scenes work and complex animal relationships in a nature reserve on the other side of the world, she calmly said:

"Then I'll go see it sometime."

Her tone was so calm that it wasn't clear if she meant as a three-day tourist, an intern at the reserve, or hiking the tropical rainforest with just a backpack.

Because any of those options seemed possible.

Elusa couldn't help but smile again.

The next moment, Chu Tingwu slightly turned, glancing at her with a hint of confusion.

She seemed to fully sense that the person behind her was smiling because of her, but this confusion quickly faded into indifference.

When Elusa finished her morning work and turned back, she found Chu Tingwu sitting on a small folding stool, petting the Yorkie's head.

The age-old Yorkie's fur was no longer glossy, the once golden-black fur now predominantly a paler platinum. On the first day the dog arrived, the expert team—possibly too idle or not yet coordinated—each touched the dog once, judged its age, and then told Chu Tingwu: It's already old.

Be prepared for the dog to pass at any time.

Elusa felt a bit regretful. Then, she saw Chu Tingwu hold the dog's chin and take a photo, texting someone with just one word: "You."

The recipient responded with loud lamentations.

Eventually, Elusa overheard them arguing about whether the dog's fur was curly, or if its color resembled the recipient's hair, and the dog dubbed "Chengcheng" seemed to catch on, occasionally raising its front paws to Chu Tingwu's lap, unsure whether to mediate or not.

Chengcheng: "Woof! Woof!"

Thankfully, toward noon, a cat appeared.

A young, robust tabby ran gracefully in the breeze, her agile posture like an arrow. She slowed only upon approach, then surveyed the surroundings with poise, as if judging the humans' intentions—

Those preoccupied with other tasks took this as a greeting, smiling and nodding at the cat. But Elusa knew they hadn't always been this way; it was the cat who had won them over with her actions.

For this wasn't just any cat, but the acting ranch owner in Chu Tingwu's absence.

Chengcheng also went to Three-Five-Five, who licked it gently before standing to lick Chu Tingwu as well, as if taking attendance.

Later, she'd take Chengcheng to Cheng Cai, guide Chu Tingwu back to her room for a nap, then patrol the ranch, chasing eggs out of the cattle shed and herding chickens, staring down littering tourists until they disposed of their trash in bins or robots, rounding up peacocks before sunset, attending "cat" meetings, reviewing video conference reports, and finally returning to Chu Tingwu's room to sleep, day after day.@@novelbin@@

While Elusa was lost in these thoughts, Chu Tingwu had somehow appeared in front of her. She spoke in a casual, conversational tone: "Do any chicks follow the adults to their wintering grounds?"

Elusa hesitated for a moment before answering, "Of course they do."

Red-rain falcons are indeed unreliable parents. Their chicks face numerous challenges from birth, hastily embarking on the arduous journey of migration. Yet, some are fortunate—stubborn chicks manage to keep up with the flock, and by the time they return, they've already become dependable adults… though, come to think of it, even adult Red-rain falcons aren't exactly the epitome of reliability.

But for most, this is where the road ends. Humans have succeeded in rescues a handful of times, entrusting chicks to other birds, or even cats, for care. However, such chicks fail to learn the adult birds' hunting techniques and certain life habits, nor do they acquire the skills needed for migration and overwintering—after all, one can't expect birds to learn by watching videos. Furthermore, they struggle to reproduce.

Without becoming migratory birds, it seems they cannot experience "love," form small families, or choose to reproduce. Worse still, Red-rain falcons that fail to adapt to the wild, even those raised by humans, can fall into depression, leading to self-harm.

Elusa thought of those eggs… The tiny lives that would hatch one after another, only to perish one after another.

Everyone was tangled in their own thoughts. This was a Red-rain falcon family actively reproducing. They had abundant food and water, luckier than any other flock in previous years. Some had been observing them for fifteen years, able to call each bird by its "name" based on its leg markings, watching them year after year as they managed to survive one challenge after another, year after year as they lost their chicks, mourned their losses, and chose to leave, driven south by the cold winter.

The sky seemed to darken, and in the black expanse, red rain began to fall.

Elusa wasn't sure if Chu Tingwu had taken in what she said. She watched as the girl seemed about to leave, and suddenly, a thought struck her. "Do you know how many eggs they laid in total?" she asked.

She remembered the number was 117. Out of those, fewer than a third would successfully hatch, even fewer would survive long enough to learn to fly, and then…

Chu Tingwu: "121."

Elusa: "Wait, what?"

Chu Tingwu: "121."

A little dog barked twice beside them, and a cat swished its tail against Chu Tingwu's leg, as if urging her to leave. So the girl walked away. But Elusa turned to her colleague: "What was the number of eggs we counted?"

Colleague: "117. Why? That's the latest data we have."

But Elusa didn't believe that Chu Tingwu would lie. Yet, under constant surveillance, her colleagues must have counted everything accurately. Why the discrepancy of four eggs? Were they outside the scope of the monitoring, or…?

The colleague glanced at the screen and tugged at Elusa: "Quick, look! KMM074 has finally come out of the nest!"

Red-rain falcons don't lay eggs in just one day. Sometimes, to conserve energy, the female will stay in the nest, while the male fetches food to feed her until the laying process is complete. Only then will she briefly emerge from the nest to stretch, once the clutch is complete and the eggs have been provided with sufficient warmth.

Elusa leaned closer to the screen.

One, two, three… four!

She saw four eggs—exactly four!