Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 13

A “trial promo” is, in short, the first time a new book is officially placed on a site-curated recommendation slot.

Pretty much every new title that hits the data threshold gets this treatment.

An author like Ai Qing—who’d already slugged through a 500k-word novel that averaged more than 500 paid subscriptions on Qidian—was the sort the editors actually remembered.

After all, for the platform any book below that 500-sub mark is a money-loser; the 1,500-yuan monthly perfect-attendance bonus paid out during the first three months on sale is basically subsidized author day-care.

Only once a book clears 500 average subs does it start earning back the site’s investment.

[Zhuanjiao Huakai]: Got it~ Thanks!

[Editor Gua Gua]: Your Smart-Push numbers look solid. Try to top your last book, yeah?

[Zhuanjiao Huakai]: Huh? New books get Smart-Push now?

[Editor Gua Gua]: Can’t go into detail. Just keep at it—bank some extra chapters while you’re still in the new-book period.

[Zhuanjiao Huakai]: Mm-hmm!

Authors always answer fast in chat and drag their feet in real life; saving chapters is supposedly impossible.

Lately, though, Ai Qing’s inspiration has been off the charts—he’s already socked away four or five chapters.

Looks like he’ll have to push harder so he can drop a bigger batch once the book goes on sale.

“Counting on you, Xiao Yu.” Ai Qing stood up, scooped the cat off the floor and into his arms.

All thanks to the ideas she’d given him these past two days.

His story was childhood friends who turn into cats; Xiao Yu was a cat who’d turned human—yet the overlap felt huge.

At first he’d been casual with the setup: the heroine could become a cat, that was it.

Then he noticed Xiao Yu still acted like a feline even in human form, and it clicked—what if the heroine, once human again, kept some cat traits without realizing?

Like heading to early self-study half-awake, automatically licking her hand to groom before remembering she was human.

Or, after shifting back and forth so often, she keeps a cat’s lightning reflexes and keeps catching the hero’s stolen glances in class—then secretly smirking.

To tighten the bond between leads, Ai Qing added extra rules.

In cat form the heroine discovers she can’t stray more than a hundred metres from the hero or she’ll grow dizzy and sluggish.

Only then does she start suspecting her power is tied to him.

That part is still in the saved drafts—readers haven’t seen it yet—and Ai Qing’s nervous it’ll land okay.

He carried Xiao Yu out of the bedroom, tossed her the usual ping-pong ball, and headed to the kitchen to start dinner.

...

Evening.

Bored, Ai Qing opened Taobao on his phone; the shopping cart was once again full of girls’ clothes.

Mostly dresses.

Plus assorted styles of underwear...

He’d even bookmarked sanitary pads.

He had no idea whether human-form Xiao Yu would get a period like any other girl.

If she did, it probably meant she had a working female reproductive system.

If not, pregnancy might be off the table.

From a certain creepy viewpoint either outcome sounded convenient.

How do girls use those pads, anyway... like toddler diapers?

Stick them to the underwear, right?

Curiosity piqued, he ran a search and added another item to his lifetime-learning list.

While he was busy educating himself, WeChat pinged.

[Ai Zhongguo]: Come home tomorrow afternoon. Your mom’s off Saturday—family dinner.

[Love Minister Ping Shen]: Sure, I’ll head over around four.

[Ai Zhongguo]: Stay the night; spend the weekend. Bring Xiao Yu—your mom and grandma miss her.

Oof.

Ai Qing wanted to refuse.

But back when he’d still been in uni, Grandma and Mom had done most of the cat-sitting.

Strictly speaking, he was the one who’d adopted Xiao Yu; Grandma had delivered her from a stray litter in the compound.

If Mom and Grandma wanted to see her, no decent excuse existed.

He wasn’t too worried—he’d spotted a pattern: Xiao Yu only turned human around 3 a.m. and 3 p.m. each day.

No idea why.

So tomorrow he’d wait until after the afternoon shift, let her change back into a cat, then carry her home.

[Love Minister Ping Shen]: One night, then. I’ll leave after lunch Sunday.

That way he could be back before the next 3 p.m. window.

He only had to survive the 3 a.m. round—when Mom, Dad, Grandpa and Grandma would be dead asleep. Even if he and Xiao Yu made noise in the bedroom, no one would hear.

[Ai Zhongguo]: Deal.

“Meow~” Xiao Yu chirped, as if she’d read every word.

...

2:50 a.m.

Alarm blaring, Ai Qing fought his screwed-up circadian rhythm and forced his eyes open.

Xiao Yu lay curled beside his pillow, heterochromatic eyes glowing like will-o’-the-wisps in the phone-light.

“It’s fine, go back to sleep.” He stroked her head, killed the alarm, then rolled onto his side to watch her.

Baffled, she tilted her head and blinked.

They stared at each other while the minutes bled away.

Ai Qing was exhausted; after two or three minutes his brain started chanting Buddhist sutras on its own.

Yet the spirit of scientific inquiry kept a sliver of him awake.

He checked the time again and again.

2:57... 2:58... 2:59...

Three o’clock!

Xiao Yu’s furry face loomed over the glowing screen, curious why he was awake.

Ai Qing frowned at the clock, then at her.

“Change. Why aren’t you changing?”

“You didn’t do this the last two nights.”

“What’s wrong with tonight?”

The kitten clearly didn’t understand; she only cocked her head.

Ai Qing sighed and stubbornly waited until 3:15.

At last he passed out.

Xiao Yu never turned human.

The grand “3 a.m. equals human” theory hadn’t survived twenty-four hours.