When Professor Xu called out to them, Yan and Zhu Jue naturally couldn’t leave just yet.
Since they were visitors Professor Xu had coincidentally brought along, and also friends of the protagonists of today’s chrysanthemum appreciation event, there was no way they’d be asked to leave.
"Tomato and Egg Stir-fry" and "Celestial Fairy" were admired and evaluated by a group of insiders before being moved to the central display platform in the official competition area.
Each chrysanthemum display card had a serial number, a name, and a QR code for voting.
Every ticket-holding visitor had the right to vote for the "Chrysanthemum King" in the public poll, while the other half of the votes came from a panel of expert judges.
As the owner of these two new chrysanthemum varieties, Yi Zhi undoubtedly had to stay until the end.
Even if she wanted to leave, Professor Yuan wouldn’t let her.
Faced with Yi Zhi’s pleading look, Yan could only express deep sympathy—*Sorry, sis, there’s nothing I can do! I don’t dare oppose the professors in your department.*
Though the two new varieties were displayed a bit late, their placement in the center of the exhibit, combined with the gathering crowd, quickly drew everyone’s attention.
"New varieties? Oh no, I already cast my vote!"
"These two are stunning! Good heavens, are these really chrysanthemums?"
"What are they called? Wait—*Tomato and Egg Stir-fry*? Is that for real? This chrysanthemum is actually named *Tomato and Egg Stir-fry*?"
Someone’s exclamation about "Tomato and Egg Stir-fry" immediately drew the entire crowd’s gaze.
"What did you say? Did I hear that right? *Tomato and Egg Stir-fry*?"
"Apparently, they’re new chrysanthemum varieties."
In an instant, the orderly spiral procession of visitors dissolved as people surged toward the central display.
And there, plain as day, was the name "Tomato and Egg Stir-fry" printed on the chrysanthemum’s label.
Though it also had "(temporary name)" written in smaller letters, most people unconsciously ignored that part.
The chrysanthemum’s red-and-yellow petals sprawled luxuriantly—not sparse like the "Shuai Qi" variety, but dense, vibrant, and breathtakingly beautiful.
Frankly, "Tomato and Egg Stir-fry" was a fitting name for that color scheme.
"It’s even prettier than 'Phoenix Flapping Wings,' but why would they name it *that*?"
"It was added last-minute, wasn’t it?"
Visitors swarmed to snap photos and videos of the new varieties, making sure to capture the "Tomato and Egg Stir-fry" label in all its hilarity.
"Celestial Fairy" also drew a flood of cameras—"This color palette is too gorgeous, 'celestial' is the only word for it."
Yan and Zhu Jue each had one vote. One went to "Tomato and Egg Stir-fry," the other to "Celestial Fairy"—fair and square.
As more people crowded around the new chrysanthemums, the couple quietly slipped away after saying goodbye to Yi Zhi and Professor Xu.
They had already seen all the chrysanthemums in the ticketed area, and Bin City’s International Horticultural Expo was vast—besides chrysanthemums, there were lily towers and more. *Since we’re here, might as well explore everything.*
Yan sent Yi Zhi a quick message: *Hang in there, you got this!*
Bin City’s Double Ninth Festival celebrations were grand. Beyond the chrysanthemum exhibition at the Expo Garden, Yan and Zhu Jue stumbled upon poetry competitions, historical costume photo zones, and other festive activities.
Avoiding the densest crowds, they strolled through quieter paths, surrounded by floral displays. Yan, sporting a straw hat, naturally posed for pictures.
The Expo Garden was enormous. While walking, they barely noticed the distance, but the moment they sat down and tried to stand again, their legs felt like lead.
An hour before closing, Yan and Zhu Jue messaged Yi Zhi—they’d take the metro early to avoid the exit rush.
Yi Zhi replied almost immediately:
**[Yi Zhi]**: [Tearing up]
**[Yi Zhi]**: Professor Yuan is keeping me for dinner. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait for me, just go ahead.
With no need to wait, Yan and Zhu Jue slumped exhaustedly onto the metro.
Yan checked her step count and nearly gasped.
"We didn’t leave until after 10 a.m., and it’s only 4:30 p.m.—how did we already walk *17,000 steps*?"
They hadn’t even been rushing—just meandering through the gardens and exhibits. Rubbing her sore calves, Yan felt them trembling slightly.
"We’ll massage and relax them when we get back," Zhu Jue murmured, brow twitching.
"I’ll buy a massage gun."
Yan tapped her chin. "Good idea. Let’s each get one for our dorm."
She promptly opened a shopping app to browse—no time like the present.
While researching massage guns, a local news notification popped up:
**[Double Ninth Festival: Bin City Expo Garden’s Chrysanthemum Show Stuns with New Varieties—"Tomato and Egg Stir-fry" and "Celestial Fairy"!]**
Yan: !
Sure enough, the trending post was already flooded with comments and *"LMAO"* reactions.
"*Tomato and Egg Stir-fry*? Seriously? Was the breeder a chef or something?"
"LOL, I gotta go admire that 'Tomato and Egg'—wait, what? The flower expo is ending in just three days? Petition to extend it, signed in blood!"
"I thought it was a typo in the news, but when I clicked in, the name really is 'Tomato and Egg.'"
"This reminds me of that new mushroom variety named 'China’s Delicious Mushroom'..."
By the time Yan and Zhu Jue returned to a restaurant near campus for dinner, Yan had already stumbled upon a viral video on Douyin: "OMG, fam, today at the expo park I saw a chrysanthemum called 'Tomato and Egg'! Vote for it as the Chrysanthemum King!"—with millions of likes.
The Double Ninth Festival chrysanthemum viewing event was grand every year, but selecting the "Chrysanthemum King" was usually a niche affair.
Then someone leaked the voting QR code and photos from the event, and suddenly, hordes of remote flower admirers flooded in to vote for "Tomato and Egg." The traffic was so overwhelming that the voting app crashed.
Yan and Zhu Jue had a simple meal at a homestyle noodle shop near campus, then went next door for a 40-minute blind massage.
When they emerged, Yan checked the voting page again—now restored.
But "Tomato and Egg" had a new name.
Variety: Divine Bird Rebirth (tentative)
Formerly known as: Tomato and Egg
Yan nearly burst out laughing. Probably some higher-up thought "Tomato and Egg" was too ridiculous and prone to misunderstandings, so they hastily rebranded it.
Still, the meme-worthy name "Tomato and Egg" was what made this chrysanthemum expo go viral. It was all over the afternoon’s trending topics, and netizens were still buzzing. Suddenly changing the name now was bound to trigger backlash.
She screenshotted it and sent it to Yi Zhi, asking if this was her new name.
[Yan]: [screenshot.jpg]
[Yan]: Divine bird basically means phoenix, right? Why not just call it "Phoenix Rebirth"? Changing the name now is gonna piss off the internet.
[Yi Zhi]: "Phoenix Rebirth" would clash with another variety called "Phoenix Soaring." "Vermilion Bird" didn’t fit either. It’s red and yellow, like rising from flames, so "Divine Bird Rebirth" was the final choice.
[Yi Zhi]: It trended, and the association’s higher-ups said the original name was misleading. [facepalm]
Sure enough, as Yan was chatting with Yi Zhi, she saw real-time reactions from netizens who were not happy.
"Divine Bird Rebirth sounds so tacky… I mean, it’s nice, but I vote for Tomato and Egg!"
"Wait, I heard this was cultivated by a freshman? Seriously? What kind of farming prodigy is this?!"
"Same! Rumor is it’s from Bin University—no wonder, future pillars of the nation!"
Before the backlash over the name change even settled, new discussions erupted with the latest reveal: "The new variety was cultivated by a Bin University freshman."
If people were initially drawn in by the meme, now they were genuinely awed by the specifics.
"I’m crying. My freshman year was all about eating and partying. Is this the gap between elite schools and regular colleges?"
"Same age, same year—one’s breeding new flower varieties while you’re still stuck in food coma mode..."
Reading this, Yan fell silent. Why did she suddenly feel personally attacked?
She and Zhu Jue finished their meal and headed back to campus. Just as they entered through a side gate, Yan got a call from Gu Jiasui.
"Yan, are you on campus? Are you free right now?"
Yan paused. "Yeah, what’s up? Need help with something?"
Gu Jiasui was usually away on weekends, sometimes returning Sunday night or just in time for Monday classes. Most matters were handled over WeChat, so a sudden call likely meant something urgent.
"The pet protection club told me they haven’t seen Orange in three days. I left on Friday and didn’t check, and the club members couldn’t find him either."
Orange—the chubby, big orange tabby.
Yan remembered now.
"Got it. Where does Orange usually hang out?" Yan had only seen him once with Gu Jiasui.
She didn’t pay much attention to the big orange cat, though she knew the usual spots for the campus dogs.
Gu Jiasui listed a few locations, down to specific bushes and flower beds. Yan noted them down and reassured her, hearing the worry in her voice: "Don’t stress. Maybe he’s just off exploring."
"You said before that Orange hates being cooped up, right? Probably out adventuring again."
"I hope so. The club’s still looking. Anyway, thanks. I’m on my way back." Gu Jiasui sighed.
After hanging up, Yan and Zhu Jue changed their route.
"Where could Orange be? I never really noticed him around," Yan muttered.
"Jiasui said all the campus cats and dogs are neutered, so it’s not mating season either."
"Let’s just check those spots first," Zhu Jue said.
He pulled two masks from his bag, and they put them on.
Yan ran through a mental list of people around her but couldn’t think of anyone who might have "catnapped" a kitten. The two of them first headed to the path where they had last seen the orange tabby.
"Orange? Chubby Orange?"
As dusk fell, Yan used her phone’s flashlight to scan the surrounding woods and bushes while calling out.
Zhu Jue searched online for the "scissors method to find lost cats," but since Big Orange was a stray on campus, the technique—which required placing a bowl of water on the kitchen stove—was impossible to execute.
They searched along the route, checking all the spots Gu Jiasui had mentioned, and even ran into other students looking for the cat—all to no avail.
"Strange. Orange usually sticks to these areas and never wanders elsewhere," remarked one of the searchers.
The girl was holding a pack of chicken breast, the same brand Gu Jiasui always bought. Though Big Orange never ate it in front of her, it would always carry the meat away.
By the time Gu Jiasui rushed back to campus at 8:30 p.m., the search party had made no progress.
Though frantic inside, she forced herself to stay calm. "When I left through the main gate on Friday, Orange walked me part of the way. That evening, other club members saw it near the cafeteria."
"But from Saturday until now—two full days—no one’s spotted it."
"Could someone have taken it?" the girl searching with them blurted out.
"Without going through the adoption process with the club, just grabbing it on sight?"
Yan had the same suspicion, but then again, Big Orange had lived at Bin University for years, practically a "senior cat" to the newer students. Everyone on campus—from professors and deans to students and staff—knew it by sight.
Besides, Bin University now restricted outside visitors, and the hefty tabby wouldn’t be easy to catch and take away.
"People on campus wouldn’t just grab a cat, and Big Orange… though a bit plump, is incredibly agile," Gu Jiasui said.
The last time she’d tried taking it home, surveillance cameras had captured Big Orange’s great escape—a tiny cannonball of speed and grace.
If you weren’t careful trying to pick it up, it could knock you flat.
Gu Jiasui told Yan and Zhu Jue to head back, but Yan hesitated. Though other club members were still searching, they were all girls, so she decided to stay with them.
They kept looking until curfew, returning to the dorm exhausted and empty-handed.
Yi Zhi was already back, freshly showered and surprised to see them.
"You’re just getting back? Any luck?"
Yan shook her head. At first, Big Orange had been just another chubby, adorable campus cat to her, but after two hours of searching, she’d grown genuinely worried.
Strays were usually hardier than house cats, but she could only pray nothing had happened—that the little rascal was just off on an adventure.
While Gu Jiasui showered, Yi Zhi asked about the cat. Yan gave a quick rundown and showed her a photo of Big Orange from her phone.
Yi Zhi studied the image, committing it to memory.
"I’ll get up early for my run tomorrow and help search. You two should rest tonight."
"Ding Ling said she’s staying with relatives and won’t be back."
Yan was too drained to ask about the Chrysanthemum Festival’s aftermath. After a quick shower, she collapsed into bed, sent Zhu Jue a message, and fell asleep the moment she closed her eyes.
Chu Bingbing was also absent, leaving only three in the dorm that night.
Gu Jiasui tossed and turned, worrying about Big Orange, finally dozing off after who knew how long. Yan, utterly spent, slept deeply without dreams.
Yi Zhi, meanwhile, curled tightly under her blankets before slipping quietly into her spatial realm.
Having spent the day at the festival, she’d neglected her farm work.
Plants in the space couldn’t be left unattended, and the backlog kept growing. She still had to prepare next week’s fruit orders.
"Day shift in the real world, night shift in the space," Yi Zhi grumbled to herself. "What kind of supernatural life is this? Just farming nonstop."
On the last Monday of October, Yi Zhi headed out at dawn for her usual training, phone in hand.
Thinking of her roommates’ desperate search, she adjusted her jogging route to cover Big Orange’s usual haunts.
The dorm opened at 5 a.m., and she left alongside students racing to reserve library study spots. Thankfully, their paths diverged.
The road Gu Jiasui had mentioned was empty, the morning air crisp.
No meows reached her ears. Yi Zhi approached a patch of grass near a large tree, stretched out her hands, and released a pulse of wood-attuned spiritual energy.
This world hadn’t undergone an apocalyptic shift—these were ordinary plants, incapable of detailed communication with humans.
But for a wood-ability wielder like Yi Zhi, simple exchanges were still possible.
The wood-element spiritual energy spread, and from Yi Zhi's perspective, pale green energy drifted through the vegetation zones of Bin University, carrying her words to every patch of greenery.
Even the tiniest traces of wood-element spiritual energy were enough to nourish these plants, and they were more than happy to help search for a certain little troublemaker who usually darted annoyingly through the grass.
Bin University’s campus was vast, and ever since Yi Zhi had arrived in this peaceful modern world, she hadn’t needed to use this much wood-element spiritual energy in a long time.
Fortunately, perseverance paid off. Before long, she slowly opened her eyes.
Found it.
According to the fragmented, vague messages relayed by the wild grass…
This orange tabby seemed to have been raising kittens lately?
Plants didn’t know human terms for objects, so their descriptions were blurry and strange.
Yi Zhi couldn’t pinpoint the location based on their accounts, only confirming the spot where the grass had sent the message. She ran all the way there.
Finally, Yi Zhi stopped at a pile of discarded construction materials near an ongoing building project at one of the campus’s teaching buildings.
There, she found the dust-covered tabby. Yi Zhi pulled out her phone to compare and confirmed—it was definitely the same cat.
She snapped a photo and sent it to the group chat.
Gu Jiasui had been restless all night, her mind troubled, and though Yi Zhi had gotten up almost soundlessly, she had still woken her.
Exhausted, both body and mind sluggish, she hadn’t mustered the energy to rise—until she saw Yi Zhi’s message in the group.
**[Yi Zhi]:** Near the abandoned construction piles by Huawen Building. This one really wandered far.
Gu Jiasui quickly typed a reply: *"Is it hurt?"*
**[Yi Zhi]:** No. It’s really chubby, though. Wait—is it female? There are kittens too.
Huh? What?
At this message, Gu Jiasui immediately sat up in bed.
**[Gu Jiasui]:** But Orange is a male cat—how does he have kittens? He’s neutered!
She was genuinely baffled.
She was absolutely certain Orange was male—she had personally taken him to the vet to be neutered. Afterward, she had even donated to the association, ensuring all the stray animals on Bin University’s campus were sterilized.
Kittens? Where on earth did kittens come from?
**[Yi Zhi]:** [Scratches head] The kittens are calicos. Several of them. Maybe Orange is babysitting? Playing foster dad? [Photo of calico kittens]
Yi Zhi didn’t know much about pet behavior, but even she felt that a eunuch cat raising kittens was… unusual.
**[Gu Jiasui]:** I’m getting up. On my way.
Gu Jiasui quickly dressed and sent a message to the association about finding Orange. At this hour, most people were still asleep.
It was only six in the morning. Yan, half-asleep, heard her moving around and yawned, blearily asking what she was doing.
When she heard Orange had been found, Yan relaxed, ready to go back to sleep—until she learned about his newfound role as a "dad."
“Huh? I thought I was dreaming,” Yan murmured, eyes unfocused.
In the end, Yan only splashed water on her face, and the two of them left the dorm in long sleeves and pants.
The trio soon regrouped, with Gu Jiasui making sure to bring chicken breast and ham in her bag.
“Come to think of it, Jiasui, didn’t you always feed Orange chicken breast, but he never ate it?” Yan remarked.
Gu Jiasui nodded. “He’d sniff it but never eat it—though he always took it away.”
Her eyes brightened as she caught Yan’s meaning. “You’re saying he didn’t eat it himself but brought it to the kittens… or a mother cat?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Yan said, adjusting her mask.
“I always assumed Orange was just pretending not to like it in front of me, then sneaking it away to stash somewhere. Cats do that, right? Hoarding things?” Gu Jiasui mused. Looking back, though, it was far more likely he’d been giving the food to another cat.
“Orange, Orange, it’s me.” Gu Jiasui called softly.
Earlier, the tabby had spotted Yi Zhi and immediately darted back into his hiding spot, as if terrified.
Now, with Yi Zhi standing a good five meters away, Gu Jiasui finally coaxed him out. His once-glossy fur was dusty, unkempt, as if he hadn’t been grooming himself.
Recognizing his familiar human, Orange padded forward, rubbing against Gu Jiasui affectionately and letting out a few soft meows. She opened the chicken breast and ham from her bag, only for him to immediately snatch them and carry them back into the pile.
Then, Yan heard faint, weak mewling—and moments later, Orange reemerged, followed by a strikingly beautiful but weary calico mother cat.
Yan: !
So Orange was playing the role of a neutered foster father?
Before she could process it further, the calico carefully carried two tiny kittens out and placed them right at Gu Jiasui’s feet. Then, with a deliberate nudge of her paw, she pushed her babies toward her.
Yan froze.
Gu Jiasui froze too.
These two weren’t enough—soon, the mother cat carried out two even skinnier kittens, lining them up in front of Gu Jiasui as if inviting her to choose.
The big orange cat meowed a few times by her leg, then dashed back into the burrow, this time emerging with a kitten that looked visibly unwell.
The other kittens the mother had brought out were still active—jumping, meowing, and squirming around.
But the one the orange cat had just carried out seemed barely alive, its only sign of life the faint movement of its eyes.
“This kitten’s condition isn’t right—it needs a vet,” Yan said.
“Let’s go now. There’s a 24-hour clinic near the school. We’ll take it there first,” Gu Jiasui sprang into action.
They still had morning classes, but their priority was getting the kittens to the vet. All five were stuffed into a bag and rushed off, though Yan noticed the mother cat—both the orange and calico—seemed momentarily lost.
They tore open packets of extra chicken breast and ham, leaving them behind as Gu Jiasui sent a message to the animal rescue group. The trio hurriedly hailed a cab and sped off.
After a flurry of prepayments and tests, the results came in while Yan and Gu Jiasui were still in their morning lecture.
Reading the vet’s group chat, Yan frowned.
The kitten was completely paralyzed. The vet said only specialized acupuncture from a veterinary expert could help.
A thought flashed through Yan’s mind—there was one person who might have the answer.
Xiao Qingnang, a living medical legend! Surely even a paralyzed kitten would be no challenge for him!
In the middle of a medical school lecture, Xiao Qingnang, furiously scribbling notes, suddenly got a message from his roommate’s girlfriend:
“Hey Xiao, I heard your family practices traditional medicine. Can you do acupuncture… on a cat?”
