Chapter 71: Cat King’s Shop

The last day of June brought a rain shower, and the first day of July couldn’t wait to clear up.

The ground was still slightly damp. The robot pulled open the drawer in the coat closet and fished out eight cat shoes.

These two little guys had equally stubby legs, and after putting on the shoes, they looked even more comical—like horizontal cylinders with four colorful little short pillars attached underneath.

“Machine.” Standing upright on two feet to have claw covers put on, Li Ao spoke up: “Where are we going?”

Silver Wing fastened the straps, set him aside, and continued handling the little monster’s tentacles: “To the morning market.”

The book said kids needed more exposure to new things, and it happened to be a weekend, so the robot decided to take him to the morning market for a stroll.

The little cat overheard and da-da-da ran off to fetch his little backpack. Silver Wing saw his tail sticking straight up and could analyze how excited he was without even running a program.

It was just a trip to the morning market, yet he was thrilled like crazy. The robot thought: He really is such an obedient and easily satisfied cub. School every day, planting veggies on days off—barely any time to play.

No more test papers for him. Silver Wing crossed off the plan list item for heading back from the market early, looked down at the little monster, and said: “Write two extra sets of papers before bed tonight.” No need to tax the cat’s own brain; letting the cat’s external brain grind away would work just the same.

The little monster blinked but had no mind to argue, just as the cat came running back holding his little bag.

“Li Ao, slow down!”

Li Ao was holding a colorful pinwheel someone had given him, his cat face full of excitement. With his low chassis, even wearing cat shoes, he ended up splattered with mud spots. That was one thing, but he had to deliberately step in every little puddle they passed—Silver Wing couldn’t understand why at all.

“Grandpa.” He was sweet as pie. Passing a stall selling pan-fried buns, he stopped: “Two buns, please.” He handed the pinwheel to Xun to hold, pulled his little backpack around, fished out two bucks, and passed them over.

“Oh my, what a good boy.” This was an elderly man—Li Ao’s blood-related grandpas had all grown up under his watch, let alone such a little kitten. The long years had made him a bit stern and stuffy, but facing the empire’s little sun, he was as kindly as could be. He pushed the money back, carefully packing it away for the boy before saying: “Can’t call me grandpa, how could I take your money? No charge—eat as many as you want.”

Maybe thinking fried food was too greasy for a little one, he dabbed at it with oiled paper over and over. Age made his hands shaky; he handed the bun to the little cat and tremulously patted his head: “Hot juices inside—eat slow, ah~”

Nearby, another old man not much younger scratched his head, thinking his dad was acting weird. This old coot usually whacked his great-great-great-grandsons without batting an eye—when had he ever been this gentle?

Li Ao took a bite of the bun, eyes squinting in bliss from the savory juices, then chomped another before turning to let the good boy holding the pinwheel—the little dog—have some too.

The two little ones finished sharing the buns, hand in hand, and walked on. The old man watched them go with a jolly grin until he snapped out of it and noticed the two bucks on his stall.

“Silver Wing gave it.” The old man’s son nodded toward the nanny robot’s figure.

The elder picked up the two silver coins stamped with cat heads, fingering the round, silver cat faces: “Fine then. Bury ’em with me when I go.”

“Hah? Ain’tcha gonna leave ’em for me?”

“Earn your own. These are the little one’s gift to me.”

“Hey, you old fart, you really—hey——”

Delphi’s morning market was bustling. Off-duty soldiers and civilians mingled seamlessly without a hint of discord—even their gazes on the little cat were identical.

Focused by the spicy stares, Li Ao’s ears inexplicably perked up like airplane wings. He sidled furtively up to the robot and, chin high, said: “Machine, I… I feel kinda hot.”

“What then? Take off your cat-fur coat?” The robot, after some time on the job, had learned to crack cold jokes.

Li Ao blanked out until a familiar bamboo-copter breeze hit from overhead, then happily trotted forward again: “Heehee, can we play a bit longer before going back to do homework?”

He’d figured on just browsing a little more, but the robot said: “Play on. Once you’re done here, I’ll take you to Cat King’s little shop. You can play all day today.”

Happiness hit too fast—the short-legged cat went nuts with joy, romping halfway before remembering to ask: “What’s Cat King?”

In the vast depths of space, at coordinates about an hour’s ship ride from Aiai’ang’ang, a shop had opened. The name was blunt as could be: Cat King.

The logo over the door was a little cat with chest puffed out, wearing a lion collar, standing arrogantly smack in the center of a magnolia pattern.

Who was this? No need to think—anyone in the star system would know at a glance.

The storefront wasn’t huge, but it connected to a massive transit warehouse and shipyard. The doors weren’t open for business yet, but the entire docking area was jammed full of incoming ships.

Delphi system lay in a remote corner of the universe—even hopping wormholes, it wasn’t a quick jaunt. Those who made it here in such short order weren’t ordinary folk.

“Really one buck a pop?” The speaker looked shrewd, pure merchant vibe.

Delphi had ninety thousand people, sixty thousand in constant military service. Most were out clearing Xenoids, a few left to guard the system and Cat King’s little shop.

The soldier in uniform—a woman—didn’t answer him alone but activated her loudspeaker, addressing everyone lined up at the shop and undergoing body scans in the shipyard: “One buck each. One per person per month, limit three.”

“We came all this way—why the purchase limit?” The merchant blew up on the spot.

The soldier shot him a cold glance that had him stumbling back two steps.

“Fruits are equal in healing power regardless of size. Picked ones last three days before turning ordinary. One a day for three days covers a month’s pain. After that, take more based on your condition.”

The crowd buzzed: “Huh? Shelf life that short?”

“Not bad though… Three cover a month, so just come back after the limit’s up.”

“Bull! Trip costs could build a starship! How to resell?”

The first wave here was mostly merchants—what schemes did they have? Delphi folks knew full well. They didn’t want to sell to these types, but…

The soldier fired into the sky. Once quieted, she said: “Queue up by the zones outside the shop. High pollution values first.”

Doom disease was a lurking genetic illness in humans—some onset late, some early, reflected in pollution values.

Most had pollution below 20—intermittent migraines, not fatal.

And this first batch? Mostly pampered merchants with low values.

They bought the fruits, hesitated on eating. Delphi’s limits were public—these could fetch millions each on the market.

But short shelf life meant shipping back would spoil… So with regret, they popped them in.

At first bite, they just thought: Damn, this tomato’s good. Not pure sweet—tangy too, neither sandy nor crunchy, perfectly balanced.

“Too perfect.” Some were veggie growers themselves; their high-price, high-effort fruits didn’t measure up.

“How’d they grow this?” Gulping one down, someone pulled out a celery-like veggie—no peeling, straight chomp: “How’s it this crisp? Never tasted anything this good in my life. How?! Heard the seeds Delphi bought before shouldn’t yield this!”

He wolfed all three without pause, patted his belly wistfully, eyes darting to a younger soldier: “Bro, Delphi got some farming secrets? How’re the crops this tasty? Share the wealth?”

“…” What to say? Delphi folks griped farming was too easy, no sense of accomplishment. Couldn’t say: Grab seeds, till dirt, sow, water—done?

Zero technique—all down to their little cat highness’s Spiritual Power.

Pure brute force.

“Don’t ask what you shouldn’t.” The young soldier’s face hardened—intimidating enough.

The rich merchant, used to flattery, had that moneyed arrogance. Decades without a cold shoulder—he bristled. But before he could think, his knees buckled; down he went.

“You okay?” His buddy startled, backed off quick—afraid he’d go rabid.

The soldier eyed him disdainfully. The lead woman spoke again: “One a day prevents this—fear you’d get hooked and can’t walk.”

Hearing her say that, the crowd finally drew closer again, bending down to look. Whoosh—they rolled their eyes back in ecstasy, looking just like they were high as a kite.

Some who had eaten one fruit and wanted more quickly put it away, deciding to eat it later. In this brief moment of chaos, someone shouted: “My head doesn’t hurt anymore! It really doesn’t hurt! Hahaha, after more than a decade, it doesn’t hurt today!”

One after another, those who had eaten the fruit all discovered it—their bodies felt much lighter.

“It’s real… These vegetables and fruits can really alleviate the pain of Doom disease?!”

“Miracle—this is simply a miracle!”

From the birth of humanity to the present, nothing had ever alleviated the agony of Doom disease. So even when Delphi claimed these things had such effects, people had approached it with half-belief and half-doubt.

But now, all those rumors and gossip were utterly shattered by the facts.

“How could this be…” Once the effects were confirmed, another wave of disbelief surged up: “Fruits like these, and that cat really sells them for just one dollar? Why on earth? How can he sell them for just one dollar?”

To the lowly, all noble and magnanimous sentiments seem improper, for the highest and most exalted are simply unbelievable.

He was too great—so great it felt unreal.

They refused to believe it, but what were those tears spilling from the corners of their eyes?

Their blurry vision was pierced by a flash of red light, and they wiped their faces in shock: “It’s the Star Pirates!”

The winged skull emblem was blocked far away by Delphi’s warships. Many merchants who had been robbed before ground their teeth in hatred: “What are those bandits doing here? Do they want to buy tomatoes too? Ridiculous! How can we sell tomatoes to them?”

The Liberty’s hull wasn’t small—in fact, it was even larger than standard warships. Parked at close range right in front of ordinary folk, its oppressive presence was palpable.

“Drive them away!” someone shouted indignantly. “These bandits burn, kill, loot, and commit every evil under the sun—we can’t sell them anything!”

The Liberty took the initiative to send a comms request. Qin Yi stood on the bridge and spotted the Cat King’s store logo from afar.

It was drawn with exquisite care—one glance revealed the little cat’s obedient yet majestic demeanor.

It was truly adorable. Even a venomous woman like her couldn’t help but feel her heart soften a little upon seeing it.