Chapter 6: Meow-Language Is Also a Foreign Language!
Chapter 6: Meow-Language Is Also a Foreign Language!
Still a bit groggy after waking up, Chen Jingle rubbed his eyes as the system chimed in with his next scheduled task.
[It’s study time! Smart babies love to learn. Please choose one of the four mandatory subjects—Chinese, Math, Foreign Languages, or Calligraphy—to study for one hour. You can do it, little Chen Jingle!]
“First session’s just more theory, huh? Alright then,” Chen Jingle yawned as he prepared to binge-watch some travel vlogs by foreigners to kill time.
But then, he paused, an idea popping into his head.
“Wait a second—system, does ‘meow language’ count as a foreign language?”
[TN: WTF]
The system seemed to hesitate for a moment before responding.
[Meow language can be considered a type of foreign language, though not in the traditional sense. Cats primarily communicate through body posture, tail movements, and scent. While they do produce specific sounds to express emotions or needs, their form of communication lacks the complexity and structure of human languages. However, if learning meow language helps you better care for your cat, meet its needs, and deepen the bond between pet and owner, then the system deems it a valuable pursuit.]
Chen Jingle’s eyes lit up. “Great, I’ll learn that then!”
In addition to tending his small indoor garden, Chen Jingle owned a cat.
It wasn’t a fancy breed—just a regular tabby tomcat.
The little guy sported adorable “white gloves,” “white socks,” and a white “napkin” on his chest.
After six months of care, the cat had become quite obedient. Beyond being a natural mouse deterrent, it also served as a charming companion. Vaccinated and routinely dewormed, it was well cared for.
Owning a pet truly proved to be therapeutic, helping Chen Jingle de-stress during tough times.
That’s why he was keen on learning cat language.
Cats are incredibly intelligent creatures, particularly tabbies, which can even understand human speech to an extent.
However, most of the time, they simply ignore you—unless they’re hungry or you’re holding something delicious.
In some ways, cats can be infuriatingly smug. Beyond their cuteness, they’re often the source of blood-pressure spikes and headaches.
The tabby Chen Jingle owned was named “Tiger Cub.” Despite being less than a year old, the cat was already chubby and sizable, its glossy coat resembling that of a miniature tiger.
Hence, the name.
Surprisingly, Chen didn’t overfeed it. The cat had settled into a routine—one meal in the morning, after which it’d happily frolic outside, returning around five or six in the evening for dinner.
The rural lifestyle meant it was impractical to keep a cat strictly indoors.
Its diet wasn’t fancy either—no expensive cat food or canned meals. Instead, it enjoyed chicken or duck meat puree, along with occasional green beans or corn kernels from Chen’s meals.
Even soup.
Well-fed and content, the cat didn’t need to hunt poisoned rats or scavenge questionable leftovers outdoors.
Chen Jingle had previously come across videos on short-form video platforms where people communicated with stray cats using “meow language.” He was awestruck.
With just a few well-timed meows, the cats would trot over, rubbing against them affectionately and allowing endless petting.
This was way cooler than mastering obscure African or South American dialects!
It wasn’t just him—commenters under those videos were just as envious.
“This person’s basically a grand druid!”
“If I understood meow language, wouldn’t all the campus cats be at my mercy?”
“Yo, how do you say ‘get a job’ in meow language?”
“Any chance of a tutorial on teaching cats to do chores?”
“…”
But the language was notoriously hard to learn—its sounds were nuanced and intricate, with no written phonetics to guide learners.
Even with careful study, most people couldn’t get past the basics. Without exceptional talent, it was nearly impossible.
The old Chen Jingle would’ve had no chance either. But things were different now—he had the system on his side.
The learning state induced by the system was nothing short of miraculous, as if he’d downed brain supplements and unlocked a genius-level intellect.
“Let’s give it a shot. Worst case, I’ll reevaluate,” he mused optimistically.
Chen Jingle wasn’t entirely confident he’d master the language. While cat language wasn’t yet a fully studied and systematic subject, some dedicated content creators online had compiled simple pronunciation guides and their meanings. That was far better than groping around in the dark.
“Let’s see… There are ten videos on pronunciation, six more on basic phrases, and a bunch of daily interaction vlogs. That should be enough.”
And so, the learning began—quiet, intense, and all-consuming.
Once Chen Jingle entered his system-enhanced learning mode, he became entirely engrossed.
With the system's assistance, he actively tackled this novel "language," focusing on practical applications like greetings, feeding commands, expressions of affection, reprimands, and even provocations.
Of course, it wasn’t easy.
It felt like ages had passed before the system chimed in again, signaling the end of the hour-long session.
[Good job, baby! You’ve successfully completed the learning task. Reward: removal of one facial acne scar.]
“All done?”
Exiting his focused learning state, Chen Jingle massaged his temples to alleviate the slight tension. He felt like he’d reached the entry-level stage of understanding cat language.
“Hah, understanding a cat’s intent is way harder than speaking it. It’s not like you can hand your cat a translation app to explain what it really wants.”
As for the system reward…
An acne scar?
Looking into the mirror, Chen Jingle still saw a goblin-esque face with sharp but not-so-impressive features. He couldn’t even tell which scar had disappeared.
Clearly, relying on the system to improve his appearance would require long-term effort.
“Whatever. Let’s find a cat and test this out first.”
During his study session, he’d already practiced some basic pronunciations and thought he was doing pretty well.
He headed downstairs.
The courtyard was empty. His cat, Tiger Cub, was nowhere to be seen.
“Huh?”
After scanning the area, Chen Jingle’s eyes lit up. There it was—Tiger Cub, perched on the edge of a neighbor’s pickle jar, lazily sprawled out.
Who else could it be?
Instinctively, Chen Jingle called out, “Tiger Cub! Come back!”
Hearing the shout, the cat glanced at him, flicked its tail dismissively, then turned away with a clear don’t bother me attitude.
Chen Jingle was fuming.
He was certain the little rascal had heard him—and understood, too—but it simply didn’t care.
Fine. Time for some cat language.
“Ahow”
The “ah” had a slight upward inflection, meaning “come here.” Coupled with his firm tone, it carried a hint of command.
And then!
Tiger Cub’s head whipped around, its eyes wide with shock as it stared at Chen Jingle like he’d grown a second head.
The level of shock on its face was equivalent to a cat suddenly speaking human words, demanding, “You! Go fry me two dishes in the kitchen and transfer me twenty thousand bucks!”
Understandably, Tiger Cub was startled.
With one hand on his hip and the other pointing dramatically at Tiger Cub, Chen Jingle followed up with, “Guluwah”
This roughly translates to “come play with me.”
Tiger Cub, still reeling from the shock, bolted into the overgrown weeds nearby, not even sparing a glance back. It was as if it had resolved never to return.
For a moment, Chen Jingle stood frozen, and then he exploded. “You little traitor! Not cooperating, huh? Fine, no dinner for you tonight!”
What’s the point of raising you, anyway!
Still, the test didn’t seem like a failure. His pronunciation seemed fine, though Tiger Cub’s reaction suggested it had been too effective.
“Well, guess I’ll just try again on another cat. There’s no shortage of cats in this village.”
Now the only question was whether those cats would react just like Tiger Cub—completely terrified.
