January 29, 2015.
Beijing, Dongcheng District.
Alley Behind Tempest Café.
7:30 a.m.
The stray cat was orange.
It was also missing half an ear, had a scar across its nose, and possessed the kind of battle-hardened expression that came from years of fighting other strays for scraps behind restaurants.
It was not a magical cat.
It was not a demon princess in disguise.
It was just a cat.
A very tired, very hungry, very grumpy cat.
And Lucia found it digging through the café's trash.
THE DISCOVERY
Lucia had stepped out the back door for some fresh air.
The morning was cold, the sky was gray, and the alley smelled of old garbage and wet pavement.
She spotted the cat immediately.
It was small—kitten-sized, really, though its scarred face suggested it was older than it looked.
It was trying to pry open a plastic container of something that had probably been food once.
It was failing.
"You're hungry," Lucia said.
The cat froze.
Its head snapped toward her, eyes wide, body tensed.
For a long moment, they stared at each other.
Then, apparently deciding that Lucia wasn't an immediate threat, the cat went back to attacking the plastic container.
THE APPROACH
Lucia walked closer.
The cat hissed.
Not a serious hiss—more of a half-hearted "I'm busy, go away" kind of sound.
Lucia crouched down.
"You remind me of someone," she said. "A person I knew a long time ago. They were also small and grumpy and terrible at asking for help."
The cat ignored her.
The plastic container remained stubbornly closed.
Lucia watched for a moment.
Then she reached into her pocket.
THE GRAINS
She pulled out a small handful of golden grains.
They looked like rice.
They glowed faintly in the dim morning light.
The cat's head snapped toward them.
Its eyes went wide.
It could feel it.
The power.
The infinity.
The taste.
Lucia held out her hand.
"Here," she said. "Try one."
The cat didn't hesitate.
It lunged forward and devoured the entire handful in one bite.
THE TASTE
For a moment, nothing happened.
The cat sat there, licking its lips, its expression one of mild confusion.
Then—
Its eyes went wide.
Its fur stood on end.
Its entire body trembled.
And then it made a sound that was somewhere between a yowl and a purr—a sound of pure, absolute bliss.
The cat had tasted infinity.
Not one infinity.
Five hundred fifty-five infinities.
Because Lucia hadn't given it one grain.
She had given it 555 grains.
Each grain containing infinite multiverses.
Each multiverse containing infinite realities.
Each reality containing infinite possibilities.
And the cat had eaten them all.
THE REACTION
The cat collapsed onto its side.
It was still purring.
Its eyes were half-closed, glazed over with something that looked very much like euphoria.
Its tail twitched lazily.
Its paws kneaded the air.
It looked, for all the world, like a creature that had just discovered the meaning of existence and found it delicious.
Rimuru appeared in the doorway.
"Lucia, what are you—"
He stopped.
He stared at the cat.
Then at Lucia.
Then at the cat again.
"Did you just give 555 Grains of Infinite Multiverses to a stray cat?"
Lucia smiled.
"He was hungry."
"HE WAS HUNGRY? You just fed a random alley cat more cosmic power than most civilizations will ever possess!"
The cat purred louder.
Rimuru's eye twitched.
"That's not a normal purr. That's a purr of transcendence."
THE IMMORTALITY
The cat was changing.
Not physically—it still looked like the same scruffy orange stray with the missing ear and the scarred nose.
But something about its presence had shifted.
Its eyes, once dull and tired, now held a depth that was almost unsettling.
It had seen infinity.
It had tasted infinity.
And it had survived.
More than survived.
It had thrived.
"I think you just made that cat immortal," Rimuru said flatly.
Lucia shrugged.
"Probably. But look how happy he is."
The cat was, indeed, happy.
It had rolled onto its back and was now exposing its belly to the sky, purring so hard its entire body vibrated.
Its eyes were closed.
Its face was the picture of contentment.
THE PROBLEM
The princess appeared in the doorway behind Rimuru.
"What's going on? I heard shouting—"
She saw the cat.
She saw Lucia.
She saw the faint golden glow still fading from the air.
"Grandmother, did you...?"
"She gave 555 grains to a stray cat," Rimuru said.
The princess's eyes went wide.
"Five hundred fifty-five?! You gave me ONE and it nearly broke my brain!"
Lucia smiled.
"You handled it well. I knew you would."
"And the cat?!"
"The cat handled it even better. Cats are naturally attuned to cosmic truths. It's why they sleep so much."
The princess stared at her.
"That's not scientifically accurate."
"This isn't a scientific situation."
THE CAT'S NEW LIFE
Later, after the chaos had settled, the cat was still there.
It had followed Lucia inside the café.
It was now sitting on a windowsill, washing its face with the serene dignity of a creature that had transcended mortal limitations.
The princess was watching it with a mixture of jealousy and fascination.
"It really seems fine," she said. "Better than fine. It seems... enlightened."
Rimuru nodded grimly.
"That's because it ate the equivalent of 555 infinite realities. Its soul has expanded beyond normal feline parameters. It's basically a god now."
The cat sneezed.
They all stared at it.
"Did the god-cat just sneeze?" the princess asked.
"Even gods sneeze," Lucia said.
THE DOWNSIDE
The downside, as it turned out, was that the cat could no longer eat normal food.
They discovered this when the princess tried to feed it a piece of ham.
The cat sniffed the ham.
It took a tentative lick.
Then it made a face.
It looked at the princess with an expression of profound betrayal.
Then it turned away and went back to washing its face.
"It hates normal food," the princess said. "It can't eat anything else."
Rimuru sighed.
"Of course it can't. It's tasted infinity. Ham is pointless now."
"So what does it eat?"
Rimuru looked at Lucia.
Lucia smiled.
"I think we'll need to keep a supply of Grains of Infinite Multiverses on hand."
Rimuru stared at her.
"You want us to feed a stray cat the most powerful cosmic snack in existence. On a regular basis."
"He's not a stray anymore. He's our cat."
"Since when?!"
"Since I gave him 555 grains and he followed me inside."
THE NAME
They named the cat Wúliàng.
It meant "Infinite" in Chinese.
The cat didn't seem to care.
But when the princess said the name, its ears twitched.
"That's a good sign," Lucia said.
"It's a sign that it heard you," Rimuru muttered.
"Same thing."
THE CAT'S BEHAVIOR
Over the next few days, Wúliàng became a permanent fixture at the café.
It slept on the windowsill.
It ignored customers.
It occasionally emitted a soft golden glow when it was particularly content.
And once, when a rude customer tried to complain about the coffee, Wúliàng stared at him until the man broke out in a cold sweat and left without saying another word.
"He's protecting the café," the princess said proudly.
Rimuru watched the cat.
"That's... actually useful."
Lucia smiled.
"See? I told you he was meant to be here."
THE IMMORTALITY CONFIRMED
They tested the cat's immortality by accident.
The princess accidentally stepped on its tail.
Wúliàng yowled.
Then the tail healed instantly.
No blood.
No bruise.
Just... healed.
The princess stared.
The cat glared at her.
"I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean to!"
Wúliàng sniffed haughtily and went back to sleep.
"Well," Rimuru said. "That confirms it. The cat is immortal."
Lucia nodded.
"Good. I'd hate to lose him now."
THE COMFORT
That night, Wang Li was closing up the café.
The last customer had left.
The princess was in the back, washing dishes.
Rimuru was doing inventory.
Lucia was reading on the couch.
And Wúliàng was sitting on Wang Li's lap, purring softly.
She stroked its scarred head.
"You're a strange creature," she murmured.
The cat purred louder.
"You ate 555 infinite multiverses. You're immortal. You can't eat normal food. And you've decided to live in a café with a demon princess, an ancient slime, and a woman who may or may not be the wife of a sealed god."
The cat blinked at her.
Wang Li smiled.
"I think you fit right in."
The cat closed its eyes.
And somewhere, in the depths of its transcendent, infinite-tasting, immortal soul, it agreed.