Should I transform and go look for Huanhong myself?
We’re all magical girls, after all. Isn’t it wrong to be so indifferent?
Song Wuli’s mind was conflicted, but in the end, he still didn’t go and continued working.
Near dusk, he finally received a message from Jin Luan.
She sent a photo—Huanhong’s true form curled up in the corner of a narrow alley, having canceled her transformation.
Her hair was messy, eyes swollen and red from crying, and her body was covered in various red marks, like wounds from whip lashes.
The scars were all over her body, looking painful but probably not too serious—more like minor external injuries.
Because she had canceled the transformation, her clothes wouldn’t automatically put themselves back on, so the clothes she wore now were ones Jin Luan had found somewhere.
Jin Luan had taken her to the hospital.
Song Wuli asked about her injuries and the crime scene.
After a long while, Jin Luan sent another update—they had arrived at the hospital and were undergoing examination and treatment.
Huanhong’s condition had stabilized and she wasn’t crying much anymore, but her eyes still welled up with tears whenever they applied medicine.
Jin Luan also took some time to recount what had happened in detail.
She had received a GPS location sent by Huanhong and went straight there. By the time she arrived, Huanhong was already in that state.
Once Huanhong calmed down a bit, she explained what happened.
She was chased down by Lvye, the second-ranked magical girl on the wanted list, and ku jijiji.
She was tied up and whipped for over an hour, ku jijiji.
Nothing else happened; the content was, at least, still intact. Ku jijiji.
Snot and tears smeared all over Jin Luan as Huanhong knelt, begging her to help take revenge.
It made sense that the third-ranked on the wanted list would go after the second-ranked—it was reasonable and matched their strength difference.
Jin Luan also uncovered some details: when Huanhong faced off against that Western magical girl, it was nearly a total defeat.
How exactly did she lose? Huanhong said her mana was consumed at an accelerated rate, and it leaked out inexplicably. She quickly ran out of mana.
Then she reverted to her true form, not only exposing her identity but also receiving a whipping.
After examination by an old physician, the whip wounds weren’t fatal; the attacker didn’t go all out.
If this were a traditional whipping punishment in ancient times, there was a small chance it could kill someone.
Back then, a single lash would tear the skin and flesh. Real whipping punishments felt like being cut by a knife, and enduring three lashes without shedding tears was already considered tough.
Many people in that era died directly from whipping or from wounds caused by it.
But the whipping Huanhong suffered was ambiguous; the attacker’s technique was highly skilled. The force and angle of each lash were nearly perfect.
If the strength had been any greater, Huanhong’s skin might have been broken and bleeding; if any less, the marks would have been too shallow, and the pain much less.
The angles of the lashes were obviously deliberately chosen. To use a whip to strike the body and create a pattern resembling the petals of Purple Dew Grass on Huanhong’s skin—that skill was incredibly refined, like a craftsman forged by countless trials.
Looking at the pattern Jin Luan sent, even old Song couldn’t help but admire it.
The heavy lashes drew the outline of the petals on her body, while the light lashes created the fine details.
It was too beautiful.
This was imaginative body art.
Other parts of her body bore marks like jungle vines—at least a hundred lashes in total.
Tsk, for a moment Song Wuli and his mischievous inner self didn’t know whether to laugh or pity.
After much thought, he decided on mockery—to stay true to his character, even if it was somewhat immoral.
[Sisters, next time you see Lvye, just hide. Leave these battles to me.]
[Not everyone is suited for the battlefield.]
It felt a little like stabbing knives, but he believed strong Huanhong would be able to hold on. If not, an apology could come later.
At this point, Jin Luan naturally played the White Face, telling the group, [Your innate power is strong, but your combat skills are too weak.]
Song Wuli kept typing, [But I took down an officer-level demon! Jin Sister, have you defeated any officer-level demons?]
No one replied for a long time. He sent another message, [Sisters, why are you all silent? Did the internet go out?]
Feeling he’d said enough, old Song returned to work.
As the day neared its end, he took the second copywriting team to the big conference room for the regular meeting.
Of course, the first team was there too.
The meeting was still led by the supervisor.
As usual, they painted big pictures, talked about the company’s future, then scaled down a bit to discuss the copywriting team’s future.
Then they lowered the scale further and started talking about recent work goals, pulling out a heap of data to make their point.
It was enough to put people to sleep.
The three newcomers who had just joined the company listened intently, even taking out notebooks or laptops to jot down what the supervisor said.
Seeing their earnest expressions, Song Wuli recalled his own early days in the workplace.
Just like them, he had been very attentive to the leader’s words, always feeling there was some truth or important message hidden within.
But after attending enough weekly meetings, he realized the leader was mostly spouting nonsense.
Not entirely nonsense, though—the leader used various speeches to boost their own importance. Later, when achievements came, the leader would take credit.
Either the leader’s strategic goal succeeded, or their minor adjustments worked, so it was a success.
Even if the strategy and tweaks were both wrong, the leader would claim their speeches inspired the staff’s fighting spirit, so it was a success.
In any case, the credit belonged to the leader. That was one purpose of these meetings.
Song Wuli sighed and remained half-distracted, listening to the worn-out old lines while thinking about youth.
After nearly an hour, the supervisor wrapped up and moved on to the next item.
“Since we have new members in the copywriting team, let’s have the newcomers do a brief self-introduction. Don’t be afraid; we’re all friends here.”
Though everyone was “friends,” there were probably four or five factions.
Among about twenty colleagues, there were as many as thirty different chat groups—some you were in, some you weren’t.
The supervisor called on one newcomer from the second copywriting team. The young man nervously stood and began his introduction.
“My name is Chang Kaihuai, 23 years old, just graduated from university.”
He looked fairly burly.
“Um… I majored in electronic information. I’m already married. I just joined the ‘Queyi’ copywriting team and still have a lot to learn. I hope senior colleagues will guide me.”
Though his introduction was a bit awkward, it was still an introduction.
Next was another younger-looking man, slightly smaller.
“My name is Chang Yong, 22, also just graduated. I have a girlfriend and am preparing to get married. Greetings, seniors.”
He spoke briefly and bowed to everyone.
No need to mention marriage in a self-intro, why did everyone bring that up?
Finally, it was time for the highlight—the outsider everyone wanted to know about.
She stood up, looking a bit shy, a faint smile on her face.
“My name translated is Greta Wall. I’m 20. My hometown was destroyed by demons. I came to the Eastern Region to start a new life. I currently have a lover.”
Her introduction dampened the enthusiasm of some—she already had a lover?
After she sat down, the conference room quieted considerably.
Song Wuli was typing notes on his phone to mark down the newcomers’ names. Just as he finished Chang Kaihuai’s, the supervisor called on him.
It was his turn to read the weekly report.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.