Song Wuli didn’t choose to be a magical girl, but since Diamond forced the contract, what’s wrong with using the identity for some personal gain?
Totally reasonable! He convinced himself.
Now, it should be “she”, not him.
After transforming on the company rooftop, she changed into a cosplay outfit, applied makeup to look less striking.
She hid the magical uniform and male clothes in the backpack, stashing it on the roof.
Then, she flew on her altered wand to near No. 8 Milk Tea Shop, landing on an empty rooftop and walking down, pretending to come from the building.
Stepping onto the street, someone shouted, “Holy crap, Yinlin! It’s Yinlin!”
All eyes turned to her.
Song Wuli waved her hands in denial.
Turning her face, people noticed the differences.
Yinlin was purer, with a natural, unmatched beauty.
This Yinlin had makeup—eyeshadow, curled lashes, lipstick, tweaked brows, and a likely wig, looking more mature, slightly less stunning, no match for the real Yinlin.
“Oh, it’s cosplay, but she’s so pretty!”
“The resemblance is insane, at least 60%, no, 70%!”
“Can we take a photo?”
Song Wuli ignored them, strutting haughtily, staying in character.
Must not break persona.
The pilgrimage crowd was still there, growing wilder, numbers increasing.
It started with fans snapping photos at Yinlin’s battle site, then turned into a Yinlin fan meetup.
Then influencers came to farm traffic.
Big media followed, reporting the event, drawing even more people.
Damaged local businesses jumped in, using Yinlin for ads, hyping the frenzy further.
Today, vendors even set up stalls selling Yinlin merch—T-shirts, hats, rings, body pillows.
Some doujin artists teamed up, cranking out a doujinshi in days, selling it here.
The street buzzed like a peak tourist spot, packed to the brim.
When Song Wuli pushed open the milk tea shop’s door, the manager was stunned, the regular advisor was stunned, and customers waiting for her shift were stunned.
“No way that’s not her!”
“That resemblance is unreal.”
“She even has a wand—such a high-quality replica, so dedicated!”
The manager hurried her into a staff-only room.
His hands didn’t know where to rest, eyes unsure where to look, clearly awkward.
After a while, he gave some instructions: start simple, take orders, serve tea.
Then work began.
Stepping into the main area, the shop was packed, some standing.
The manager was ecstatic, shouting, “Line up! No line, no orders!”
People actually lined up.
Customers yelled, “Order! Waitress, I want to order!”
The manager taught Song Wuli to jot orders on a notepad, tear off the slip, and hand it to him.
He’d make the drinks, and she’d carry them on a tray to the tables.
Simple job.
But so busy!
Finish one table, another ordered instantly.
No one left—some reordered after finishing.
Some asked for photos; Song Wuli firmly refused.
The manager didn’t mind, letting her be.
He was lost in the joy of booming business.
In one hour, receipts piled at his feet, stretching meters if laid out.
His hands never stopped, sweating buckets.
The line didn’t shrink—it grew longer.
Customers posted photos online, drawing crowds to buy in-store or order takeout.
[“Guys, found an epic milk tea shop. Came for the tea, honest! [Pic]”]—a half-body shot of a silver-haired girl serving tea.
[“Yinlin’s working at a milk tea shop?”]
[“Cosplay, duh. She’s a total bratty imp!”]
Word spread fast.
An hour later, Song Wuli clocked out on the dot, not staying a minute longer.
The manager nearly begged her to stay—too busy to cope.
Song Wuli didn’t linger, leaving with a promise to return at night.
Even if makeup was a hassle, she wouldn’t neglect her main job.
After she left, the shop cooled down.
At 9:30 p.m., she returned, and waiting customers had already nabbed seats.
A line formed outside.
The shop stayed open past closing, until 11:30 p.m.
The boss felt he’d struck gold, Song Wuli felt she’d struck gold, customers felt they’d struck gold—so who lost?
On the way home, Song Wuli grabbed fried dumplings for Diamond, eating a late-night snack together.
Two days passed, and on the third day, the custom shoes arrived.
Compared to the original, they were 90% similar—great craftsmanship.
That day, like usual, she worked at the shop at noon and night.
Noon went fine, but at 11 p.m., trouble hit.
The shop was still packed, with a line outside.
The door swung open, and a woman appeared.
Song Wuli looked up, stumbled, nearly fell, catching herself on the wall.
A woman with long, slightly wavy black hair, in an ordinary summer dress.
That wasn’t the issue—she radiated magical aura, and her dress seemed made of magic, not normal fabric.
That wasn’t the main problem either.
The real issue: she looked 60% like Magical Girl Jinluan, with a similar lofty, icy aura, like an ice queen.
Her sharp eyes locked onto Song Wuli serving drinks, approaching slowly.
Song Wuli lowered her head, delivered the tray, and headed to the counter.
Her path was blocked—by the Jinluan-lookalike.
“It’s full. Does Big Sister not know how to queue? Such low manners?” Song Wuli blurted, instantly regretting it.
Why keep acting now, idiot?
Instinct took over—her mouth was too fast, too deep in character.
The woman’s brow furrowed.
She pulled out her wallet, tossed 400 yuan at table 3, and gestured.
The two at table 3 grabbed the cash, paid, and left.
She lifted her dress, sat primly, and said flatly, “Order.”