Chapter 22: That Scent, No Mistake—It’s a Fragrant Little Sister

Song Wuli forced an awkward, professional smile, jotting down the order.  

Watermelon juice, apple juice, mango juice, orange juice, grape juice… a dozen items.  

She stayed far from the woman, not daring to get close.  

When the manager finished the watermelon juice, Song Wuli had to deliver it.  

As she set it down, the woman grabbed her delicate wrist.  

Looking at her feet, she said, “Know your giveaway?”  

Song Wuli froze, confused.  

The woman continued, “Those shoes—only Yinlin and I know about them. Never shown publicly.”  

Oh crap, exposed!  

Song Wuli panicked, realizing her mistake.  

Yinlin appeared publicly twice, both barefoot. 

Only two people knew her shoes: herself and that creep Jinluan.  

Trying to stay calm, Song Wuli said, “Big Sister, bad eyesight? You’ve got the wrong person.”  

She tried to pull away, but the woman’s grip was tight—too strong for a normal person. 

This might not be her real body.  

“You can’t fool me,” the woman said, leaning down, sniffing Song Wuli’s arm up to her shoulder. “That’s the scent.”  

Suddenly, she grabbed Song Wuli’s silver hair and yanked.  

The silver wig came off, revealing black hair.  

Huh? Not expecting that, the woman paused.  

Song Wuli snatched back her hand, grabbed the silver wig, and put it back on.  

Didn’t see that coming, did you? 

I’m playing 4D chess!  

Silver hair over her real black hair, then black wig, then silver wig—hot as hell, but worth the precaution.  

Genius move!  

She scurried to the counter, sticking close to the manager for some sense of safety.  

The woman recovered, her suspicions unshaken. 

Black hair meant this was her real body, not a magical girl form.  

Her theory held.  

When Song Wuli brought the mango juice, the woman made a move.  

“I’m Xia Shiyao,” she introduced herself.  

Song Wuli dropped off the juice and left, uneasy under her stare.  

Creepy and terrifying.  

Xia Shiyao wasn’t here for tea—she seemed hungry for *her*.  

Her table was loaded with juices, barely sipped.  

At 11:30 p.m., Song Wuli clocked out, got her daily pay, and changed to leave.  

She’d learned to change—normal clothes were better; cosplay drew too much attention.  

But the double-handed wand was a hassle, too big to hide.  

Couldn’t leave it at the shop—losing it would be disastrous.  

She carried it, stepping out.  

Xia Shiyao’s suspicion deepened, eyeing the wand thoughtfully.  

She paid and followed.  

Song Wuli didn’t dare fly, treating the wand as a cosplay prop, slinging it over her shoulder, occasionally twirling it like it was nothing.  

Wherever she went, Xia Shiyao followed.  

A black Bentley trailed slowly behind.  

Sweating buckets—what now?  

She flagged a taxi and bolted.  

Xia Shiyao got in the Bentley, still tailing, her magical aura close behind.  

She liked to follow?  

Song Wuli told the driver to circle randomly.  

Half an hour later, she was still following.  

An hour later, still there.  

Song Wuli closed her eyes to rest. By 3 a.m., Xia Shiyao’s aura was still there.  

Unreal—she’d been tailing for hours!  

No way. Song Wuli told the driver to keep circling.  

One gave orders, the other followed—around the city they went.  

Song Wuli rested again, waking in the morning, jolted by a speed bump, no clue where they were.  

The driver yawned, exhausted from circling all night.  

Song Wuli checked—holy crap, Xia Shiyao was still following!  

This was insane, pure madness.  

Song Wuli called in sick for his main job—too risky to revert to his male form with her watching.  

Huang Yijun texted back: Old Song, you okay? 

What’s wrong? 

You, taking leave?  

He sent a video call request to check on him.  

Song Wuli rejected it instantly—couldn’t let him see her magical girl form.  

It took ages to explain to Huang Yijun.  

Main job sorted, Song Wuli felt a surge of defiance. 

Let’s see who’s tougher, Xia Shiyao.  

Back to No. 8 Milk Tea Shop, paying over 1,000 yuan in cab fare.  

The manager welcomed her for a full shift, arranging it immediately.  

She changed into the cosplay outfit, touched up her makeup, and checked her appearance.  

Stepping into the main area, she saw Xia Shiyao at the door.  

Good grief, this woman was nuts.  

The shop was packed with diehard fans and meme lords waiting for her morning shift.  

Xia Shiyao calmly walked to table 3, opened her wallet, tossed 400 yuan, and gestured.  

“Who are you? We came early to grab seats—think we need your money?” 

The couple at the table wasn’t swayed.  

Xia Shiyao tossed another 400 yuan, not even glancing at them.  

They grabbed the cash, paid, and left.  

Song Wuli gulped—today was going to be rough.  

Sure enough, Xia Shiyao ordered a dozen juices and sipped slowly.  

She stayed from morning to night.  

Song Wuli worked past the agreed eight-hour max, as the manager let her work as long as she wanted, unafraid of going broke.  

She worked until 11:30 p.m. closing.  

Xia Shiyao? 

Still there, only leaving for the bathroom.  

Unbelievable.  

Song Wuli was speechless. Xia Shiyao could keep going; she couldn’t.  

“What do you want?!” 

Song Wuli snapped, walking the night streets, near collapse.  

“You haven’t told me your name,” Xia Shiyao said calmly.  

“That’s it? You’ve followed me since yesterday just for my name?!”  

“Yes.”  

Song Wuli clutched her face, in agony.  

She knew if she didn’t make up a name to appease Xia Shiyao, she’d probably stick around another day.  

“I’m Yao Ruoning,” she blurted, a name cooked up in ten seconds, unrelated to Song Wuli.  

“Good. We’ll meet again.” 

Xia Shiyao left.  

Thank God, she’s finally gone.