Chapter 47: I Want to Make the Contract Goddess Howl Like a Defeated Dog  

In the seconds before opening the door, the crowd stayed calm. Once it opened, they surged in, rushing for seats.  

They weren’t wrong—lag a few seconds, even at the front, and you’d miss out.  

Today’s Yao Ruoning was the most refined and ladylike they’d seen.  

Legs clamped tight, standing straight by the door, hands layered over her skirt’s front, exuding etiquette.  

She walked in small, deliberate steps, far from her usual carefree stride.  

A stark change from the Yao Ruoning of days past—not in looks, but in demeanor.  

Regulars at the milk tea shop, the “Yao-ologists,” spotted the difference instantly but couldn’t pinpoint why.  

A guess floated: maybe her period?  

They kept watching. The more they observed, the odder today’s Yao Ruoning seemed.  

She stuck to the counter most of the time, even having the owner deliver orders while she made drinks.  

Bossing the owner around?

Bold.  

A few customers eyed her physical state, but most were glued to the hot topic: the high-level demon incident.  

Since this place was a hub for Yinlin fans, talk naturally veered to magical girls and the ongoing demon vs. Human Alliance battle.  

“Holy crap, another cannon truck’s down!” a group of youngsters huddled around a tablet.  

The high-level demon’s standard laser pierced a truck two kilometers away—no explosion, just wrecked.  

It didn’t stop. Hell-bent on countering, it fired relentless lasers, picking off truck after truck.  

It knew classic fireball spells but didn’t use them—those would’ve blown up trucks and crew, but they burned more mana.  

The TV expert chimed in: “The demon’s likely conserving mana, a sign of near-sapient behavior.”  

Smart, the expert avoided tactical leaks, knowing what got censored, sticking to subtle hints.  

Viewers got the gist.  

Little Fatty Zhou and his buddies speculated: “Is it saving mana for magical girls?”  

Friends: “Obviously, it’s waiting for them.”  

Zhou: “If it wanted to escape, it could. Why wait?”  

Another table butted in: “It’s a trap, duh. Waiting to take out a magical girl.”  

Another customer joined: “Are demons smarter now? Coming up with tactics like this?”  

Yinlin brought over milk tea, setting it down.  

“Thanks,” Zhou said politely, then teased: “Hey, Miss Yinlin, don’t go out there. They say it’s a trap.”  

He was poking fun at Old Song, treating her like the real Yinlin.  

With their looks so similar, the jest was natural.  

She stayed calm, ignoring it, her mind on surviving two days to slap the Contract Goddess’s face and make her wail like a defeated dog.  

But the customers stirred trouble.  

“Little Yao, give us a show!” someone shouted, holding up a phone with the demon’s close-up on the live broadcast.  

“Come on, do it!” x5  

The regulars, too chummy from days here, had no sense of boundaries.  

They often made awkward but not offensive requests.  

She glanced at the owner, hoping for a save. The owner just grinned: “Look, the customers love you.”  

Fine. She grabbed her double-handed staff from the back room, aimed at the demon on the phone, and half-heartedly mimicked firing.  

“Pierce the Star Sea,” she mumbled, low on energy.  

She stashed the staff and returned to work.  

Some clapped, thinking it was spot-on, full of vibe.  

But the hardcore Yao-ologists and Yinlin fans sensed something off.  

“Today’s Little Yao seems… low-energy?” Zhou whispered to his crew.  

“You noticed too? And her hands…” They sneaked glances as she delivered tea.  

Her left hand subtly pressed her skirt, right hand swinging naturally.  

Like she was terrified of her skirt lifting.  

Normal customers thought nothing of it, but Yao-ologists found it odd.  

After days of studying Yao Ruoning, they knew her usual vibe—slightly rough, no aristocratic grace, like a mature kid swinging between calm and lively.  

No surprise there. At 34, Song Wuli wasn’t exactly “lively.” He was an old soul, mostly calm.  

As Yinlin, he had to channel a teenage girl’s energy—lively, perky, fitting the bratty green-tea persona.  

This made her seem to waver between calm and lively. Regulars might miss it, but Yao-ologists clocked it.  

Today, Yao Ruoning was noticeably subdued, barely lively.  

So, they hatched a plan to spark her energy.  

“Little Yao, Little Yao!” The youngsters waved, calling her. “Can you dance for us?”  

“Nope,” she shut down.  

Dance?

Were they nuts?  

Even normally, she wouldn’t. Now, mid-bet with the Goddess, big moves were out of the question.  

One slip, and her life would end in humiliating fashion.  

The group didn’t push—rejection was fine, no big deal.  

But today wouldn’t be easy.  

Near noon, the door swung open. No one should’ve been entering—seats were full.  

Yinlin turned, and her heart sank.  

Xia Shiyao, in casual clothes, untransformed.  

She walked in, locked eyes with Yinlin, and said: “Nice, full of life, back to work so soon.”  

Yinlin didn’t reply, head down, making tea.  

Xia Shiyao didn’t leave easily. She slapped 400 bucks on Table 3, claimed it, sat, and said: “Order.”  

The owner nudged Yinlin’s arm, signaling her to serve the regular.  

Yinlin nudged back, reluctant.  

The owner nudged again—she’s here for you.  

Yinlin gave in, going over.  

Xia Shiyao noticed her odd gait, an awkward elegance, and always on her skirt.  

Suspicion sparked.

Since when was this girl so refined?

So delicate?

So ladylike?