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LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
In the seconds before opening the door, the crowd stayed calm. Once it opened, they surged in, rushing for seats.
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They weren’t wrong—lag a few seconds, even at the front, and you’d miss out.
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Today’s Yao Ruoning was the most refined and ladylike they’d seen.
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Legs clamped tight, standing straight by the door, hands layered over her skirt’s front, exuding etiquette.
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She walked in small, deliberate steps, far from her usual carefree stride.
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A stark change from the Yao Ruoning of days past—not in looks, but in demeanor.
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Regulars at the milk tea shop, the “Yao-ologists,” spotted the difference instantly but couldn’t pinpoint why.
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A guess floated: maybe her period?
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They kept watching. The more they observed, the odder today’s Yao Ruoning seemed.
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She stuck to the counter most of the time, even having the owner deliver orders while she made drinks.
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Bossing the owner around?
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Bold.
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A few customers eyed her physical state, but most were glued to the hot topic: the high-level demon incident.
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Since this place was a hub for Yinlin fans, talk naturally veered to magical girls and the ongoing demon vs. Human Alliance battle.
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“Holy crap, another cannon truck’s down!” a group of youngsters huddled around a tablet.
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The high-level demon’s standard laser pierced a truck two kilometers away—no explosion, just wrecked.
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It didn’t stop. Hell-bent on countering, it fired relentless lasers, picking off truck after truck.
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It knew classic fireball spells but didn’t use them—those would’ve blown up trucks and crew, but they burned more mana.
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The TV expert chimed in: “The demon’s likely conserving mana, a sign of near-sapient behavior.”
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Smart, the expert avoided tactical leaks, knowing what got censored, sticking to subtle hints.
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Viewers got the gist.
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Little Fatty Zhou and his buddies speculated: “Is it saving mana for magical girls?”
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Friends: “Obviously, it’s waiting for them.”
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Zhou: “If it wanted to escape, it could. Why wait?”
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Another table butted in: “It’s a trap, duh. Waiting to take out a magical girl.”
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Another customer joined: “Are demons smarter now? Coming up with tactics like this?”
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Yinlin brought over milk tea, setting it down.
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“Thanks,” Zhou said politely, then teased: “Hey, Miss Yinlin, don’t go out there. They say it’s a trap.”
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He was poking fun at Old Song, treating her like the real Yinlin.
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With their looks so similar, the jest was natural.
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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.
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But the customers stirred trouble.
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“Little Yao, give us a show!” someone shouted, holding up a phone with the demon’s close-up on the live broadcast.
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“Come on, do it!” x5
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The regulars, too chummy from days here, had no sense of boundaries.
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They often made awkward but not offensive requests.
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She glanced at the owner, hoping for a save. The owner just grinned: “Look, the customers love you.”
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Fine. She grabbed her double-handed staff from the back room, aimed at the demon on the phone, and half-heartedly mimicked firing.
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“Pierce the Star Sea,” she mumbled, low on energy.
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She stashed the staff and returned to work.
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Some clapped, thinking it was spot-on, full of vibe.
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But the hardcore Yao-ologists and Yinlin fans sensed something off.
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“Today’s Little Yao seems… low-energy?” Zhou whispered to his crew.
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“You noticed too? And her hands…” They sneaked glances as she delivered tea.
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Her left hand subtly pressed her skirt, right hand swinging naturally.
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Like she was terrified of her skirt lifting.
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Normal customers thought nothing of it, but Yao-ologists found it odd.
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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.
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No surprise there. At 34, Song Wuli wasn’t exactly “lively.” He was an old soul, mostly calm.
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As Yinlin, he had to channel a teenage girl’s energy—lively, perky, fitting the bratty green-tea persona.
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This made her seem to waver between calm and lively. Regulars might miss it, but Yao-ologists clocked it.
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Today, Yao Ruoning was noticeably subdued, barely lively.
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So, they hatched a plan to spark her energy.
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“Little Yao, Little Yao!” The youngsters waved, calling her. “Can you dance for us?”
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“Nope,” she shut down.
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Dance?
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Were they nuts?
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Even normally, she wouldn’t. Now, mid-bet with the Goddess, big moves were out of the question.
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One slip, and her life would end in humiliating fashion.
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The group didn’t push—rejection was fine, no big deal.
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But today wouldn’t be easy.
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Near noon, the door swung open. No one should’ve been entering—seats were full.
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Yinlin turned, and her heart sank.
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Xia Shiyao, in casual clothes, untransformed.
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She walked in, locked eyes with Yinlin, and said: “Nice, full of life, back to work so soon.”
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Yinlin didn’t reply, head down, making tea.
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Xia Shiyao didn’t leave easily. She slapped 400 bucks on Table 3, claimed it, sat, and said: “Order.”
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The owner nudged Yinlin’s arm, signaling her to serve the regular.
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Yinlin nudged back, reluctant.
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The owner nudged again—she’s here for you.
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Yinlin gave in, going over.
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Xia Shiyao noticed her odd gait, an awkward elegance, and always on her skirt.
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Suspicion sparked.
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Since when was this girl so refined?
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So delicate?
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So ladylike?
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