“I still have a crucial question, though I doubt you’ll tell me. What exactly is that badge I got from Biscuit Boy?”
Yin Lin hadn’t forgotten about this and always felt the badge was extraordinary, but she had never found any answers.
Jin Luan had claimed she would investigate from a religious angle, but nothing had come of it so far; the badge’s origin remained a mystery.
The Goddess of Contracts definitely knew the truth, but the key was whether this history’s simp would be willing to reveal the secret.
“I’d love to tell you, but unfortunately I can’t,” the Goddess of Contracts gave her usual reply. “But don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.”
She was the most revered person in the entire Magical Girls’ camp when it came to history.
Insisting on steering history down its proper course.
So much so that every time they met, she was putting on an act. No one knew if she was Song Wuli, Yin Lin, or merely an extension of the Goddess of Contracts.
“I know you have a lot of complaints, but all of this is for the sake of victory.” The Goddess of Contracts knew she was hiding too many secrets and tried to comfort her. Of course, these must have been the same words the previous Goddess of Contracts said to her—she was just repeating them now.
Yin Lin couldn’t help but lecture again, “Don’t you have your own thoughts? Are you just a Puppet, without a will of your own?”
The Goddess of Contracts was already prepared: “My will is to keep history progressing normally. That’s what I want to do.”
Yin Lin was ready with her own follow-up, “You tried changing history, only to find things got worse, so you became a loyal defender of the official timeline. I’m guessing someone close to me died because of this, and a lot of humans as well.”
“As clever as ever,” the Goddess of Contracts praised Yin Lin. “But it’s a pity all that cleverness is focused on the big picture. When you run into someone like Luyie, you end up completely thrown off your game.”
It was just like those people who play MOBA Games—knowing exactly when to farm, when to gank, when to group up and push, all with a clear plan in mind. But once a team fight breaks out, their minds go blank.
Some are good at strategy, some excel at tactics—not everyone is a jack of all trades.
Yin Lin had strategic vision and could make long-term plans, but when faced with unexpected situations, her mind often seized up.
The Goddess of Contracts continued, “I’ve tried to change history. I thought I was making a difference, but things always turned for the worse, going in directions I never wanted. I often wonder if things wouldn’t have become so bad if I’d just stuck to the script and not done anything extra.”
Yin Lin asked, “Then why don’t you try telling me what’s about to happen so I can avoid making the wrong choices?”
The Goddess of Contracts hesitated, but it was impossible to tell if it was genuine or not.
Using the knowledge of the future for a Lower Dimensional Strike is every time-manipulator’s favorite trick.
For instance, knowing that tomorrow there would be an aberrant attack on the milk tea shop, one could simply wait there ahead of time and kill the aberrant the moment it appeared.
Such a tactic would be a true Lower Dimensional Strike against the aberrants.
As long as the Goddess of Contracts revealed the aberrants’ next moves, the three magical girls of Yiri City could wipe out every aberrant in town—no more humans would be killed.
So why wouldn’t she say anything?
Yin Lin knew the answer—loving humanity and loving people were two different things.
It was that most infuriating trope from anime and movies—sacrificing the few for the sake of the many.
Yin Lin hadn’t yet reached that point; she simply didn’t care much for individuals, but she hadn’t gone so far as to deliberately sacrifice some to save others.
The Goddess of Contracts, however, clearly had.
When Yin Lin suggested they “cooperate,” the Goddess of Contracts predictably refused: “If you don’t try to change the official timeline, you’ll already be on the right path. That alone is enough to avoid the wrong choices.”
Yin Lin raised her voice a bit, suspicion lacing her words. “You should know, I just had a fight on the pedestrian street a few days ago—the same day I ran into Luyie. I believe that was a night neither of us will ever forget. While I was locked in a fierce battle with a high-level aberrant, an ordinary human, carrying a few things, started throwing them at the aberrant to draw its attention.”
She watched the Goddess of Contracts’ expressionless face and continued, “That frail human had no magic, no weapon, yet still managed to hurl whatever he had at the aberrant. He dared to resist, but you—you’re too scared to even try?”
The Goddess of Contracts explained, “I’m resisting every moment. As long as I stick to the official timeline, that’s the best resistance there is.”
Yin Lin stepped closer, her face almost touching the other girl’s—so familiar yet so strange. They were just centimeters apart, close enough to hear each other’s breathing.
Even if Yin Lin said nothing, the Goddess of Contracts knew what she was thinking.
“Remember when you first became a magical girl? Didn’t you love wildly firing off your mana cannon without caring who might get caught in the blast? Did you worry about collateral damage then?” The Goddess of Contracts’ tone became sharp.
She pressed on, “Aren’t you just like me? You don’t care about individual humans, you care about humanity as a whole. I’ve never wavered—I’m still holding fast to the official history, protecting it for the sake of humanity. What about you? Why did you change?”
Their eyes met—neither backing down. She continued, “Was it because that person on the pedestrian street distracted the aberrant for you? Or because of what happened to that kid in the milk tea shop? Or maybe because those living, breathing people in the milk tea shop supported you? Or the times Liang Tai’s Magical Girl Support Club helped you? Is that why you started caring about individual people, stopped using the mana cannon, and even took it upon yourself to rescue humans?”
After her long speech, Yin Lin replied, “We have a strength, or maybe a flaw—our willpower is strong. We’re hard to persuade and won’t be swayed by mere words. I admit I’ve changed my initial resolve, but honestly, it feels pretty good. I quite like it, for now.”
Even if Yin Lin only changed her mind two months after she started, it wasn’t a sudden shift, but something that happened gradually after many experiences.
Spending her after-work hours now and then beating up little monsters and protecting people didn’t feel bad at all.
It added a bit of joy to her otherwise numb, workaholic life.
The conversation was winding down—it was time to leave.
“One last question.” Yin Lin couldn’t let go of the idea of a Lower Dimensional Strike. “If you just told me what’s going to happen, I could avoid the bad outcomes. I’m sure we could do even better—we clearly have so many chances to try things over.”
The Goddess of Contracts still refused, “I’m sorry, you can’t persuade me—just like I can’t persuade you. People can’t teach people—only experience can. That’s when you really learn.”
Seeing they were at an impasse, Yin Lin turned and left the tree hollow.
Her steps grew slower and slower, and she finally asked something she’d wanted to for a long time, “Diamond, has he come back?”
The Goddess of Contracts replied softly, “He has.”
Yin Lin: “Was it you who gave Diamond his name?”
The Goddess of Contracts did not deny it.