Chapter 160: The Scars Healed

Could it be that it’s already time to close the net, and Huang Yi wants to catch the Jin, Yin, and Hong sisters all at once?

Ever since she’d been played by Greenfield, who was also a Magical Girl, Song Wuli had grown a little more cautious.

She turned down Huang Yi’s invitation, saying she was busy and that he could just message her if anything came up.

This time, Huang Yi didn’t push her—if she wasn’t coming, then so be it.

He also knew that Yin Lin still hadn’t recovered from the gloom of last time.

No matter how strong or indifferent someone may seem, when they’re being played with, their body still softens and grows warm.

So it’s only natural that some psychological issues might surface.

Huan Hong and Jin Luan didn’t try to persuade her either, respecting Yin Lin’s decision to avoid everyone for a while.

For some reason, these people all seemed a bit strange, but Old Song was too slow to figure out why.

After finishing her morning work, Song Wuli went to take her lunch break, and grabbed Qian Dehao to go eat at the cafeteria.

But today, there was something unexpected.

Usually, things in the cafeteria were just as always—the three more senior young men, Xiao Liu and Xiao Zhao, would stick together, eating and chatting at a table.

The newcomers, Chang Kaihuai and Chang Yong, would also pair up and find a spot to eat.

Greta usually either worked overtime by herself or found a place to eat and nap alone.

But today, against all expectations, she appeared right in front of Song Wuli.

“Mr. Song, is this seat taken?” Greta looked at the empty seat beside her, tray in hand.

“Oh, it’s free.” Song Wuli blurted out before her brain caught up.

Greta sat down.

Her move drew curious and envious glances from their coworkers around them. Everyone had already heard that a woman from another district had joined Copywriting Team Two—and that she was pretty. Quite a few people would wander around during lunch breaks, hoping for a “chance encounter.”

And sure enough, they’d met her—but she’d gone straight for Team Leader Song’s table.

Naturally, people started whispering among themselves. Some even sneakily snapped photos and took videos with their phones.

Seeing their boldness, Song Wuli forced a smile and explained, “They don’t mean any harm—they’re just curious about you.”

Greta nodded, sat down, and started spreading cheese on her bread, then stuffed some ham in.

By the way, she got to the point: “Mr. Song, I’d like to ask about some usages in your language, and also some work-related matters. Would it be convenient to take up some of your time?”

Even if it wasn’t convenient, she’d already sat down.

Song Wuli replied, “I hope I can answer your questions.”

“Mr. Song, you’re a reliable person. I’m sure you can answer them.” Greta finished preparing her sandwich but didn’t eat it yet. “I still don’t really understand your subjects and predicates. In your language, is it always subject first, then predicate?”

Uh… Song Wuli’s mind suddenly got stuck for a moment. She thought for a bit. “I guess so. In formal language, that’s usually how it goes—subject first, predicate after.”

Greta continued, “What about modifiers? When are those used?”

Modifiers? Song Wuli’s brain stalled again. Frowning, she replied, “There are pre-modifiers and post-modifiers; they can be used anywhere.”

Greta was growing more interested. “So then, where do adverbials and complements go?”

Now Song Wuli was completely stumped. What’s an adverbial? What’s a complement? How long ago did I learn this stuff?

She quickly pointed at Greta’s sandwich and said, “Your sandwich is getting cold—better eat first.”

Greta snapped back to her senses and began to eat.

Qian Dehao shot Old Song a knowing look, smiled, and said, “I’m full. I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Qian.” Greta greeted politely.

Old Qian waved back as if to say he’d heard. As soon as he left, Song Wuli felt a wave of discomfort.

She slowly sipped her soup, watching Greta.

This woman from another district wasn’t exactly a dainty eater—unlike the people from the Eastern Union, who always seemed so prim.

She opened her mouth wide, stuffed in a third of her sandwich, and chewed away.

Once she finished her sandwich, she stirred her salad and picked up the earlier topic.

“Mr. Song, when I studied the drafts from our coworkers, I noticed nobody really cares about grammar structure. Should I be learning from them, or should I stick strictly to the grammar when writing copy?”

Song Wuli didn’t answer right away—he started thinking.

Greta genuinely seemed to care about her job and wanted to make progress with her copywriting.

Old Song recalled the drafts Greta had written.

There was almost nothing to criticize—too well-organized, too correct.

When writing little stories, she used the standard “introduction-body-conclusion” structure, with all three elements—time, place, and character—fully present. First the setting, then the characters.

It read just like something ready for publication in a language textbook.

“You write too seriously, too formally. In our kind of anime game, that doesn’t really work.” Song Wuli answered, “You…”

“Mr. Song, please wait a moment.” Greta interrupted him.

Then she took out her phone, opened a notepad app, and began taking notes.

Old Song glanced at it casually. It was a phone with a green case, a bit old—looked like she’d used it for years.

Greta wrote down what Song Wuli just said, then said, “Mr. Song, could you please continue?”

Seeing how serious she was, Song Wuli couldn’t help but get serious too.

He explained, “Language is divided into written and spoken forms—you should have that where you’re from, too. Written language is more serious, but its use is becoming more and more limited. Our company’s game, ‘Sparrow Chess,’ is an anime game. It’s not meant to be serious; it’s meant to be light and fun. So, we try to mix written and spoken language together, mostly using spoken language for copywriting.”

Greta typed away at her phone, taking notes quickly.

Seeing how earnest she was, Old Song changed the topic a little and asked, “You work so hard that it’s making me feel guilty. It’s just a regular copywriting job, after all. To be honest, with this salary, it’s not worth being so serious.”

He lowered his voice; you couldn’t speak ill of the company too loudly.

Greta’s fingers didn’t stop as she answered, “I have my own reasons for learning all this. I want to be able to live in this city for a long time, so I need to learn how to fit in here.”

“Huh? You’re not joking?” Song Wuli was surprised. “You really don’t plan to go back to the West? You’re not planning to travel to the next city?”

A smile appeared on Greta’s face, as if she were remembering something wonderful. “I’ve found my reason to stay. I want to stay here for a long time.”

Song Wuli didn’t press further—it was her personal business.

He continued teaching her some language tips and about Yirishi’s local customs.

Lunch break passed just like that.

The afternoon brought work again. After what happened at lunch, Greta’s new drafts started having fresh problems—the quality had actually gone down.

She was treating her job as practice, trying to blend written and spoken language. For native speakers, that’s second nature, as easy as eating or breathing.

But for an outsider, it was a mountain hard to climb.

For example, in the original version of a lovers’ quarrel she wrote yesterday: [You are a selfish person, you are a person whose brain is sick.]

After Song Wuli’s advice today, Greta tried making it more colloquial, changing it to: [You’re a selfish nutcase.]

It was a bit more colloquial, but still had a hint of translation awkwardness—and it wasn’t sharp enough, sounding like some out-of-date childish insult.

So Song Wuli gave her an example, personally editing it to: [You, all you ever think about is yourself.]

Greta stared at the three versions, deep in thought, trying to figure out their differences.

She realized once again just how hard Mandarin was to learn.

She was still at it late into the night—unprecedentedly, she even outlasted Song Wuli and became the last one to leave the office.

At that moment, Old Song had already transformed into Yin Lin, heading off to work another shift at the milk tea shop.

If you’re afraid even of Greenfield, how can you face an even scarier Contract Goddess?

A man must not stand still!