“Old Song, you went outside the company for a bathroom break?”
Team leader Huang Yijun teased, a hint of suspicion in his tone.
Song Wuli hurriedly explained, “After the bathroom, I had a delivery to pick up downstairs.”
A bit flimsy, but not impossible.
Huang Yijun pressed, “You bring your backpack to the bathroom?”
Song Wuli: “You know that company downstairs—rumors of theft, right? I take my valuables to avoid losing them.”
That excuse was even weaker—treating colleagues like thieves?
The copywriting department had no history of theft.
Huang Yijun’s suspicion deepened.
Eyeing Song Wuli’s backpack, he asked, “What’s in there? So precious.”
He stepped closer, gesturing to check it.
Song Wuli quickly pulled out the top layer—some documents.
Huang Yijun wasn’t convinced. Documents alone made him this paranoid?
He tugged the bag open, peeking inside.
More documents and spare clothes.
Just like Song Wuli said before.
Still skeptical, Huang Yijun asked, “Didn’t you plan to live at the office? Why haven’t you stayed lately?”
Song Wuli: “Just being prepared. Sometimes work piles up, and going home’s a hassle, so I’d stay. It’s just a precaution, not every day.”
Seeing he couldn’t pry more, Huang Yijun said earnestly, “Old Song, I’m not picking on you, but lately… you seem distracted. People at the office are talking.”
Song Wuli: “I’ll be more focused.”
Huang Yijun: “Let’s talk at lunch. Back to work now.”
Song Wuli: “Uh…”
Huang Yijun left before he could finish.
Song Wuli returned to his desk, catching up on work.
His progress was still ahead of others, but compared to himself a week ago, he was slower.
No one in the copywriting department outworked him.
Logically, they had no right to criticize.
Sigh, that’s the workplace.
Only his two old office buddies would speak honestly with him.
Maybe lunch with the old-timers?
The thought lasted a second before he scrapped it—not because he disliked them, but because the milk tea shop’s manager was paying too much.
He worked until lunch break.
Huang Yijun called, “Old Song, let’s eat!”
Song Wuli waved him off: “Sorry, Old Huang, got something at noon. Tell the others I can’t make it.”
He grabbed his backpack and left.
At the cafeteria, Huang Yijun griped at another guy.
The old-timers’ trio was down to two—Song Wuli hadn’t joined them in ages.
“Old Qian, I’m telling you, that guy’s acting off,” Huang Yijun leaned in, talking to another middle-aged man.
The other was Qian Dehao, 35, another old friend from the copywriting team.
At his age, getting laid off would make finding a new job tough.
Qian Dehao ate while listening.
Huang Yijun continued, “Old Qian, he’s been weird all week.
Always clutching that backpack like it’s treasure. Gotta be something shady in there.”
Qian Dehao: “His work’s off too. I talked shop with him recently, and he couldn’t keep up.”
Huang Yijun: “Right? Something’s up with him.”
Qian Dehao: “Gone at lunch, not eating with us at night either.”
Huang Yijun shoveled rice, chewing hard: “Get this—I saw him looking at heels. He’s ‘studying’ heels!”
Qian Dehao perked up: “Now that you mention it, he asked me if I’d written a copy for tsundere or bratty imp characters.”
Huang Yijun: “Old Song’s into women’s stuff? Researching girls? Could it be…”
Qian Dehao nodded furiously—they were on the same page.
Huang Yijun: “No way… Old Song’s got a girlfriend?!”
Meanwhile, Song Wuli was already working. The pilgrimage crowd was thinner today—Yinlin had appeared far away, killing another demon.
Some fans rushed to the new site for pilgrimage.
No. 8 Milk Tea Shop was still packed, with a long line outside.
Today, the shop had new rules.
Per the regular’s suggestion, the manager introduced special cups with Yinlin’s face printed on them.
A chubby fan shyly approached the counter, shouting to a blushing Song Wuli, “Meeting in a foreign land, savor the flavor!”
Song Wuli’s face reddened.
The fan was thrilled, sparking cheers and claps from the crowd.
This was the manager and regular’s new gimmick. With limited staff and production, they encouraged customer interaction.
A slogan was posted at the door, as long as someone shouted the slogan, the beautiful and lovely cosplayer would make milk tea herself, and there were limited milk tea cups.
To outsiders, it wasn’t much, but the otakus went wild.
Seeing Song Wuli on shift, they ordered tea, shouting, “Meeting in a foreign land, savor the flavor!”
They weren’t embarrassed—Song Wuli was cringing to the stars.
The shop split duties: the manager handled takeout orders, fingers red from nonstop work, sales 100 times higher than before—yes, 100 times.
Song Wuli made the special teas, overwhelmed by Yinlin fans, goosebumps all over.
After ten minutes of making tea and serving a few customers, she delivered a cup with elegant steps.
A female customer kept staring at her feet—specifically, her shoes.
Curious, she asked, “Hey, little sister, can I ask something?”
Song Wuli set down the tea, holding the tray in front, and nodded.
The woman continued, “I’ve noticed you wearing those heels for a while. They look like Magical Girl Yinlin’s shoes. But wasn’t Yinlin barefoot before? Today, she wore shoes, and they look like yours.”
No malice, just a casual question.
Her words sparked alertness and curiosity in the shop—everyone stared at her feet.
Yeah, how did this cosplayer know Yinlin’s shoes in advance?
Song Wuli tensed slightly but answered smoothly, “Your fan purity’s lacking. In Yinlin’s first appearance, a video caught shoes by the roadside. Their size matched Yinlin’s. I figured they were hers, just lost for some reason.”
Yinlin appeared publicly three times.
The first was the night she became a magical girl.
The second was outside No. 8 Milk Tea Shop.
The third was today, when she revealed her full form—this time, finally wearing shoes.
Her explanation left some fans red-faced.
How could they, self-proclaimed Yinlin stans, have missed such an obvious detail?
“Meeting in a foreign land, savor the flavor!”
Another shout echoed from the counter, cheerful and clear.
Song Wuli, flustered but focused, rushed back to the kitchen to brew more tea.
Meanwhile, in the quiet upper floors of the company, Huang Yijun and Qian Dehao were deep in conspiracy.
“Wait,” one whispered, eyes darting to the hallway.
“You hold his hands, I’ll grab his feet, and we’ll…”
Their plan hung unfinished in the air, dangerous and ridiculous all at once.
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