Per their prior agreement, if Song Wuli helped Jinluan with the mid-tier demon, Diamond would teach her how to contact the Contract Goddess.
Tonight was the night.
While eating fried dumplings, they discussed matters related to the Contract Goddess.
She was a mysterious entity above all, wielding the power of laws and capable of altering the world.
That’s how Diamond hyped her up.
Song Wuli thought it was just hype—if she was so powerful, why was Earth in such a mess?
It was known that magical girls and contract beasts existed to drive out demons, their sworn enemies.
If the Contract Goddess was as omnipotent as Diamond claimed, why had Earth become a demon playground?
Diamond said, “The Goddess surely has her reasons.”
Song Wuli replied, “So you don’t even know if she’s done anything?”
Diamond insisted, “The Goddess must have done something; we just lack the insight to comprehend it.”
“Bro, you’re such a simp,” Song Wuli said, at a loss for words.
“What’s a simp?” Diamond asked curiously.
“It means a bootlicker.”
“What’s a bootlicker?”
“It’s… hard to explain. Simply put, you’re hyping the Contract Goddess too much, ignoring basic logic. If it were me, I’d at least question her.”
Diamond asked, “Question what?”
Song Wuli suggested, “Like, what if the Contract Goddess is the mastermind behind Earth’s demon invasion?”
Diamond refuted, “No way, the Goddess isn’t a bad person.”
Song Wuli pressed, “How do you know she’s not bad?”
Diamond answered, “Because we know she’s good.”
Song Wuli set down his chopsticks and clapped, not out of admiration but frustration at the inability to reason with Diamond.
Feeling exasperated, he asked, “Don’t you ever think for yourself? Don’t you have your own personality?”
Diamond questioned, “What’s an independent personality?”
Song Wuli struggled, “How do I explain? It’s abstract, but basically, it means being an individual with your own thoughts, judgments, and reasons for acting, not just living off someone else’s ideas.”
This was Song Wuli’s take on “independent personality,” not necessarily accurate, just his interpretation.
Diamond responded, “But I’m not human.”
Song Wuli countered, “I don’t think it’s just for humans. A sentient being like you can have an independent personality too.”
Diamond recalled their last talk, “Silver, when you questioned why we must drive out demons, is that what you mean by independent personality?”
Song Wuli nodded, “Yes, jobs have duties, but life shouldn’t come with mandatory tasks—you should have a choice.”
Diamond admitted, “I still don’t get it.”
Song Wuli sighed, “I can’t explain it well either. I’m no philosopher; I can’t spout grand theories.”
Diamond coughed again, blood specks staining the floor.
Song Wuli got up, grabbed a mop, and cleaned the bloodstains.
After finishing the dumplings, Diamond got to business, teaching Song Wuli how to contact the Contract Goddess.
First, she had to transform.
Song Wuli, now practicing, said softly, “Magical girl, transform.”
Still a bit embarrassed—it felt cringeworthy.
A 34-year-old man turning into a teenage girl? It felt like he was defiling the magical girl profession.
After transforming, Diamond climbed onto her shoulder, guiding her to leave through the window and fly out.
They needed a secluded spot.
Song Wuli flew slowly, enjoying the night breeze.
Diamond, by her ear, explained how to communicate with the Contract Goddess.
Twenty minutes later, they reached their destination—a cemetery.
In the city, what place is quietest? Naturally, a cemetery.
Pitch dark, not a soul in sight.
Landing on a high spot, she sat on a rock, following Diamond’s instructions: close eyes, hold Diamond’s paw.
Song Wuli had three things tied to the Contract Goddess: her magical girl body, the signed contract, and the contract beast.
The more connections, the better the chance of forming a spiritual channel.
Diamond guided, acting like a lighthouse, building a magical path in the void.
Song Wuli just needed to pour in magic to strengthen and widen it.
It was like road-building: Diamond laid the path, Song Wuli built it.
After investing nearly 40% of her magic, she felt something.
Unable to resist, she peeked with one eye, stunned.
A magical channel linked her to the void—not to a far-off place, but to a dimensional space.
The magic she poured in seemed to tear open that space.
The spiritual channel connected her to it.
Suddenly, she was flying toward it.
No—not her body, her soul. It left her body, which slumped on the ground, seemingly asleep.
Her soul was sucked into the dimensional space, landing in darkness.
She hit the ground, chest-first, in a painful faceplant.
Ouch!
Wait—how could a soul feel pain? Why did her chest hurt? Did her soul have boobs too?
Standing, she checked—yep, boobs.
Looking at her hands—small, cute.
Grabbing her hair—silver.
Still Yinlin?
In a blink, the scene changed.
Surrounded by endless white.
Nearby stood a massive tree, towering into the sky, though there were no clouds.
Its trunk was maybe ten meters wide, enormous.
But it looked… old, decaying.
Black liquid oozed from it, clearly a bad sign.
Better leave—this felt like stumbling into dangerous lore, reeking of dark, tragic vibes.
No way! Magical girl stories should be cheerful, kid-friendly stuff! Don’t tell me this is Gen Urobuchi’s script.
Urobuchi might be bad, but not Tatsuki Fujimoto or Shigenobu Tsuchifumi’s level—that’d be a fate worse than death.
Song Wuli got scared, wanting to bolt.