Seeing the towering ancient tree oozing black liquid, an ominous aura intensified Song Wuli’s fear.
She grew increasingly scared.
“You’ve arrived,” a woman’s voice, youthful, perhaps a girl’s, echoed from the void.
The voice seemed deliberately deepened, either to sound serious or to disguise its tone.
“How about I head back? I wandered here by mistake,” Song Wuli said, stepping back.
No path behind—just endless white, no exit.
She slapped herself; it stung, not a dream.
“I’m the Contract Goddess you came to find. Why run?” the voice declared, sounding a bit annoyed.
“I’m done looking. Don’t tell me anything—I don’t want to hear dark, tragic stuff. My heart’s too fragile,” Song Wuli said, desperate to leave.
“You and Diamond were talking about me, badmouthing me. Think there’s no price for that?” the self-proclaimed Contract Goddess cut through, clearly up to something.
Something slithered from the pristine ground—a long, slippery tentacle.
“No! Please, no!” Song Wuli’s mind is filled with dread.
As expected, more tentacles broke through, followed by a massive body.
Just as she feared, it was the classic magical girl trope: a tentacle monster.
Song Wuli dropped to her knees in a perfect dogeza, forehead to hands: “Sorry, Goddess! I’m a dumbass. Don’t stoop to my level.”
Her bow was textbook—she’d studied dogeza well.
What’s a little shame? If the tentacle monster got her, it wouldn’t just be shame—she’d lose her old-man dignity.
Silence fell briefly.
Song Wuli didn’t dare lift her head.
Her senses picked up the octopus-like tentacle monster, a pure magical construct, every tentacle and inch of its body brimming with equal magic.
It wasn’t natural.
Like a robot in the human world, it looked alive but was artificially made—not of metal, but magic.
Impressive craftsmanship.
If it had intelligence or an independent personality, that’d be next-level.
She wanted to test it but not with her own body.
“Just messing with you,” the Contract Goddess said, her tone lighter. “Men love tentacle monsters, don’t they? Why’re you scared?”
Song Wuli clarified, “You’re mistaken. Men don’t love the monster itself but the *event*. I like tentacle monsters messing with magical girls, not me.”
The air chilled; Song Wuli sweated, wondering if she was too honest.
“If you don’t like it, why wish it on others?” the Contract Goddess turned philosophical.
It was intense, but Song Wuli, a seasoned netizen, wasn’t fazed.
She answered, “Because I’m a hypocrite.”
Her honesty silenced the Goddess for ten seconds.
The Goddess changed topics: “Why’d you come to me?”
She knew but played coy.
Song Wuli looked up, about to stand, but the tentacle monster slithered closer.
She stayed kneeling; it stopped.
Wiping nonexistent sweat, she said, “Uh… I was researching body mysteries the other day…?”
“I saw,” the Contract Goddess admitted.
“And my old male body is doing… handiwork?”
The monster moved closer, two steps.
Song Wuli backtracked: “Your voice sounds familiar. Have we met?”
The Contract Goddess replied, “This is our first meeting.”
Song Wuli switched topics: “Is this Contract Island?”
“Not quite.”
“What’s that mean?”
“This is a projected false space I created with my power. You’re speaking to a projected shadow. You can’t reach Contract Island—this is the only way to meet me.”
“What’s Contract Island? What’s it for?” Song Wuli’s curiosity was piqued.
“It’s a long story. Contract Island’s history is ancient…” the Contract Goddess seemed to reminisce.
“Uh, keep it under 100 words,” Song Wuli blurted, instantly regretting it.
After a brief silence, the Goddess complied: “Contract Island is where contract beasts are born. Look.”
Song Wuli looked up; the ancient tree’s branches glowed, an egg-like orb hanging there, radiant and holy against the black-oozing tree.
Her knees ached, so she propped one up to stand.
The tentacle monster slithered two steps closer.
She knelt again.
She said, “Goddess, I want a new body—tall, buff, strong.”
The Contract Goddess replied, “Can’t do it. Magical girls must be girls. Their bodies come from people’s expectations. When the contract’s signed, it’s set forever.”
Song Wuli complained, “So arbitrary? If people think magical girls are 36D lolis, I’d become that?”
The Contract Goddess confirmed, “Yes.”
Song Wuli pressed, “Why can’t I be like Jinluan? Why am I a 1.5-meter shrimp?”
The Contract Goddess seemed to sigh: “You don’t look like Jinluan.”
Song Wuli argued, “Yinlin doesn’t look like me either! My flat parts are her curves, her flat parts are my curves—where’s the resemblance?”
The Contract Goddess countered, “You think there’s a conspiracy?”
Song Wuli insisted, “Definitely a conspiracy.”
The Contract Goddess said, “I can’t answer that now. You’ll understand later.”
Song Wuli : “You can see the future?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“One more thing—how do I cancel the contract? I didn’t choose to be a magical girl.”
The Contract Goddess was ready: “Here’s a new deal. For one year, you can do anything as a magical girl, no punishment. Transform or don’t—it’s your choice. If you still want to cancel after a year, I’ll undo it, no conditions. Deal?”
Song Wuli saw through it: “I get it—you want me hooked, unable to quit being a magical girl, right?”
The Contract Goddess didn’t explain: “Your answer?”
Song Wuli agreed, “Fine.”
Silence fell. Song Wuli added, “It’s late. I need to sleep. See you next time.”
The Contract Goddess asked, “Not curious about the tree and black ooze?”
Song Wuli refused, “Nope.”
The Contract Goddess offered, “I can tell you, it’s…”
Song Wuli cut her off, “Don’t tell me! I don’t want to hear it! My fragile heart can’t take harsh truths.”
“Fine,” the Contract Goddess sighed. “You’ll know someday.”
Song Wuli felt herself rising, pulled into the air, a rift appearing.
She passed through, gently drawn back.
The scene shifted—she was back on Earth, still nighttime.
Diamond was curled up beside her, guarding.
She called, “Hey, Diamond, look, I’m here!”
No response—Diamond couldn’t see her.
Her soul drifted back into Yinlin’s body.
She opened her eyes.
Diamond: “Welcome back.”