In some ways, Song Wuli seemed to have embraced his feminine side.
He was growing less resistant to transforming into a magical girl.
Maybe it was the resilience of an old man, unshaken by the gender switch.
After all, he could swap identities at will, not treating the magical girl form as his true self—just a chance to experience another role.
It was more fun than anything, not yet deep enough to warrant soul-searching or confusion.
Simply put, Song Wuli hadn’t paid any real price yet.
His manhood was still there when he needed it, and the contract could be undone in a year.
His job was secure, no financial losses, and he’d even cashed in using his magical girl body.
Life was neatly organized, undisturbed.
He might’ve been treating it like a game.
While waiting to transform, he idly wondered how to face Huang Yijun later.
His body had memorized every step of the transformation.
When shrinking, spread legs for balance.
When the dress materialized, stretch out arms—don’t hunch, or mystical forces would yank them up.
Like now, as high heels formed, a force lifted his heels, slightly raising his body to slip them on.
Don’t resist; tiptoe willingly for comfort, or the force would do it anyway, painfully.
Transformation complete, he flew to the company rooftop, changed clothes, put on a wig, and applied makeup to dull his appearance—same routine.
“Dulled” still meant stunningly beautiful.
He’d texted the boss, saying a delay kept him—arriving 20 minutes late at 9:50 p.m.
Many shops on the street were still open, doing brisk business despite the late hour.
No. 8 Milk Tea Shop, normally closed by now, stayed open thanks to a regular’s suggestion the boss adopted, turning this ordinary shop into something special, bustling at night.
As Song Wuli approached, the queued crowd stirred.
Some bowed politely.
Song Wuli didn’t get why otakus bowed at him—what custom was this? Even after days, he wasn’t used to it.
Some wanted photos, contact info, or a milk tea to-go.
He declined, heading inside to start work.
“Daddy, the magical girl’s here!” the little boy shouted, pointing at Song Wuli.
Kids probably couldn’t tell cosplay from the real thing.
His dad quickly held back the excited child, smiling apologetically at Song Wuli.
He settled the boy down.
Once Song Wuli reached the counter, the dad approached to discuss something.
Huang Yijun was gobsmacked, staring since the silver-haired girl entered, not blinking even as she reached the counter.
The resemblance was uncanny—almost too perfect.
Her height seemed taller.
On closer look, her platform heels were higher, making her actual height shorter.
Staring at those heels, Huang Yijun sank into thought.
Then, her bust—seemed bigger?
More pondering.
She felt like Yinlin, yet details didn’t match.
Was she just a mimic?
Song Wuli, chatting with the boy’s dad, stole a glance at Huang Yijun.
Confused? Good. Bet you didn’t expect the padded chest!
The biggest giveaway was his identical height and build—it was the magical girl body, after all.
Besides taller heels to fake height, he’d padded his chest to appear bustier.
A bit of self-deception, but this simple trick worked on regulars clueless about magical girl transformation rules.
Not everyone knew how drastic the change was pre- and post-transformation.
Was it like Tony Stark vs. Jay Chou, or Superman vs. Saitama?
Such details were near-classified to the public.
You couldn’t pin someone as a magical girl just for “looking like” one. On Douyin, you’d find three or four Lao Da impersonators alone.
While Huang Yijun was puzzled, Song Wuli and the dad kept talking.
Bound by his persona, Song Wuli didn’t agree right away, acting haughty.
The boss chimed in, clearly wanting Song Wuli to fulfill the customer’s wish.
After much talk, Song Wuli relented, chin up, agreeing.
He opened the cake, revealing a massive double-layer beauty.
Pretty nice cake.
Onlookers snapped photos or recorded, capturing this unexpectedly heartwarming moment.
The boy was thrilled, his small hand clutching Song Wuli’s equally small one.
“Sister, sister, can you do that? You know that!” The boy posed with his prop double-handed staff.
His hopeful eyes sparkled.
Other customers egged on: “Xiao Yao, do it!”
“Do it!” x5
Since the boss often called him by his fake name, regulars knew him as “Yao Ruoning.”
“Don’t get it twisted—I’m not doing it ‘cause you asked. I wanted to,” Song Wuli played it off.
He grabbed the “cosplay prop” double-handed staff—actually the real deal—from the back room.
Customers cleared a space.
The boss fanned a large cardboard sheet, blowing Song Wuli’s silver wig and dress to mimic the wind-swept look of unleashing a big move.
The vibe was perfect. Song Wuli held the staff, striking a slightly off pose—deliberately imperfect.
Tweaking the catchphrase, pitch, and tone, he softly shouted: “Pierce the Stars!”
The door opened, and Xia Shiyao walked in, catching the moment.
Few noticed her—attention was on Song Wuli.
The shop fell silent; even the boss froze. Too perfect, despite the wrong line, but no one cared.
Two seconds later, the boy clapped first: “Sister, you’re awesome! I love you!”
Others joined the applause.
Huang Yijun wiped tears, overcome with emotion.
It felt like Yinlin was right there.
Post-performance, the boy’s table set up candles for singing and wishing.
Song Wuli noticed Xia Shiyao, his heart tightening.
What’s with today? Huang Yijun in front, Xia Shiyao behind.
Xia Shiyao approached, commenting coolly: “Not bad, full of energy. Looks like the cadre-level demon incident didn’t shake you.”
“You’ve got the wrong person. I’m really not her,” Song Wuli deflected.
Xia Shiyao didn’t bother arguing, heading to Table 3 and tossing 400 yuan on it.
The group there paused, then got her hint after seeing her gesture.
It was a rare moment—Yao Ruoning celebrating a birthday. No one wanted to leave.
Xia Shiyao tossed another 400 yuan.
They grabbed the cash, vacated, and she took the seat.
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When will this one take a real hit and be gone ? -_-