【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

As night falls, the snow turns grayish white in the moonlight, like a silent canvas, with both light and cold air silent.

In the tent, the only light source was the dim portable lamp in the corner, which emitted a pale yellow halo, stretching the shadows very long and shining on the tarpaulin, which swayed gently like silent breathing.

This makeshift tent wasn't big, barely enough for three people to lie side by side. Besides Qianmo and I, there was also a classmate from the Mecha Department.

The man was young, his face still etched with the lines of adolescence, looking barely older. He was still dressed in a simplified half-suit of mecha training gear, his shoulder armor and arm parts neatly stacked to one side. In the night, his face was pale, his eyes vacant, as if he hadn't recovered from the sight of the corpses that day.

No one speaks.

I was lying on the outermost side, and through a thin sleeping bag, I could feel the cold air seeping up from the ground, crawling up my back to my shoulders and neck.

Qianmo was in the middle, his breathing steady, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath, bringing a faint warmth. Occasionally, he would move, as if wanting to move closer, but quickly restrained himself, simply tilting his head slightly to look at me, his eyes quiet and deep in the dim light.

The mecha-class boy in the innermost room had his eyes closed, but his fingertips would occasionally tremble slightly, as if he was on the edge of a nightmare.

The wind rustled through the tent's outer layer, gently ruffling the tarpaulin and making a soft, rustling sound. Someone was patrolling outside, their footsteps echoing across the snow, then fading and fading away. Occasionally, I could hear someone talking in a low voice, muffled and swallowed by the cold.

I pulled the sleeping bag up to my chin, my eyes fixed on the gray tent cloth above, moving slowly. I saw water droplets slowly condensing at the top seams, occasionally dripping into the snow on the side, the sound was subtle but clear.

No one mentioned the bodies of the day, nor did anyone mention whether there would be new sacrifices tomorrow.

Everyone huddled quietly in their own little space, like three pieces of thin ice that could break at any moment, but had to stick together tightly to hold on until dawn.

I turned my head and saw Qianmo's profile half covered by shadow.

He looked at me, as if he wanted to speak, but he just let out a breath and said nothing.

I winked at him gently, which was a response and also a way of saying "be quiet and go to sleep first."

Qianmo's fingertips gently stroked the edge of the sleeping bag for a while before he tilted his head slightly, closed his eyes, and slowly let his breathing steady.

The mecha-class boy in the innermost seat finally turned over slightly, as if completely defeated by exhaustion, and slowly fell into a deep sleep.

I stared upwards and felt an inexplicable sense of floating, as if the entire planet was immersed in this silent snowy night.

Only the sound of breathing, the occasional sound of wind, and the beating of three hearts quietly warming each other still vibrated slightly in the darkness.

I gently closed my eyes, trying to empty my mind. I could only hear the barely noticeable warmth in Qianmo's breathing, and the slightest bit of body temperature as he approached quietly.

In the early morning, the tent was still quiet, with only the sound of breathing and the intermittent sound of wind outside.

I thought they were all asleep, but between breaths, I felt a slight movement next to me.

Qianmo slowly turned around. His movements were small, but they still caused the thin sleeping bag to rub against him, making a small, rustling sound. His hair fell down from his forehead, gently brushing against the side of my face, bringing a slight chill.

I tilted my head slightly, without opening my eyes, and my breathing remained even.

But I heard him sigh softly in his throat, almost inaudible, as if it was coming from his chest, quick and short. Then, he carefully reached out his hand, through the sleeping bag, and his fingertips slowly touched my sleeve.

His movements were clumsy, as if he was afraid of disturbing the air.

The hand paused at the edge of the cuff, as if hesitating, and finally gently grasped it, using very light force, not even a pinch, more like rubbing to confirm its presence.

I didn't move or speak, still pretending to be asleep.

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and his body slowly moved closer. The gaps between the sleeping bags that were stretched open by the cold air were smoothed out, and the faint warmth emanating from him could be felt through the thick fabric.

He didn't say anything else, but just moved his chin slightly, as if resting his forehead on my shoulder. Then his breathing gradually stabilized, and the slightly warm breath hit the side of my neck, which was a little itchy, but not unpleasant.

On the other side, the boy from the mecha department was still curled up in his sleeping bag with his back to us. His shoulders occasionally shook, and he seemed to be struggling in his dreams.

I listened to two different kinds of breathing. Outside, the wind blew through the tent, and the tarpaulin was occasionally pulled tight, making a low friction sound.

Qianmo's fingers moved on the cuffs, as if stroking them unconsciously, slowly and carefully, without letting go.

The snowy night is long, and the darkness magnifies every tiny bit of warmth.

After a long time, Qianmo's breathing became slower, and the hand that was clutching his sleeve loosened a little, but still refused to let go completely, like a stubborn child.

There was a sound of light footsteps outside. It was the students or soldiers who were changing shifts. They stopped briefly and then walked away.

I continued to close my eyes, without making a sound or struggling, and just let him gently pull me, lying in the darkness, until that breath finally completely fell into the dream and became completely quiet.