【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

I just watched that person from afar.

Ye Lin walked straight through the wind and snow, even though the snow under his feet was mixed with blood and so slippery that it almost made him lose his balance, he still walked steadily forward. Every step seemed to be measured out, calm and precise, as if it did not allow even the slightest sway.

He was so tenacious—

He was as stubborn as a rock. He didn't move when the wind blew against him, and he didn't brush the snow off his shoulders.

That cold, hardened way of surviving is almost suffocating to watch.

I have never seen anyone "live" like that, like a stone breathing, like iron bleeding. The almost cold-blooded tenacity he possessed was devoid of emotion or resentment, only a pure, almost blank, persistence.

That's not temperature, but an instinctive way of survival.

I suddenly realized that perhaps his heart was empty. So empty that it could not hold pain, nor could it hold pity.

That's why he's so powerful.

That kind of strength wasn't something shouted out, nor was it built up by superpowers. It was forged inch by inch through a long period of life and death. That hollowness wasn't a flaw, but a support.

I looked at him, the wind and snow blurring my vision, leaving only his silhouette stretching straight out in the snow.

He is different from us; he belongs to the battlefield itself—the kind of person who always stands on the cold edge, like a sharp fragment polished by the whole world.

Of course, these are just my wild guesses.

Perhaps it's just my own malicious speculation.

Because I couldn't understand him, I instinctively found reasons for his indifference.

But perhaps—he wasn't hollow inside. He simply learned how to maintain the composure of a soldier even when his heart is broken.

I couldn't help but think about it.

In this world, even the same species can have many different ways of living.

Some people are born to submit to gravity, clinging firmly to the earth; others go against the wind, willing to have their edges worn away to climb upwards. Ye Lin's way of being undoubtedly belongs to the latter—an extreme, thorough, almost cruel form of self-discipline.

He molded himself into a symbol: calm, precise, resolute, and infallible.

It's as if the very definition of a soldier is ingrained in his blood. His life is no longer just "living," but rather a long-term, maintained order.

He does not belong to any specific time or to any particular person, but only to that set of rules.

Looking at him, I felt a sense of admiration.

It's not envy—I can't envy such a being—but simply awe.

The process of gradually stripping away humanity and leaving only "duty" seems almost impossible to me.

But he did it.

He lived his life as a standard.

A ruler that won't bend.

Of course, in his eyes, I was probably the kind of person who couldn't be understood.

Detached, capricious, driven by emotions, chaotic to the point of being dangerous.

He doesn't understand me, nor does he intend to.

And I—in his eyes, I am probably nothing.

He seemed to be nothing at all.

He no longer even refers to himself; he is now only defined by rank, mission, and orders.

But I know that's an illusion. He's not "nothing," he's just living with the shell of "nothing."

The person who is truly nothing is me.

This thought carries a strong sense of self-loathing, yet it is exceptionally clear.

I am not as resolute as him, as gentle as Qianmo, nor as confident as the nightingale.

I have no faith, no clear sense of belonging, and no road that leads to the end.

I was just someone who was pushed here by a series of coincidences—

He lived by chance, grew stronger by chance, and met these people by chance. Then, at this moment, standing on the snow, looking at Ye Lin's back, he suddenly realized that he at least knew what he was doing.

And I'm not even sure about that.