【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

I know that I can and should be vulnerable. Even if it's only temporary, even if it's just letting my guard down a little in front of others.

But when that emotion actually surged up, I found that I had no idea who to talk to.

The wind outside the tent was still howling, making the canvas billow. The smell of the burning fire mixed with the stench of snow and metal, carrying a dull, acrid odor.

I listened to that voice, wanting to say something, but my tongue felt frozen, and I couldn't utter a single word.

I glanced at Qianmo. He was also watching the fire. His eyes were as calm as ever, yet they were almost too quiet. He didn't ask me, nor did he ask himself.

We remained silent, like two stones frozen under the snow—close together, yet separated by the entire winter.

I swallowed those thoughts again.

The feeling was like swallowing cold snow, with a slight pain. After swallowing it, your chest felt empty, as if nothing was left.

Sitting in the tent, I dared not look outside. The sound of the wind was too much like crying, and the lamplight too much like firelight.

But I dared not not watch.

I always feel that if I don't confirm it, something terrible will quietly seep out and swallow me whole.

I don't know what kind of psychology this is. Is it escapism, or an instinctive defensiveness? Sometimes, I feel like a string that's been stretched too tight, and once it's loosened, it will snap completely.

A gust of wind blew a corner of the tent, the light and shadow flickered, and my vision was stung.

In that instant, I felt as if I saw Ye Lin again.

He stood in the snow, backlit. He still clutched the metal lunchbox in his hand, his posture upright, his gaze as cold as a knife. The light cast varying shadows on his face, as if dividing him in two—one half human, the other half something colder.

I held my breath, almost believing he was really there. But in the blink of an eye, everything was gone. Only the flickering light remained, and the fire crackled outside.

I leaned back against the tent wall and closed my eyes. In my mind, that face, ripped apart by blood and cold light, remained clear.

Sometimes, I feel that he didn't leave, but rather, he never left at all.

It felt as if something warm had gently touched my body. The sensation wasn't sudden, but it was enough to snap me out of my daze.

The next second, I was enveloped in an embrace.

Even through the thick uniform, I could still feel the warmth—not scorching, not sticky, just steady.

A sense of stability that travels from the spine to the heart.

That was Qianmo. He didn't speak. He just held me quietly, his hands pressing slightly against my shoulder blades, as if to remind me that there was still a place I could lean on.

His scent was very faint, almost odorless. I couldn't detect any citrus or familiar botanical notes. Yet, I knew unmistakably, that was his scent.

That warmth, tinged with a touch of chill, belonged to him, and belonged only to him.

We leaned against each other like that, the white light reflecting off the snow outside the tent, the sound of the wind beating against the fabric gradually softening, as if even this cold planet was deliberately slowing down its breathing.

I don't like this version of myself. I don't like the way I seem to need comforting. That weakness feels foreign to me, like being naked after my armor has been stripped off. Yet, at the same time, I can't resist it—

I like him. I like this brief moment of detachment. I like that blankness of "not having to think about anything," even if it's just for a moment.

That embrace wasn't a refuge, but merely a brief space to catch one's breath.

I closed my eyes and heard my breathing gradually become steady, the beating of my heart and his breathing almost touching.

The sunlight filtered through the gaps in the tent, faint and almost transparent.

It fell on his uniform shoulder and on my hair, melting into a warm water stain.

Nothing at all.

She just leaned there. Leaned against him. Brief, but real.