【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

The next day, we finally didn't have to cook anymore.

No orders, no notice; the large pot was simply taken away, the ashes at the bottom poured into the snow, leaving not even a trace of heat. Qianmo stared at the empty stove rack, her expression calm, almost wooden. I understood—it wasn't a rotation, nor was it liberation—

However, we don't need that much food anymore.

There are fewer people.

The entire campsite seemed deserted, even the sound of the wind seemed much wider. The gaps between the tents widened, and the snow covered the footprints in the night, leaving large patches of untamed white. Everything was unnaturally clean.

In the morning, the commander assigned tasks. That command, "You all come with me," felt like it pulled us out of the rest of our lives. We were assigned to the burial team.

The team consisted of soldiers, medics, and the remaining students like us. Each person was given a pair of thick gloves, a shovel, and a marker. The wind was strong, the snow was still falling, and all sounds were scattered by the wind, making it impossible to hear anything.

The ground was frozen solid. Every shovelful had to be used with all one's might; the sound of metal striking the icy ground was crisp and piercing. It was the sound of living beings fighting against the deathly silence.

I thought I had seen enough corpses, but when the burials actually began, I realized it was another kind of torture. There was no smell of blood, only a faint smell of decay and medicine in the air. The figures wrapped in white sheets were placed one by one into the snow pit; the snow was too hard to cover them completely.

Some people were quietly reading out the numbers, while others were so shaky that they couldn't even write the marks steadily.

Qianmo remained silent. His movements were lighter than anyone else's; with each body he placed down, he bowed his head and bent slightly at the waist. The posture looked almost pious.

I stood beside him, shovel in hand, but hesitated to move. The wind rushed into my sleeves, stinging my arms. The snow's light shone on the white sheets, blindingly bright. For a fleeting moment, I had a strange feeling—we weren't burying corpses, but rather the warmth left behind by humankind.

Those whose names we don't know, those voices that didn't have time to go home, are all silenced completely under each shovelful of snow.

And we have to keep digging.

Some people's breathing became rapid, not from exercise, but from the limit of endurance. The sound of shoveling snow crashed in the wind, metal striking the ice with a rhythm that seemed about to crack.

Some people gritted their teeth, their entire faces trembling. Their eyes were red, but they desperately tried to hold back their tears. It was a silence more desperate than crying.

Finally, someone couldn't resist rushing out. He threw off his gloves, ran to the pile of white cloth, knelt down abruptly, and began to dig at the snow, which was frozen like stone, shouting something that was inaudible.

The voice was broken, sounding like a plea, yet also like a reproach.

Several people tried to pull him back, but no one dared to get too close. The wind blew, tearing the shout to shreds, like broken glass scattered in the air.

Then—I don't know who spoke first.

A hummed melody drifted through the snow. The low, hoarse voice, mixed with breath and the chill, seemed almost swallowed by the wind.

But the melody continued to spread little by little, one after another, and more and more people joined in singing.

That wasn't the empire's common language. I couldn't understand it, and neither could Qianmo. But each syllable carried a certain ancient rhythm, as if it were spoken from the soul.

Some say it's a funeral dirge from the North, a language that guides souls back to their homeland. The melody trembled at first, but then became steady and lingering.

The wind seemed to have calmed down as well.

The snow was still falling, but it had become lighter.

The smoke from the bonfire drifted away on the wind, and the bodies wrapped in white cloth were covered with snow, never to be exposed to the wind again.

I don't know if that song could truly bring them a blessing for their return. But at that moment, everyone stopped what they were doing. The wind, the snow, the cries, the sighs—all were enveloped by that somber melody and melted into the vast white expanse of heaven and earth.

It was a peace unlike any other. A peace that only the dead could truly attain.