【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

This time, I slept for a very, very long time.

It lasted so long that I struggled with it repeatedly in my dreams.

It wasn't a nightmare, nor was it a conscious state; it was a state of being trapped. It was as if you knew you should wake up, but you just couldn't open your eyes. Your body felt heavy in the dream, your limbs felt like they were being pressed underwater, and every time you tried to exert force, something would gently push you back down.

I remember trying many times. I wanted to open my eyes, move my fingers, and make a sound.

But they all failed.

Consciousness repeatedly surfaced, only to be pulled back. The feeling wasn't painful, but it was extremely draining. It was like repeatedly starting up a device with low battery, only to be forcibly shut down again.

Until one point, I finally regained my senses.

It wasn't a sudden awakening, but a slow, gradual return to the body.

The first thing I noticed was the temperature.

It's neither hot nor cold.

But there was a distinct sense of unease in the air—cold air and warm wind mingled, not completely blended, flowing with clear layers. When you inhaled it, you first felt the coolness, then the gentle warmth, as if two seasons coexisted in the same space.

It had a very distinctive scent.

Dry, crisp, and with a hint of heated dust. It wasn't a medical room, a military academy dormitory, or even a frontline tent.

I slowly opened my eyes.

My vision was still a little blurry, but it was enough for me to see that the bedding beneath me had been changed.

It's no longer the smooth, soft medical fabric of the past, but a different material—rough, sturdy, and with a distinct texture. You can feel the fibers when you press them with your fingers, but it's not cold.

It's a very practical feel. It doesn't prioritize comfort, but it's reliable.

I shifted my shoulders slightly, and the mattress made a very faint rustling sound. This wasn't a hospital bed.

It took me a little time to fully align my breathing and awareness.

Air moved in and out of my chest smoothly, without the previous feeling of weakness as if my lungs had been emptied.

My body hasn't fully recovered yet, but I'm no longer in a state where I can only lie down.

I stared at the ceiling above, at the unfamiliar structure and light fixtures, and a clear judgment slowly formed in my mind:

I have been transferred.

It's neither about returning to the front lines nor staying in the medical ward.

Instead, they were taken to another place—a space somewhere between "placement" and "isolation."

I didn't get up immediately. I just lay there, quietly feeling the air, a mixture of cold and warm air, flowing through the room.

It's very quiet here. Quiet enough that it doesn't feel like a temporary facility.

then.

There were footsteps outside the door.

The sound of military boots pounding on the floor was clear, yet not chaotic; the spacing and force of each step were almost identical, like a rhythm etched into my body. As the sound drew closer, my consciousness instinctively tensed.

The door was pushed open.

I looked up almost reflexively.

For a moment, I thought it was Ye Lin.

That upright posture, so distinct from the surrounding soldiers, was all too familiar. It wasn't a deliberately contrived military stance, but rather a sharp outline naturally refined from long periods of high pressure and command positions. The shoulder line, the stance, the foot placement, even the angle at which he pushed open the door, all carried an air of unwavering confidence that required no confirmation of the surroundings.

And the outline of that face.

In countless struggles between sleep and wakefulness, what I repeatedly faced was that jawline. Cold, clear, devoid of any superfluous emotion, yet like a boundary I could never escape.

I've even mentally prepared myself for what I'll be facing next.

but not.

When that person walked in, I immediately realized something was wrong.

He was just as tall and straight, but lacked the almost oppressive coldness that Ye Lin possessed. He stood at the doorway, not approaching immediately, but first checking my condition. His gaze briefly swept across the room, as if assessing the environment rather than me.

Then I heard his voice.

Low-pitched.

Lower than Ye Lin.

But it is also noticeably softer.

It wasn't a commanding tone, nor the restrained calmness of an interrogation, but a deliberately slowed and lowered voice, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"you're awake."

Just three words, yet they eased the tension that had been weighing on my heart.

I looked at him, and only then did I truly see his face. His features were equally cold and stern, but his eyes weren't as sharp, as if time had smoothed out his edges. His military uniform was neat, but not new; the fabric showed obvious signs of use at the joints.

He is not Ye Lin.

This judgment was formed almost instantly.

Strangely, I didn't completely relax. Instead, a more complex emotion arose within me.

Because if it wasn't Ye Lin, it meant—

Things have moved to another stage.