【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

As my eyes gradually adjusted to the light, I finally pieced together the face from the blur. It was indeed almost identical, only time had created a distance. The brow bone was deeper, fine lines appeared at the corners of the eyes, and the jawline was no longer sharp and merciless, but rather had a sense of weight. That wasn't aging; it was the mark left by standing on the front lines for a long time, making decisions, and bearing the consequences.

I recognized him.

Ye Qing.

The current head of the Ye family, a true core figure in the military. General Ye in all his right. Also Ye Lin's father. Or rather, the nominal father of this body. The man I only met once on the capital planet. That meeting wasn't formal; there was no scrutiny, no interrogation, not even a test. He simply and naturally inquired whether I was eating well, whether I was settling in properly, and took me out to play wildly, as if treating a child who was perfectly natural. It was as if he had known all along that he had a me.

It's the same now.

He walked to the bedside, but didn't look down on me. He simply stood in a position that didn't make me feel pressured, his gaze fixed on me, steady and restrained. He didn't look at the monitor, nor did he ask about the injury data; he just looked at me.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

It wasn't a report inquiry or a status confirmation; it was just a simple expression of concern.

For a moment, I didn't know how to answer. My body was still weak, my limbs felt heavy, and there was a lingering echo in my chest, as if something had been emptied out, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that his attitude left me unsure of where I stood.

He didn't mention the test results, his gender, or anything I was most afraid of being asked.

"You're all fine now." He seemed to be summarizing for me, or perhaps putting down the conclusion beforehand. "Your life is saved; you just need to recover slowly."

The tone was so natural, so natural that it didn't sound like someone being comforted after being pulled back from the brink of death, but rather like stating a fact that had already been confirmed and would not change.

I looked at him, and my throat tightened a little.

He reached out and gently pulled the blanket up a little for me, his movements very light, clearly aware of my current physical condition. "Don't rush to think about anything else, just rest well," he said. "You don't need to make any decisions right now."

This is the first time since I woke up that someone has explicitly told me that I don't need to do anything immediately, I don't need to explain, and I don't need to prove anything.

This feeling makes me a little uncomfortable. It even feels a little dangerous.

Because I know very well that this gentleness does not mean things are simple.

It simply means that the person who truly controls the situation has arrived.

Seeing my somewhat blank expression, the man gave a wry smile: "My little rose, don't you trust me anymore?"

His voice was low, as if deliberately trying not to disturb anything. I didn't respond immediately, but just continued to watch him. I watched the changes in his expression, the length of his pause after he finished speaking, and the almost suppressed sigh. He was waiting for me, yet he didn't urge me. This waiting itself carried weight.

Of course I remember that title. It's not something you'd find in military documents, nor is it a term appropriate for social situations. It belongs to a long time ago, to a child before being burdened with identity, responsibility, and war. That's precisely why it seems dangerous. It reminds me that this person isn't simply a general standing opposite me, but someone who has long been involved in the game.

I neither nodded nor shook my head. I just blinked slowly, feeling a slight sting in my eyes, but not enough to make me lose control. Trust is something that can't be given or taken away so easily. Especially now that I've realized my position isn't as simple as I thought.

He seemed to understand my silence, and didn't press me further. He simply withdrew his hand and straightened up. "You don't need to answer now," he said. "And you don't need to rush to believe anyone, including me."

He said it calmly, but it made my heart sink. It didn't sound like he was defending himself; it sounded more like he was admitting something I hadn't even had a chance to ask.

I remained silent, but I knew I was listening.

I'm listening to what he has to say, and waiting to see when he'll stop. Because what really matters isn't whether he asks me if I trust him, but whether he'll treat me as someone who needs to be told the truth from now on.