【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 257 [Empire] is actually much lonelier than I saw.

His expression seemed calm, but there was an unconcealable fatigue hidden between his eyebrows, as if this waiting had already smoothed out his edges.

Each dish seemed meticulously prepared, yet exuded a slight chill. The water droplets on the plates and the untouched liquid in the wine glasses silently told of a meal that had been sitting there for a long time, so long that it felt like it had traveled through time and space to this moment, and would similarly travel to the next evening, yet never once would that person return.

Has he ever been here?

Have they ever dined together?

"Shan Qi is not here," he said lightly, his voice as light as a falling leaf, "still no one is eating dinner."

Then, as if it were a line that had been prepared long ago: "One day, he will come back."

He stood up and took a few steps toward me. At first, I thought he was going to say something, but unexpectedly, he lowered his head slightly, leaned closer, and carefully sniffed my scent. His action stunned me, and before I could react, he straightened up, his expression slightly relaxed, as if he had confirmed something.

"You have the scent of another person, but... it's not his." His tone was still calm, but with a subtle relaxation after some of the vigilance had dissipated.

His tone sounded somewhat relieved, yet still held a subtle hint of dissatisfaction. Clearly, he wasn't entirely satisfied with the result, but at least it confirmed that I wasn't tainted with Shan Qi's unique perfume.

I was stunned for a moment, then realized that the "he" he was referring to was Shan Qi, and the "other person"... I guessed it was Wen Ya. I suddenly felt strange. How did this person distinguish these things?

"Are you a dog nose?" I blurted out with uncontrollable surprise in my tone.

He raised his head, his expression calm, but the corners of his mouth rose slightly, with a hint of mockery: "I just paid more attention. You don't think I don't understand anything, do you?"

There was a sharp alertness in his eyes, as if everyone was hiding a secret, and he was just used to confirming it in his own way.

This keen sense made me feel a little uneasy. I couldn't help but take a small step back, putting some distance between me and him. "Your sense of smell is really amazing, isn't it?" I tried to mask my inner uneasiness with a joke.

He didn't respond, simply staring at me, a hint of complexity in his eyes. Then, his expression relaxed slightly, as if confirming my innocence, and his demeanor softened slightly. "Since it's not him, forget it." He spoke calmly, yet a hint of relief lingered.

Then his voice was low and self-deprecating, "Sometimes things I can't smell get on my nerves."

I raised an eyebrow. This sentence sounded like a serious explanation, but also like some kind of implicit warning.

"You're very particular about the smell of his perfume."

He didn't deny it, but just said "hmm" softly, without any fluctuation in his voice.

Perhaps this person's persistence is even deeper than I imagined.

Although, my imagination has made me feel that it is a bit exaggerated.

Once again, I took my seat as if it were my duty, picking up the dinner prepared for Shan Qi. The dishes were neatly arranged, the food exquisite, steam rising slowly from the plates. Even though I knew it wasn't meant for me, I still calmly picked up my chopsticks, picked up a piece of meat, and put it into my mouth, chewing absentmindedly.

He stood aside, glanced at me, something flashing in his eyes, but he still didn't stop. His face was calm, almost too calm, as if he had long been accustomed to such scenes, or perhaps... he was too lazy to care.

"Today's soup is pretty good." I said casually, as if to break the silence.

He didn't answer, simply placing the cup gently on the table and pulling out a chair to sit down. His eyes swept across the leftovers and then back to me, a look so complex I couldn't decipher it for a moment. He seemed about to say something, but in the end, he just leaned back in his chair, staring at me silently. After a long moment, he went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

I bit into a perfectly seared piece of meat, but instead of satisfaction, I tasted a complex flavor—bitterness, even a hint of inexplicable sourness. He must have prepared all this for Shan Qi with high expectations, but in the end, I was the one sitting here, devouring it all.

Thinking of this, I looked up at him. His back was silent and calm, as if he had long been accustomed to the scene before him. He didn't speak, didn't complain, didn't show any dissatisfaction, and didn't even look at me. That silence made me feel that he was like a statue waiting for an eternity, and the meaning of waiting had long since become blurred.

"Don't you want to eat?" I finally spoke, trying to break the overly quiet atmosphere.

He didn't look back, but replied calmly: "I'm keeping it for him."

"Will Shan Qi like this dish?" I picked up a piece of perfectly fried fish and asked nonchalantly.

"I guess so." He answered in a low voice, his tone was light and no emotion could be heard.

This scene is so familiar that it is sad.

He prepared every meal and set every set of dishes and chopsticks. Even when Shan Qi was not around, he never slacked off, but just silently adhered to this silent ritual.

But recently, I have always had a somewhat complicated mentality that is hard to explain. I took over the gap left by this "waiting" and turned it into my own dinner.

He watched me finish my meal and began to clear the dishes, his movements still calm and composed. His back was hard to fathom, yet inexplicably heavy.

At night, when I opened the door, I saw him sitting quietly in the living room, his figure outlined by the moonlight. The lights were off, and only the faint glow of the moonlight illuminated the half-full red wine glass in his hand. The wine swayed slowly in the glass, a deep red like blood.

He opened a bottle of red wine, a rare occurrence, and sat at the table, as if alone facing the moonlight. He raised his glass, took a sip, then lowered his head and stared blankly at the liquid. His posture seemed leisurely, yet tinged with an unconcealable loneliness, like a frail painting.

I leaned against the door, not disturbing him immediately, but simply watching him quietly. His face was hidden in the shadows, blurry, but the quiet aura made my chest feel tight. He seemed unaware of my presence, or rather, he was aware but unconcerned, continuing to savor the red wine, sip after sip, as if using the intoxication of the moment to soothe a certain emptiness within him.

The bottle on the table was almost half empty, but he still didn't stop. The wine in the glass glowed a dim red in the faint moonlight, a color that strangely matched his expression at the moment. I suddenly felt that this person was actually much lonelier than I had imagined.