【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 262 [Empire] The feeling of "home"

"So what exactly are they trying to find?" I couldn't help but ask, "Humanity's defenses? Or..."

Wen Ya didn't answer directly, but simply shook her head slightly, her eyes deep. "That's unknown. But what is certain is that combat plants are not simply tools. They are more like some kind of... test from the depths of nature."

His answer stunned me for a moment, and an indescribable sense of unease welled up in my heart. Suddenly, the image of the twin flowers in the cyan magic book emerged in my mind—their beauty and the danger they concealed seemed to embody this very test.

"What else do you know?" I asked in a low voice, with a hint of urgency in my tone.

Wen Ya smiled lightly and shook her head: "Knowing too much is not necessarily a good thing." He said it lightly.

I pouted in dissatisfaction, a bit annoyed by Wen Ya's evasiveness. He was always like this, half-speaking, as if afraid I'd know too much, yet also as if deliberately guiding me to figure things out on my own. It felt like I was grasping at air, feeling nothing. I frowned, about to ask more, but he changed the subject, his voice so calm that I was momentarily taken aback.

"By the way," he suddenly said, his eyes falling on me as if by accident, "Have you ever thought about going to military school?"

I was stunned and frowned slightly. "Military academy? Why are you suddenly mentioning this?"

Wen Ya's expression remained calm, but I could see a flicker of seriousness in his eyes. He casually raised his hand to wipe his paintbrush and said nonchalantly, "Just asking. As for your current school..." He paused, his tone hinting at a hint of dissatisfaction, "I just don't think it's the right fit for you."

He's fussing about my school again.

"How much do you dislike my school?" I asked back, with a hint of sarcasm in my tone.

Wen Ya glanced at me, a slight smile on her lips, but her eyes were still serious: "I just think you can do better."

"Isn't it good for me to be like this now?" I narrowed my eyes and asked deliberately, with a hint of provocation in my tone.

He didn't say anything back, just staring at me quietly, his eyes gentle and persistent. After a moment, he whispered, "I'm not questioning you. I just hope you can choose a place where you can truly protect yourself."

"Like the one you chose for me before?" I blurted out. There was actually no malice in my tone, but as soon as I said it, I noticed that Wen Ya's eyes dimmed slightly.

His hand paused on the canvas for a moment, as if the incident during military training was replaying in his mind. I saw his fingertips clench and then relax, as if he was trying to suppress some emotion.

"It was an accident," he whispered, his tone calm but exhausting. "I thought that would be the best option... but I didn't expect something like that to happen."

I suddenly felt guilty and thought that what I said just now was a bit too much. I knew that this matter might be more difficult for him to accept than for me.

"That's not what I meant." I quickly explained, my tone softening. "I just said it casually. I don't blame you."

Wen Ya looked up at me, his eyes regaining some of their gentleness, but still with a hint of complexity. He didn't continue the topic, but turned around, put down his brush, and sighed softly.

"I just hope you can be in a safe environment. Even this expectation can sometimes seem naive." His tone was light, as if he was mocking himself. "Your current choice... if you feel it's good, I won't interfere."

He said it lightly, but I could hear a kind of resigned helplessness in his words. My heart tightened slightly.

The scene of returning from military training suddenly emerged in my mind. Wen Ya at that time was completely different from the calm and composed woman she is now.

I remember him standing at the door, his eyes swollen and red, as if he'd been crying for days. The moment he saw me, his effortless composure collapsed, and he could hardly stop crying. He wanted to hug me, but seemed afraid to. He hesitated for several seconds before cautiously reaching out and gently pulling me into his arms.

During those days, he stayed by my side almost every step of the way, as if he couldn't let me out of his sight for even a moment. Wherever I went, his eyes followed me. Even when I went to sleep at night, he would hug me tightly. That look made me feel even more dependent on him than I, someone who had just experienced battle, did.

Thinking of this, I couldn't help but feel sad. Perhaps the impact of that military training accident on him was much greater than I imagined...

Protecting me has perhaps become an obsession he can't let go of. And precisely because of this, he's still brooding over my current choice.

See, everyone's pain is different. Each person's pain is like a unique scar, etched in a different story, hidden deep within their hearts, inaccessible to the touch. The causes, forms, and even outcomes of pain are all distinct, like the intricacies of a star map, where no two stars perfectly overlap.

But the sadness is exactly the same.

Whether it's a ripping heartache or silent forbearance, whether it's gritted teeth or tears streaming down one's face, the weight of that deep sorrow remains the same. It's the suffocating feeling in the chest, the tossing and turning at night, the powerless sighs, and the obsession that can't be let go.

I looked at Wen Ya and recalled his swollen eyes from crying.

His pain may be different from mine, and even though he never told me the story, it feels so familiar to me. It is the sadness shared by all human beings.

“See,” I murmured in my heart, “people’s pain may be different, but their sorrow is the same.”

Wen Ya understands this, and so do I.

Once again, we had dinner made by Wen Ya herself. The atmosphere at the table was quiet and warm, as if the air was filled with a long-lost sense of stability.

The food tasted just as familiar as I remembered it, simple yet always satisfying. He sat across from me at the table, his movements unhurried, occasionally glancing up at me, his eyes gentle and tinged with a faint smile. I lowered my head to eat, but my peripheral vision couldn't help but glimpse his every move.

Gradually, the long-held feeling of drifting in my heart seemed to loosen. Although I had always felt like an intruder, on the edge of this world, not belonging here, now, as time passed, dinners like this, this atmosphere, gave me a vague sense of "home."

What I saw was the soup Wen Ya cooked for me, the occasional clinking of porcelain on the table, and those gentle eyes...