【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 373 [Empire] Why has the little bear never been able to create a mother?

The little girl's words hit my heart like a heavy hammer.

"Miyou...is dead." She clutched the wax bear in her arms, her tone chillingly calm, as if this were an insignificant fact. However, her next words made my heart tighten—that little bear could actually "fabricate" life, even fabricate itself.

Nightingale's expression had never been so solemn. His gaze was fixed on the little bear in the girl's arms, a look of caution and complexity in his eyes. "Her consciousness... is not complete," he whispered. "That little bear might be the embodiment of her emotions, or it might be... the true core of her existence."

I squatted down and tried to sound calm. "Miyou...why do you say that? Aren't you here well?"

The little girl lowered her head, her fingers gently stroking the slightly melting body of the wax bear. She whispered, "It was the bear who brought me back to life. The bear said, 'The candle is gone, Mommy won't come back, and I can't wait any longer...' So, the bear... lit Miyou." She paused, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes were filled with emptiness. "And then... I'm no longer Miyou. I'm the 'Miyou' that the bear made up."

My heart tightened, as I could hear despair and loneliness in her calm words. That child, crouching in the park, guarded the candle with her own life, waiting for her mother's return. Ultimately, she burned herself, and the candle—or rather, the bear—used its power to somehow "resurrect" her, but at the cost of never being her original self again.

"Do you... remember what you were thinking when you set yourself on fire?" I asked softly, trying to keep my tone gentle.

A hint of doubt flashed in the little girl's eyes. She tilted her head, as if pondering my question. After a long moment, she whispered, "I... miss my mother."

Just a simple sentence, but it made my heart feel like it was being torn apart.

"So, the little bear is really amazing." A gleam flashed in her eyes, as if she was showing off something. "The little bear said that as long as there are candles, it can keep creating life. It can stay with me until Mommy comes back."

Nightingale whispered, "Her emotions are bound to the little bear, even her 'life' itself was given by the little bear. This waxy life...is essentially a kind of attachment, unable to be separated from its core existence."

"But it's not her fault." I responded softly, my eyes once again falling on the little bear in the girl's arms. "The little bear... maybe it was just protecting her in its own way."

The girl held the bear tighter, and a complex emotion seemed to appear in her eyes. She didn't completely understand what we were saying, but she clearly hadn't fully accepted the fact that she was no longer "human."

"Miyou..." I called her name softly, "If... you could choose, what would you want?"

The girl lowered her head and remained silent for a long time, as if lost in deep thought. Finally, her voice was as soft as a whisper, yet it carried a heartbreaking determination: "I miss... Mom."

My throat tightened and I wasn't sure how to respond.

All her obsessions, all her existence, even her life itself, have become the continuation of this simple wish. She is "Miyou", but she is no longer "Miyou".

Nightingale said in a deep voice: "Her current state is hard to define as a real life. Little Bear's ability... I'm afraid it's not simple."

I nodded. The little girl's wax body and the bear's abilities were indeed beyond common comprehension, but no matter what she was now, she was still the child guarding the candle, waiting for her mother's return. Even if it was only forever.

"Miyou." I spoke again, my voice low and firm, "Will you trust me? We will help you find the answer. You don't have to guard the candle alone."

The little girl raised her head, her eyes still empty, but with a faint glimmer of hope: "Really?"

I nodded, reached out my hand, and gently patted her shoulder: "Really. We will accompany you and find the answer together."

She looked down at the little bear in her arms, silent for a long time. The faint firelight flickered quietly in her arms, illuminating her waxy face with a fragile, stubborn warmth.

I know this girl's future will be full of challenges, but I also know that her life and her emotions are still worth protecting.

The little girl's words made the air gradually freeze.

I looked into her eyes, filled with sadness and confusion, and felt something tug at my heart, a pain I couldn't describe. Her voice floated softly in the air, as if she were just talking to herself, but it cut through everyone's heart like a sharp blade.

"Why has the little bear never been able to create a mother?"

She looked down at the little bear in her arms. Its waxen body melted slightly in the dim firelight, as if it were about to melt away. The little girl held it tightly, as if afraid it would disappear from her arms at any moment. Her eyes flickered with a hint of anticipation, but more of it was pain and confusion.

Nightingale stood beside me, his face solemn and silent. He was obviously also stung by the girl's question, but he couldn't give an answer either.

I squatted down, looking her in the eye, and tried to keep my tone gentle and sincere: "Maybe... it's because Little Bear wants to protect you too."

She raised her head, tears in her eyes, and seemed not to understand what I meant.

"You know, Miyou," I continued, "the little bear can create life, create wax things, but those lives cannot bring real companionship. Because they are not mothers."

Her eyes were still confused, but her slightly furrowed brows showed that she was trying hard to understand what I said.

"Mom is in your heart." I pointed to her little chest. "She's always here. Her love and the memories she gave you have never disappeared. That's why the little bear didn't carve out a picture of her, because it knows that a mother's existence is unique and can't be replaced by anyone else."

She lowered her head, her grip around the bear slowly loosening, as if she were digesting my words. Tears streamed down her cheeks, condensing into a few tiny waxy drops on the ground. Her voice trembled slightly, "But...but I miss her so much. I waited every day, but she never came back..."

Her voice choked, and her tears flowed even more fiercely. Her waxen body looked even more fragile against the backdrop of her tears, as if it could break at any moment.

"I know," I whispered, trying to sound soothing. "I know how much you miss her and how much you hope she'll come back. But I also want you to live well, no longer alone, no longer afraid."

She was silent for a long time, and her eyes fell on the little bear again, as if she was talking to it, or as if she was talking to herself.

"Is that so... Little Bear?" she whispered, her eyes misty with tears.

The little bear didn't respond. It just lay quietly in her arms. The faint firelight was still flickering, as if conveying some kind of warmth.

"Perhaps you can try to give yourself a new chance," I whispered. "Stop waiting for your mother's return and learn to live well with her love."

She didn't respond, but the little bear in her hand trembled slightly, and the fire seemed to be brighter.

"You can try." I patted her shoulder gently and gave her a comforting smile.

The little girl finally nodded, her hands still tightly holding the teddy bear, but there seemed to be a new light in her eyes.

At this moment, I felt a long-lost hope, as if a ray of light finally appeared at the end of the darkness.

There was an oppressive silence in the air.