【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 482 [Empire] Habit

I have been loving drinking hot soup and porridge lately. The reason is simple: Qianmo buys some for me and brings them back to the dormitory every morning before I wake up.

Qianmo would always quietly place warm soup and porridge by my bedside, and when I woke up, the hot steam filled the air, and the fragrance was refreshing. I often just opened my eyes and there was a bowl of porridge ready in front of me, hot and steaming, with a delicious taste and aroma.

He always went out early to buy it, then returned quietly, without a word or notice. He habitually prepared everything for me in advance, as if he knew I didn't like to bother others. Every time I saw him walk into the room with porridge, the calm warmth on his face made me smile.

Sometimes he would wait until I finished drinking before slowly sitting down and watching me eat mouthful by mouthful. Sometimes, there was no need for too many words between us, his quiet company and this bowl of porridge were already the best comfort.

I don't know what this feeling is like. Anyway, I'm slowly getting used to it, but deep down, I don't want to get used to it like this...

Every morning, when I woke up and saw the soup and porridge Qianmo had prepared for me, I was always a little confused. I was used to this kind of care, but I felt it was too warm, too thoughtful, as if I were a necessity in his life, constantly in need of care and protection. That sense of dependence gradually took root in my heart.

I didn't want to rely on anyone, especially him, especially with this delicate feeling. We weren't that close, and I didn't feel I was lacking anything, yet somehow, I accepted this invisible care as if it were my due. Yet, somewhere deep down, I kept reminding myself that I couldn't continue like this, that I couldn't let this "habit" become a dependency, that I couldn't let myself become so vulnerable.

Sometimes, I'd suddenly pause in the middle of my porridge, a mixture of emotions welling up inside me. I'd stare at the bowl, gently stirring it a few times, and deep down, I'd feel an indescribable surge of emotion, a mixture of surprise and fear. Behind such a simple bowl of porridge lay a tender bond. I knew my feelings might not be complicated, but rather something I didn't want to face, increasingly entangled within me.

I slowly drank each sip, knowing deep down that this feeling of being cared for would make me increasingly powerless to resist, and increasingly difficult to escape from this warm embrace. You always prepare all this for me, yet I can't give you much in return. I can only silently say, "Thank you." But I know that this gratitude will never translate into an equivalent return.

Yes, this situation is terrible. Every day, Qianmo quietly projects all his warmth and care onto me, and I can only accept it silently, pretending everything is normal. Every time I see him carefully preparing food for me, or gently asking if I need help, that inexplicable emotion surges over me like a tide, wave after wave.

I could clearly tell myself not to rely on him, to try not to get used to this kind of care, but every time I opened my eyes and saw him bring soup and porridge to my bedside, that familiar warmth was like an invisible hand, gently grasping my heart. I didn't want to accept this kind of dependence, but I couldn't refuse. Sometimes, I even felt an inexplicable anticipation, hoping that he would come every day as promised, bringing a bowl of warm soup and porridge, bringing a little bit of his own tenderness.

I began to notice that my movements had become somewhat sluggish. Every morning, I'd habitually turn to look at the headboard, at the bowl of porridge prepared for me, then at the pair of shoes beside it, imagining he might be waiting nearby for me to wake up. Every time I woke, I'd subconsciously look up to see where he was, a flicker of anticipation rising in my heart, only to quickly avert my gaze as if nothing had happened, reminding myself not to become too dependent on him.

This feeling of dependence makes me uneasy, like I'm trapped in a web, unable to break free. Every time he walks into the room, offering me soup and a smile, it's so natural, so natural, yet I can't refuse. It's as if he's become an indispensable part of my day, even though I know this feeling can't continue, that sooner or later it will become a heavy burden, suffocating me.

The worst part was, I knew I should learn to be independent and not rely on him, but when his care was so genuine and thoughtful, I felt an inexplicable weakness deep down. Every inner struggle was painful, yet I felt powerless to change the situation. This weakness, I thought, was a form of self-denial, as if it told me I wasn't strong enough to be independent.

The more I felt this way, the more I felt something was wrong. This uneasiness and unwillingness grew more and more severe as time went by. Every time Qianmo gently asked if I needed help, I couldn't really refuse, because deep down I had long been accustomed to this kind of concern and even began to look forward to it.

However, when I realized deep down that I might be gradually becoming dependent on him, I felt an uncontrollable panic in my heart - this feeling of being protected by him would sooner or later make me lose myself. And I didn't want to become a person who lost myself and could only rely on others to live.

This puts me in a state of deep conflict. I know this situation is terrible, but I cannot escape it.

When my period officially ended, I felt a strange sense of resolution. Finally, my physical fatigue eased, and my mood regained some composure. While Qianmo's meticulous care warmed my heart, it was also this same care that made it feel like I couldn't breathe. I'd grown accustomed to the soup and porridge he'd buy early for me, the candy he'd secretly pass me, and the silent presence he'd offer when I felt tired. Each of these expressions of concern was like a gentle rope, binding me tighter and tighter.

I didn't resent this kind of care, but I knew I couldn't continue to rely on it. Every time he walked into the room with that easy smile, offering me food and warmth, a growing struggle built within me. This dependence was making me increasingly uneasy, like I was trapped in an invisible cage, unable to extricate myself. Although I knew he had no ill intentions and didn't even want to burden me, I couldn't ignore the spreading emotions.

So, when I finally sat up from the bed and slowly walked over to him, my tone was filled with a hint of determination: "Qianmo, this kind of 'care' should stop."

He was preparing to heat up the leftover soup from last night. When he heard me speak, he paused, then looked up at me. There was a hint of confusion in his eyes, as if he didn't fully understand what I meant. "What do you mean?" His voice was low, with a hint of gentle concern, as if he was worried that he had done something wrong again.

I pursed my lips and took a deep breath. He was still so earnest and warm, yet my heart grew more resolute. While this concern warmed me, it shouldn't be my lifelong reliance.

"I don't need you to prepare this for me every day," I whispered, avoiding his gaze and looking out the window. "I know you mean well, but I can't let myself get used to this kind of life any longer. You have your own things to do, and it's time for me to start learning to be independent." I felt my heartbeat quicken. Although I knew what I said was right, a sense of reluctance and tenderness lurked within me.

He didn't answer immediately, but just stood there with a complicated look in his eyes, as if digesting every word I said. After a few seconds, he sighed softly and looked up at me: "Are you afraid of bothering me?"

I shook my head: "No." I paused, "But I know that I can't always rely on others." I know what I said sounded a bit heavy, but I was not blaming him, but I hoped that I could become stronger.

Qianmo was silent for a moment, then slowly put down the bowl of soup and walked over to me. The air was filled with a delicate scent. His eyes were gentle, yet with a hint of reluctance. "I understand," his voice was still warm. "I will respect the independence you want." He then looked at me quietly for a moment, as if contemplating something.

I felt a strange sense of relief. Although I knew this path wouldn't be easy, I firmly believed it was the one I should take. We didn't say much, just stood there in silence. Perhaps my decision made him a little regretful, but he didn't say much. He simply reached out and gently patted my shoulder, offering a subtle gesture of support.

I know that this doesn't mean our relationship will end, it just means we'll be together in a more independent and stronger way. I also believe that this care and concern won't disappear, but will exist in our lives in a more equal and free form.

From then on, every time Qianmo returned to the dormitory, he no longer silently prepared soup and porridge for me. Instead, he asked me, "What do you want to eat today?" I was finally able to respond with a frank smile, no longer letting myself get lost in that warm care. And he was still the warmest person around me.

The training had been going on for a long time, the hours slipping away quietly through repeated physical training and supernatural power classes. Every day was filled with tension and challenges, even breathing felt like pressure. I began to get used to the intense training, the feeling of being pushed to the limit, and Qianmo's silent support. Our relationship seemed to gradually become more ordinary and genuine with each passing day, no longer tinged with the initial tension and discomfort.

Yet, despite all this, I still felt a sense of exhaustion—not just physically, but more so mentally. The pressure of training, the anxiety of reaching my goals, and the constant urge to keep up—all of this felt like an invisible weight, weighing me down, making me feel suffocated. I knew what I needed wasn't just strength, but a balance that would bring peace of mind.

Sometimes, I stop, stand at the edge of the playground, and gaze at the distant starry sky. The vast expanse of starlight seems to momentarily make me forget all my anxieties. Even though I know the beauty of the starry sky can't heal the pain in my heart, it at least gives me a little breathing space and the courage to face everything.

"You're standing here in a daze again today?" Qianmo's voice suddenly rang out, breaking my thoughts. I turned and saw him standing not far away, a smile on his face, his eyes still warm. Since that conversation, we seemed to have returned to a normal rhythm. He no longer cared so much about me, but occasionally he would look at me with a hint of concern and give me some timely help.

"Nothing." I smiled at him, trying to hide my fatigue, but there was a hint of heaviness in my tone, "I'm just a little tired." Sometimes I feel that Qianmo really sees through me. He can always sense the ups and downs in my heart when I don't speak.

"Take a break." He walked up to me and patted my shoulder. "You should also learn to relax during training. Excessive tension will only lead to physical and mental collapse." There was a relaxed tone in his words, but it made me feel a little emotional, as if he had already seen through all my tiredness and difficulties.

"Yeah, I know." I nodded, turned around and continued to look into the distance. Standing here, it seemed as if I could find a trace of peace, even if only for a moment.

But soon, the training bell rang again, and I had to pick up my determination again and devote myself to new training.

Our coordination grew stronger, our steps more coordinated, and even our occasional glances were able to accurately read each other's intentions. On the training ground, Qianmo always offered timely support when I felt tired or hesitant, or made crucial judgments to avoid unnecessary mistakes. It felt as if the distance between us had disappeared, and our mutual trust had become incredibly natural.

Sometimes, during training, I'd unconsciously search for him. Whenever I hit a bottleneck or a problem I couldn't break through, he was always there, silently protecting me and motivating me. This feeling, like an invisible force, made me feel less alone.

But it was this gradually deepening understanding that seemed to bring us closer. I noticed that Qianmo was no longer so reserved. Sometimes he would offer to pour me water when I was tired, or during our breaks, he would lightheartedly joke around. His tone was less tense than before, more relaxed and natural. Although he never said it, I could sense his concern, more genuine than before.

This confused me. It wasn't that I disliked him doing this, but... it seemed like I'd become accustomed to this close relationship, and even felt a little overwhelmed. I never imagined that building such a tacit understanding with someone would bring about such subtle emotional fluctuations.

After a practice session, we stood on the sidelines, both exhausted and breathless. I stretched and sat down on the ground, feeling the fatigue slowly fade away. Qianmo stood beside me, silently watching me, his eyes seemed to have something different.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his tone no longer serious, but with a touch of gentle concern.

"Not bad," I smiled, trying to hide the slight turmoil in my heart. In truth, I'd long known that I was somewhat dependent on him, even accustomed to his care and companionship. That feeling, like a hidden dependence, had taken root without me even realizing it.

"Are you tired?" he asked again, with a barely perceptible hint of worry in his tone.

I nodded, "A little, but I can still hold on." I knew that if I were truly tired, he would definitely support me and wouldn't force me to hold on. This thought made me smile slightly, and a hint of warmth spread in my heart.

We sat quietly, the night breeze blowing gently. A familiar scent hung in the air, a comforting, homely scent. Gradually, I closed my eyes, lost in the quiet and intimacy.

It wasn't until the training bell rang again that we stood up together. Although it wasn't over yet, I knew that no matter what difficulties I encountered, with him by my side, I would no longer feel alone.