NFBE Chapter 485 [Empire] Distance
Chapter 485 [Empire] Distance
I don't know how to describe it, except that this day felt as beautiful as boiling a frog in warm water. As for the frog, I felt a mixture of emotions. He was so considerate, it seemed as if he was melting the boundaries between us.
That gentleness and thoughtfulness, like a fine mist, silently enveloped my every day. Every detail was masterfully orchestrated by Qianmo, and I gradually felt like I was merging into this daily rhythm. Every bowl of hot soup he brought me, every comforting word after training, every moment of his silent companionship, seemed to remind me that this person beside me was more than just a classmate or a partner, but a companion on an uncharted journey.
Yet, like the frog, my emotions were complicated. Perhaps because this warmth and care, so close and genuine, made me wonder if it was simply because he was being overly considerate, or if I had simply grown accustomed to this dependence. Gradually, those once firm boundaries seemed to blur, and I became increasingly unable to discern our relationship, sinking deeper and deeper into this state of being both familiar and unfamiliar.
He's practically omnipresent, always appearing at the perfect moment when I need him. I've gradually grown reliant on this presence, yet also wary. That wariness stems from the knowledge that, if we're not careful, this kind of relationship could quietly change at some point. And after this change, will we still be as safe and sound as we are now?
Sometimes, I wonder, if one day, this warmth no longer exists, will I feel empty and lost? Or will I find myself unable to leave this state and even not know how to face the days without him?
But every time I think about this, I always shake my head silently. Perhaps this is the cleverness of life - not having to think too far ahead, focusing on every moment, enjoying this unclear, complex but warm relationship, perhaps, is the most real life.
"What are you thinking about?" Suddenly, Qianmo's voice interrupted my thoughts.
I raised my head, met his eyes, and found that he seemed to have been looking at me.
“No…what,” I smiled faintly and shook my head, trying to hide the mixed emotions I was feeling.
His eyes were gentle, and he didn't ask any further questions. He just nodded and turned back to his own business. I stood there, my heart swirling with unknown emotions.
Perhaps, I am really too dependent on this kind of warmth, and even began to be unwilling to analyze it, fearing that once I see it clearly, I will lose this rare peace.
Lately, my training has become increasingly intense. Every morning, I rise in the chill of the early morning wind, with no thought of stopping. Even though my body still feels heavy, and every muscle aches as if reminding me of my physical limits, I never slow down my training. I deliberately postpone rest periods, immersing myself in repetitive movements, as if only this can provide a brief respite from the invisible pressure.
I began pushing myself to the limit of exhaustion. After each physical training session, I could barely stand straight. My steps were heavy, my breathing was rapid, and my heartbeat was turbulent after every sprint. But I told myself I couldn't stop. I couldn't let anyone get better than me. I couldn't stop. All for a good ranking, for that upcoming competition. My only goal seemed to be this: keep training until I was fearless.
Whenever I looked at Qianmo, he stood there, his expression unchanged, but I could detect a hint of worry in the slight furrow of his brow. He knew why I pushed so hard, that it wasn't for the competition itself, but for the unspoken knot in my heart. Through training, I tried to suppress all my emotions in every movement, every punch, every leap, as if to completely forget all the anxiety, confusion, and even loneliness.
But in reality, I also knew that all this was just a temporary escape. I wasn't truly striving for the competition; it was more like I was using these training sessions to drown out the emptiness and anxiety within me. When I stepped onto the track, the rustle of the wind drowned out my heartbeat, and my world became incredibly simple, with only the sound of footsteps and the dripping of sweat. Every second seemed to bring me closer to a higher goal, a state of "perfection" that I must achieve no matter what.
Despite this, the emptiness and entanglement in my heart remained unfilled. Every night, when I lay alone in bed, that unspoken anxiety would inevitably surge up inside me. I knew that no matter how much I trained, no matter how hard I pushed myself to become stronger, those deep-seated emotional issues would still be a hurdle I could not overcome.
Perhaps, through competition, I just want to regain my sense of existence, the confidence and strength I lost while growing up. And this kind of strength seems to be only found in the process of constantly surpassing myself.
I looked at the light of the training ground in front of me. The night gradually fell, and my shadow lengthened under the light. Even so, I still did not stop.
The taste of dinner seemed to take on a new dimension at that moment. Having just finished a day of training, my body had nearly reached its limit, every muscle telling me it was exhausted. But the warmth emanating from my stomach was like a shot of adrenaline, relaxing me completely.
Today's dinner consisted of a simple meal of rice and some stew. Perhaps because I'd expended so much energy on the training ground, the meal was particularly rich. The meat in the broth was tender and flavorful, cooked to perfection. The rice radiated a warm aroma. Each gentle spoonful was filled with a satisfying taste. Despite its simplicity, the dishes surprisingly resonated with my appetite. Each bite felt like a refueling boost to my exhausted body, dispelling any signs of fatigue.
Sitting at the dining table, I occasionally glanced out the window. A lingering ray of sunlight still lingered on the horizon, illuminating the entire campus. The tranquil atmosphere was soothing. Perhaps this seemingly simple meal was the perfect compensation for the moment. After a long day of grueling training, I cherished this dinner even more than usual.
Qianmo sat next to me, enjoying his dinner silently. He was not as eager as I was, and seemed to be savoring every bite of the food. Although we didn't talk much, the slight smile on his face seemed like we were sharing the peace and satisfaction of the moment.
Although the meal was simple, it left an indescribable feeling of satisfaction in my stomach. I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the peace of this moment.
As dinner progressed, I couldn't help but notice a change in Qianmo. Originally quiet and composed, he seemed to have, without even realizing it, developed a hint of worry on his face.
He lowered his head to eat, his movements still gentle and rhythmic, but his eyes were no longer focused on the food in front of him as usual. Instead, they drifted from time to time to the window, or to some meaningless spot on the table. A pensive look seemed to quietly accumulate between his brows, and his once calm face was filled with a hint of unspoken melancholy.
I noticed he was pausing his chopsticks more and more frequently, seemingly pondering something. From time to time, he'd gently touch his chin with his fingers, as if lost in some kind of deep thought. The subtle silence in the air made me feel a little uneasy. I didn't know what he was thinking, perhaps just a momentary confusion, but the bewilderment in his eyes was hard to miss.
"What's wrong with you?" I finally couldn't help but ask, with a subtle concern in my tone.
Qianmo was stunned for a moment, as if I had brought him back to reality. He looked up at me, a flash of worry in his eyes, and then he sighed softly and shook his head slightly: "Nothing, just some things that need to be sorted out."
I knew he didn't want to say more, but this melancholy wasn't easy to hide. He was usually the calm and composed man, but today he seemed a bit lost, as if something was weighing him down.
I didn't ask any more questions, but just looked at him quietly, trying to find some clues in his eyes, but at that moment, I saw nothing. Qianmo lowered his head again and picked up his chopsticks again. The aroma of food seemed unable to dispel the heavy atmosphere.
This sadness might be due to some repressed emotion or inaccessible pain. Even if he doesn't say it, I can still feel the subtle pressure, like some secret hidden deep in his heart, waiting to be revealed at some point.
The atmosphere at dinner became somewhat silent. I stopped talking and only occasionally reminded him with my eyes. Perhaps, we could both find a little release in this quiet dinner.
Lately, I've been constantly catching Qianmo hesitant to speak. Whenever he's mid-sentence, he seems to hesitate, pausing for a moment, his eyes revealing a hint of hesitation and struggle. That momentary pause is like wanting to say something, but fearing the unnecessary trouble it might cause.
Sometimes, I could see a flicker of reluctance in the depths of his eyes, as if he wanted to say something, but then hesitated, finally letting go of the words, only to smile and change the subject. That fleeting hesitation even felt strange to me. I couldn't guess what he was thinking, and could only silently wonder, perhaps, he too had some unspoken worries.
One day, while we were eating in the cafeteria, he seemed to be about to say something, but then he shut his mouth. His gaze flickered between me and the table, then he went back to eating his food, as if nothing had happened. I noticed the pause and the uneasiness in his eyes, but I didn't ask. I just felt that he seemed a little different from the relaxed and natural Qianmo he'd always been.
Sometimes, I even began to wonder if he was hiding something. Was there something on his mind he wouldn't share with me? I asked him several times, hoping to break that invisible barrier, but each time he dismissed my questions with a faint smile, preventing the atmosphere from becoming awkward. But his silence only made it harder for me to ignore the hidden emotions.
Whenever I tried to get closer, to get to know him better, he'd subtly tuck himself in tighter, as if maintaining a certain distance. I began to wonder if there were things he truly couldn't say, or perhaps didn't want me to know. Regardless, that hesitant look always left me feeling a bit elusive.
His silence, like a mystery, is hidden between his words. Every time I look at him, I can't help but wonder how many secrets this seemingly fearless and eternally calm man carries, and for whom and what is he protecting?
This state of mind was like an impenetrable net, silently enveloping the two of us. Time slipped by, and the rhythm of life remained perfectly regular, with barely any fluctuation. From the early morning hours to the training grounds and back to the dormitories, every task and training seemed to repeat itself in a relentless cycle.
Training remains the most important part. I increasingly find that my reliance on these sessions isn't just about striving for competition, but more of a way to maintain my balance. After each intense session, my body feels heavy and exhausted, but the racing heartbeat and the cooling sensation of sweat soaking through my clothes bring me an indescribable sense of relief. It allows me to temporarily forget the troubles and doubts lurking within me, as if everything can be washed away by sweat and hard work.
Qianmo remained by my side. During those breaks in training, we rarely spoke. He would silently stand by, his gaze occasionally glancing at me, only to quickly look away, as if intent on keeping my attention focused on the training. Yet, the care he casually displayed was still like warm sunlight, filtering through the clouds and quietly showering me.
His silence, like some invisible force, always surrounded me. I knew he had his own worries and pressures, but no matter how I tried to reach out, he always deftly changed the subject, avoiding deeper emotions. He didn't make excessive demands, nor did he expect too much. He seemed to simply hope that I could persevere and not lose myself in this cold environment.
This state of affairs continued day after day, as if, in the torrent of time, we gradually became like two parallel stars, undisturbed yet forever existing in each other's orbit. I began to get used to this life, even to a point of dependence. The daily training and challenges gradually made it impossible for me to stop, and I couldn't look back at my past self.
But sometimes, I can't help but stop and look around, catching sight of that familiar figure, and a complex mix of emotions arises within me. The distance between us seems to be growing closer, yet an invisible barrier always remains. That subtle tension often makes me pause and ponder the nature of our relationship.
Yet, no matter what, training remains paramount. Time continues, life remains the same, and only in that unchanging routine do we find a brief moment of peace. I've also gradually come to understand that perhaps only in these repetitive days can I find my true self.