Chapter 113: Emptiness

Mo Qingqing’s home.

The sensor light in the entryway lit up the moment she pushed the door open, warm yellow light spilling over the polished marble floor, yet it couldn’t brighten a single trace of warmth in this villa.

Every time she came back before, she would walk straight to the little room at the end of the corridor, her footsteps light, even carrying a hint of anticipation she herself hadn’t noticed.

But today, she stood at the entrance, fingertips still resting on the cold door handle, yet she couldn’t bring herself to take a step.

She looked up.

The spacious living room was empty.

The leather sofa sat neatly in the center.

On the coffee table, there was no warm magic tea.

On the sofa, there was no small, curled-up furball.

Even the air lacked that faint, herbal scent that belonged to Su Yun.

No one would use that soft, milky voice to timidly call out “Master,” then pounce into her arms, tilting that cute little face up, letting her ruffle the soft hair.

No one would, when she was collapsed on the sofa in exhaustion, tiptoe over, use tiny palms to gently massage her shoulders and neck—light as a feather, but always hitting just the right spots to loosen her tense muscles.

No one would quietly stay by her side anymore.

When she raised her hand, no little one would obediently come close.

Mo Qingqing slowly walked to the sofa and sat down heavily.

Her body sank into the soft cushion, but she only felt cold all over.

Her heart ached terribly, as if someone had forcibly torn a piece out of her—sour and swollen, clogging her until even breathing felt labored.

She desperately tried to push the image of Su Yun out of her mind, telling herself it was just losing a slave, just losing an obedient pet—no big deal.

But for some reason, the more she tried to suppress it, the clearer Su Yun’s face appeared before her, as if standing not far away.

If she called out, that little one with fuzzy ears would immediately run over, pounce on her, and nuzzle her neck with a small head.

She had lived alone before.

The more she tried not to think, the more she thought.

Ever since her parents were killed by the Church and Lin Mo rescued her, she had been living alone in this villa.

Lin Mo was playful and often didn’t come home for days, leaving her here by herself.

She had never felt anything wrong with that.

But why?

Why did the absence of just Su Yun make the whole world feel empty?

She thought she could adapt, thought she was cold enough, strong enough, used to loneliness.

But now she realized she had overestimated herself and underestimated the roots Su Yun had planted in her heart.

For a moment, sharp regret stabbed into her heart like a needle.

She regretted it.

Regretted not treating Su Yun well, always losing her temper at her, treating her like a disposable accessory, not giving her a little more tenderness, a little more attention, back when she still clung to her.

If she had, even if the other party broke free, she probably wouldn’t have left so cleanly, so decisively.

She wanted to deny this thought, wanted to tell herself it was just temporary discomfort, wanted to maintain her lofty pride.

But for some reason, this thought kept jumping out uncontrollably, circling in her mind over and over, impossible to shake.

Before, she thought Su Yun playing around with Chu Yu’er, Ning Bao, and the other kids was just childish frolicking—insignificant.

She hadn’t even bothered to look.

But now, thinking about that little furball who used to revolve only around her, only cling to her, was now laughing and chatting with others, eyes curved in smiles, carefree and bright—no longer needing to watch her expression, no longer needing to be cautious—she felt unbearably pained, as if a fire was burning in her chest, from her heart up to her throat, sour and hot.

The more she thought, the tighter her chest became, the harder it was to breathe.

Her fingertips unconsciously rubbed together, as if they could still feel Su Yun’s soft, fluffy hair—smooth and comfortable, her favorite thing to tousle.

But now, her palm was empty.

Nothing.

Only cold air.

She didn’t quite understand what was wrong with her.

It was just a pet, after all…

Mo Qingqing collapsed onto the sofa, curling up, arms around her knees, muttering to herself—her voice hoarse and broken, carrying a resentment and breakdown she herself hadn’t noticed.

‘I must be going crazy…’

‘Ahhh…’

The moment she thought about that little furball who used to be glued to her side, now so close with others, no longer belonging to her alone, Mo Qingqing felt as if her heart was being scorched by flames, aching so much she wanted to curl into a ball.

Why?

Why?!

Su Yun’s soft, slightly timid face, occasionally showing a faint smile—it was like a virus she couldn’t delete, constantly refreshing in her mind, over and over, clear as if right in front of her.

She had grown up under pressure.

Her parents were both witch wizards living in Church territory.

They dragged her around, hiding, never settling, living every day in fear of being hunted.

Then her parents were brutally killed by the Church, and she was tied to the execution stake, almost burned alive.

Lin Mo saved her.

Lin Mo brought her back to this villa, gave her a place to live, taught her magic, protected her.

Lin Mo did care about her, but she was too playful, often gone for days, obsessed with new things, forgetting all about Mo Qingqing many times.

If it weren’t for the bread and water stored in the villa, she would have starved to death in that empty house.

That’s why she couldn’t ignore Su Yun.

Couldn’t ignore that little one who always clung to her, acted cute, and treated her as the only support.

Su Yun wouldn’t abandon her like Lin Mo, wouldn’t flatter her like others, wouldn’t hunt her down like enemies.

Su Yun would only quietly stay by her side.

When she was there, Su Yun was there.

When she left, Su Yun waited.

Never letting her face the emptiness and cold of this villa alone.

She knew she actually cared about Su Yun a lot.

But she didn’t expect it to be this much.

So much that after losing her, even breathing hurt, even living felt meaningless.

She couldn’t understand, and didn’t want to.

But…

She only knew that her own craziness, her own coldness, her own recklessness had driven away the little furball that belonged only to her.

It was supposed to be mine…

It wasn’t supposed to leave me…

Why…

How could someone actually pay such a price?

That contract was the eighteenth birthday gift Lin Mo gave her.

At that time, Lin Mo explained all the precautions, word for word.

Mo Qingqing remembered clearly.

She knew exactly what it cost to dissolve that contract.

It was an Ultimate Slave Contract made from the skull of a dead Dao Master of Control, transcending the Law of Causality, firmly binding master and servant.

Unless an equivalent Dominator paid the “concept” of their own skull, it could never be undone.

That meant the Dominator who paid the price would lose their skull on a conceptual level, leaving an unerasable trace, damaging their origin, and exposing a huge vulnerability.

Yes, that should be it…

That’s why she had been so reckless, so emboldened, so convinced Su Yun could never leave her, would always be her possession, her pet, her accessory.

But…

Reality dealt her the heaviest blow.

Her thoughts drifted back to the present.

Mo Qingqing slowly lifted her head.

She knew she had to do something.

Try to win Su Yun back.

Otherwise…

She would go crazy!

What was that saying again?

Ah, right…

Only when people lose something can they understand its importance.

Now Mo Qingqing truly understood that—understood the heart-wrenching pain, the burning agony, the taste of regret that came with breathing after loss.

She couldn’t lose Su Yun.

Absolutely not.

That little furball could only be hers.