Chapter 109 Ren Xiyao stepped forward…

Ren Xiyao stepped forward and picked up the papers. The first page was titled "A Real-Name Report on Ren Xiyao, an Athlete of the National Short Track Speed ​​Skating Team, for Violating Relevant Management Regulations During Training and Competitions," and was signed "Lanhai Sports Club."

She read through it word by word, until the very last line, when her heart suddenly clenched. She thought this matter was long gone, two years ago—how could it be brought up again?

Some of these incidents were true but exaggerated, and the reporting process itself was not problematic. However, the incident of jumping out of the window was a solid incriminating evidence. It was clearly a premeditated attack, and the words "Lanhai Club" made her instantly realize who was behind it all—she had probably gotten in someone's way.

"How do you explain these reports?" The head coach's voice was deep and carried an undeniable pressure.

Ren Xiyao put down the letter of complaint, met his scrutinizing gaze, and took a deep breath: "Coach, some of the facts are different from the truth, and some situations are complicated."

She explained point by point: her leave requests for overseas training specified the number of times and the reasons for reporting them; as for the so-called late returns from matches, all her leave requests with the national team were directly requested from the head coach, who was aware of these requests. As for jumping out of the window in 2015, she paused for a moment and lied, saying, "It did happen. I was young and naive back then, had conflicts with my roommates, and hadn't fully overcome my PTSD, so my training performance fluctuated. Also, it was club training at the time, and the management wasn't as strict, so I subconsciously relaxed my vigilance. I made a mistake in a moment of impulse."

She tried her best to explain clearly and admit that she had indeed made a mistake. She knew that making excuses would only make things worse.

After hearing her explanation, the head coach's expression did not soften much; he simply tapped his fingers lightly on the table, seemingly deep in thought.

“Ren Xiyao, you know that these things, no matter how big or small, have a very bad impact when they are exposed like this. Especially now that you are a key athlete being trained and are about to enter the Olympic preparation period, any negative news could be magnified infinitely.”

“I understand,” Ren Xiyao said softly, “I will fully cooperate with the investigation and deeply reflect on my own problems.”

"Hmm." The coach nodded. "Because it's a report filed under a real name, the higher-ups are taking this very seriously. Coupled with Lan Hai's strong insistence, an investigation team has been formed. You may need to cooperate with interviews at any time these next few days. Don't stop training for now, but adjust your mindset and don't let it affect your normal preparations."

"Yes, thank you, Coach."

Stepping out of her office and closing the door to shut out the pressure, Ren Xiyao leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, exhaling slowly. She knew this wouldn't be so easy to get over; Lan Hai's actions were undoubtedly aimed at bringing her down completely.

She instinctively gripped the white jade safety buckle around her neck, the force almost leaving a mark. A sense of panic crept in, and she forced herself to calm down. All accusations could be explained, but at this moment, she also hoped that they had truly left her room for maneuver.

Meanwhile, at the YG Entertainment building in Seoul.

Kwon Ji-yong threw himself into endless work, and the recording studio became his most frequent place. Ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette butts, and draft lyrics and sheet music were scattered on the table, along with a half-empty glass of iced Americano. He listened to demos repeatedly with headphones on, his brow furrowed, occasionally scratching his head in frustration or deleting paragraphs he had just written. The production team was on tenterhooks, afraid to provoke him.

It was during one of the frequent meetings during this period that a subsidiary of YG Entertainment, primarily engaged in cosmetics, was exposed for tax issues. Initially, it was only mentioned briefly in an inconspicuous financial tabloid, without causing a stir. At a company meeting, the person in charge downplayed the issue, saying "it's being handled" and "it's not a big problem," and the public relations department issued a routine clarification.

Kwon Ji-yong heard the news during a lengthy planning meeting, but he was preoccupied with arranging the new song and didn't pay much attention. With a large company, minor oversights were inevitable; public relations and legal departments would handle them, and it wasn't his place to interfere. He was more concerned about the album's progress and her, who was far away in Beijing.

Late at night, he unusually finished work early and returned to his empty home. After taking a shower, he leaned back on the sofa, glanced at the time, hesitated, and then dialed a number.

It rang for a long time before being answered.

"Hello?"

"It's me." Kwon Ji-yong's voice was tired. "Still not asleep?"

"I just finished extra training and was about to go to sleep," she said in a muffled voice.

"Training is tiring? You sound listless."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone: "It's alright. The Olympic season is intense, that's normal. How about you? How's your album?"

"Still the same, no progress, and a headache." He rubbed his temples.

Take care of yourself.

"The same to you."

A few more seconds of silence followed, neither of them seeming to know what to say. The intimacy of their time in Las Vegas had been diluted by distance and their respective hidden thoughts. The intense withdrawal symptoms inevitably affected their emotions, something even the most rational person would find difficult to overcome immediately. But this time, they had a vague premonition that if they didn't speak now, would they ever have another chance? This panic was inexplicable, and they could only suppress it.

"Then...you should get some rest," Ren Xiyao said first.

"Okay, you should go to sleep early too."

After hanging up the phone, Kwon Ji-yong stared at her name on the screen, a vague feeling of unease creeping over him. He knew that Ren Xiyao's voice seemed to be trying to hide something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Ren Xiyao put down her phone and slumped heavily onto her single bed in the dorm. Her relaxed expression instantly vanished, replaced by exhaustion and anxiety. The sounds of Lin Shan washing up in the bathroom seemed to be tickling her sensitive nerves.

The investigation team spoke with her again today, asking increasingly detailed questions and adopting a more severe attitude. She feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff, and a slight misstep could send her plummeting.

Wang Lu's gaze held a scrutinizing mix of suspicion and barely perceptible smugness. The team leader, seemingly trying to elicit information from her and Lin Shan, exuded an air of confidence that hung like a Damocles' sword, ready to fall at any moment. She didn't know exactly how much they knew, nor what the ultimate consequences would be.

Their ability to uncover the incident two years ago must have involved the South Korean National Sport University (NSU) faction, which has deep roots in South Korea. She couldn't fathom how much effort they were going to exert, nor what outcome they desired.

More than a week has passed since the whistleblower incident. Ren Xiyao's life has been split in two: one half is in the ice rink and training hall, where she remains as strict with herself as ever; the other half is in the long, quiet nights, where she begins to sleep lightly, is extremely sensitive, and has to face repeated questioning from the investigation team.

The investigation team's questioning was more frequent and in-depth than expected. They no longer focused solely on the "violations" stated in the whistleblower's letter, but began to subtly inquire about her personal life, interpersonal relationships, and even her financial situation. During each conversation, she had to be extremely vigilant, carefully choosing every word to avoid giving anything away.

But now...

“Comrade Ren Xiyao,” the investigation team members across the long table in the conference room began. One was a discipline inspection officer from the Winter Sports Management Center, and the other was a veteran cadre seconded from the General Administration of Sport, said to be experienced in handling athlete disciplinary issues and possessing sharp insight: “According to Article XX of the ‘Regulations on the Management of National Team Athletes,’ active national-level athletes must submit a written application to the national team management department and obtain approval at least one year in advance for private travel abroad. However, we checked the records from that year and could not find your application for travel to Seoul from August 18th to 19th, 2015. At that time, you only reported to the provincial sports bureau and your club, which is suspected of violating regulations. What is your explanation for this?”

Ren Xiyao's hands, resting on her knees, were slightly cold at the fingertips, but her voice remained steady: "Regarding this trip abroad, I admit that I lacked sufficient understanding of the reporting process in accordance with the national team's management regulations, and the procedures were not standardized. However, at that time, I was indeed still a club player and thought I was following the club's management regulations. I overlooked the necessity of reporting to the national team. It was my oversight, and I am willing to take responsibility and accept criticism and education."

"Insufficient understanding?" The older comrade was clearly dissatisfied with this explanation. They knew, of course, that Ren Xiyao was telling the truth, but that wasn't what they wanted. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze urgent: "As far as we know, you received the title of National Master Athlete in early 2014 and have represented the country in international competitions multiple times. You should be clear about the national team's regulations. Moreover, this time of year isn't a statutory holiday; it's just a team adjustment break. Why did you choose this particular time, in such a rush, even 'violated regulations,' to go abroad? What exactly was your purpose in going to Seoul?"

She lowered her eyelids, remained silent for a few seconds, and then looked up again: "I was going to see a friend. She was an exchange student at Yonsei University, under a lot of academic pressure, and suffering from severe depression. She had several extreme thoughts during our phone call. I was worried, so I went as soon as my leave was approved."

She herself felt that this reason was weak.

Sure enough, the two investigation team members showed obvious disbelief. The older man scoffed and tapped his finger on the table: "Meet a friend? Which friend? What's their name? Which school and major? What did you do when you met? Do you have any witnesses or photos?"

One lie leads to countless more to cover it up. A barrage of questions pounded like a rapid drumbeat on Ren Xiyao's taut nerves. She knew she couldn't delve any deeper into the issue, or the lie would be exposed.

She took a deep breath, meeting the other person's probing gaze, her tone calm yet carrying an undeniable bottom line: "Depression and extreme thoughts are very private matters. As an athlete who has suffered from PTSD, I understand even better how much pressure mental illness sufferers experience when subjected to excessive public scrutiny. This involves my friend's privacy, and I cannot disclose specific details. However, I can guarantee that I did absolutely nothing that violated national laws or sports ethics during this trip. Regarding the issue of violating national team regulations while serving in a club, I once again admit my mistake and am willing to accept the consequences."

She steered the conversation back to the "violation" itself, avoiding the "reasons." This was a strategy of retreating to advance.

The two members of the investigation team exchanged a glance. Ren Xiyao's words were a subtle but effective tactic, and they understood. They also realized that it would be difficult to uncover any substantial information on this issue, so they had to temporarily abandon the investigation. However, Ren Xiyao clearly saw that their scheming had not stopped.

Following this conversation, various rumors about Ren Xiyao began to circulate within the training base in a more covert and malicious manner. Some said she was arrogant and disregarded team rules because of her status as a world champion; others said she had a chaotic private life and "ambiguous" relationships abroad; still others speculated whether she wanted to change her nationality. The athletes on the first team were all busy with the upcoming Olympics and had no time for gossip. But how could this sport, or even the entire winter sports community, be limited to just one team?

What unsettled her even more was that these rumors were no longer just directed at her personally, but were gradually spreading to question the "lax discipline" and "disorganized management" of the club to which Ren Xiyao belonged. It seemed they were trying to escalate personal issues to question the entire club.

-----------------------

Author's Note: To briefly explain the point, the provincial team did not appear in my article. Therefore, this club is not equivalent to a provincial team!! There are no such strict management regulations!

While in reality, short track speed skating is still primarily managed by provincial teams, with clubs playing a more promotional and popular role. However, I can't single out any provincial team as the villain, so I'll portray it from a club perspective. But now there are more and more clubs, and increasingly more professional ones. There are quite a few club-based sports with high costs and a high degree of commercialization. The structure in this story is a semi-provincial team framework; its management is looser and offers more freedom than a full provincial team. This makes the logic of some plot points more consistent because it's not entirely within the system like a provincial team. It involves commercial operations, funding, and the club also contributes talent. Therefore, clubs are subject to some regulation because of issues like the flow of funds and sports ethics (such as doping and match-fixing). It's a relatively simple operational process that should be understandable.

The problem with the article lies in how to determine the degree of supervision and where the standards should be. These become rather vague points. The magnitude of the incident, the level of importance attached to it, and the club's own voice and strength... these become implicit standards or tacit understandings.

As for a more detailed and complete club system, such as athlete retirement benefits and profit sharing from club athletes' commercial activities, there should already be relatively mature systems in reality. If you're curious, you can take a look. In this article, we'll just use that framework briefly. And when we talked about the National Winter Games earlier, we looked at the athletes' registered locations.

That's the general logic. If you examine the text closely, there are definitely many imperfections in the settings, but the overall logic should be able to make it work. [Hands clasped in prayer][Hands clasped in prayer][Hands clasped in prayer]

Thank you everyone, enjoyed reading! [Heart emoji]