Chapter 121 (Mid-January). (Selection...)

Mid-January.

The selection competition began as scheduled.

This was Ren Xiyao's first time standing on the ice in a formal competition since her injury. As she stepped onto the ice in her familiar red competition uniform, she was overwhelmed with emotion.

Seated in the stands were the national team's coaching staff, the management of the Winter Sports Management Center, leaders from the General Administration of Sport, and some media reporters who had come specifically to watch the game. Their eyes were all focused on Ren Xiyao.

The women's 1500-meter race started first. After the starting gun fired, Ren Xiyao's start wasn't particularly fast; she chose to stay in the middle of the pack, trying to get used to the pace of the race. However, after a few laps, she felt an old pain in her left shoulder and lower back begin to throb. The effects of the injection didn't seem to last as long as she had expected.

As she entered the final three laps, the pain intensified. Every push off the ice, every swing of her arms, felt like a dull knife cutting into her nerves. Her face grew paler and paler, and her breathing became increasingly rapid.

"Xiyao! Hang in there!" the coach shouted anxiously from the sidelines.

Ren Xiyao gritted her teeth and, with her strong willpower, endured the excruciating pain that almost devoured her. She made a last-minute breakthrough and advanced to the next round as the second-place finisher in her group.

In the following 500m and 1000m races, Ren Xiyao struggled exceptionally. Her physical condition was clearly not yet at its peak. After each race, she needed the help of the team doctor and rehabilitation therapist to undergo prolonged ice packs and massages to slightly alleviate the pain in her injury.

Nevertheless, she succeeded, reaching the A finals in all three individual events and ultimately securing 4th place in the 500m, a silver medal in the 1000m, and a bronze medal in the 1500m, ranking fourth overall. She fully met the selection criteria for the PyeongCheng Winter Olympics.

After the selection trials, the roster was never announced. She knew it wasn't over yet; if Lan Hai gave up at this point, all their efforts would be in vain. If she couldn't be contained during the Pingcheng cycle, and she achieved results at the Pingcheng Winter Olympics, it would be even more difficult to make a move during the Beijing cycle. They submitted evidence that she hadn't had systematic training for a whole year, stating that her mental and competitive state was unstable and unfit for the task. They hoped the national team would reconsider.

In the end, Ren Xiyao made the roster, but she was constantly switching between being a substitute and a starter.

The intensity of training with the national team is even greater than before. Every day, she has to undergo several hours of high-intensity skating training on the ice rink, in addition to various auxiliary training sessions in the weight room.

She persevered through it all, gritting her teeth, because she knew it was her only path to the Olympics.

During this period, everyone's nerves were stretched to the limit. There were countless intra-team scrimmages. Often, in the struggle for a favorable inside position, collisions were inevitable. Although she didn't fall, Ren Xiyao's left shoulder still suffered a secondary injury.

After examining her, the national team doctor's face turned extremely grim: "Xiyao, your rotator cuff tear shows signs of worsening. If you don't get thorough rest and treatment soon, I'm worried... you might not even be able to compete on the ice at the Olympics."

Upon hearing this, Ren Xiyao's heart sank.

What are people fighting over these days?

It's time.

An athlete's prime only lasts two or three years, but missing one Winter Olympics means four years—the cost is too high. She's 23 this year, and Pingcheng is her prime; she must compete and achieve results before we can discuss the Beijing Olympics cycle. But they want to push her past Pingcheng, meaning her eventual retirement is inevitable. No matter how much she wants to persevere, it's useless, because resources are limited and will inevitably be allocated to younger athletes. Who would believe that an athlete who can't achieve results at 23, her prime, will still be competitive at 27 in four years? Unless the Chinese short-distance running team has reached a point of decline, but that's definitely not what Ren Xiyao wants to see.

That night, she sat alone on her bed in the dormitory for a long time, unable to articulate what she was thinking. She seemed to be spacing out, yet also seemed to be pondering many things. But eventually, dawn broke.

The day finally arrived before the Olympic registration deadline. Fortunately, the injury was managed to stay in place and did not worsen. Before the registration deadline, there was constant arguing in the national team's meeting room. The atmosphere at the General Administration of Sport and the Winter Sports Management Center was tense. Almost everyone who had influence in Longcheng came to Beijing.

The online debate was in an uproar, with no one optimistic about Ren Xiyao's chances. Various conspiracy theories were rampant. The head coach didn't want to get involved and practically lived on the ice rink, refusing to see anyone. He told others that he was focused on tactical research and simply didn't have the energy to manage the situation. When the leadership asked him to make a decision, he only said that each had its own strengths and uses, and that whoever was chosen would have tactical responsibility.

People in this position often find themselves in situations beyond their control. Perhaps he felt he was barely maintaining a balance; even with perfect understanding, he couldn't argue his case. All he could do was ensure that every athlete under his tutelage, regardless of their performance, received the best possible training to improve their results. In this respect, he had a clear conscience and no selfish motives. Even the national team leader, who came from Lan Hai, couldn't interfere in training matters, demonstrating his absolute control over training. However, when facing all other issues, he adopted a "deliberate feigned ignorance," striving to maintain what he considered neutrality. Having come from a neutral club background, this attitude is perhaps the reason he held the position of national team head coach for a full 12 years.

People at higher vantage points can see a lot, but sometimes they can see very little. No one is talking nonsense; everyone is just saying what they want to say. So, in the last two days before the event registration, the General Administration Director decided to personally meet with Ren Xiyao and another athlete favored by Lan Hai.

That day, the sky was exceptionally clear and cloudless, a truly beautiful sight. The athletes from the Lan Hai Club went in first. They chatted for a long time, though they didn't know what to say. Ren Xiyao knew this was her last gamble, a gamble she could only fight for herself. But at this moment, she was surprisingly calm. She even had time to think about the food in the cafeteria at noon.

When it was her turn to go in, the office was bright, much brighter than the corridor. She just didn't know if it would be as promising as her future.

After Ren Xiyao greeted everyone, the room fell silent. No one spoke, but the background music was the CCTV commentary from the 2017 World Short Track Speed ​​Skating Championships, the day she won the Super 3000 title and became the all-around champion.

The computer screen went dark. The director picked up his enamel mug and took a sip of tea; the gold lettering "Serve the People" on the mug gleamed under the light.

"Ren Xiyao".

"yes."

"A two-time all-around champion, with excellent results on paper. He's very competitive in the 1500m."

“Your captain and a few people from the Vancouver women’s team have been calling me,” he said in a low voice, but with a hint of pressure. “Especially your captain, who said you are the skater she has ever met who is most like herself, ‘skating blades always move forward.’”

“Xu Qinghe also met with me privately.” He began, his voice low but carrying a heavy weight: “She said that in the short track team, no one knows better than you how to win. Both of them are groundbreaking athletes. I respect their judgment, but they are not you, and they didn’t mention your injury.” The director’s gaze shifted to her eyes: “The injury was in November, and it’s only been two months since the surgery. The out-of-training records show that your testing frequency last month was the highest in the team. The follow-up report says that your current training intensity can only reach 70% of your peak. The team doctor also said that the antidepressants somewhat affect reaction speed and…” He opened the folder on the table: “You haven’t played a single official competition this season. Lan Hai said that if you go on the field now, it’s risking a medal or even a team spot. In this condition, what makes you think you can compete in the Olympics?”

“Director,” her voice was a little hoarse, but without a trace of hesitation, “the short track speed skating track is only so wide, and you could fall off at any turn. There is never an ‘absolutely safe’ option.”

"But short track speed skating isn't about who's always in top form; it's about who's willing to go all out on the ice. Fractures? Painkillers? Psychological reports? These are my realities, but not my excuses, much less my limits. And clearly, my lower limit is still an upper limit that many people can't reach. What China's short track speed skating team needs isn't a safety net, but a flag that can be raised high."

"The first competition was to let everyone remember that Ren Xiyao is back; the second competition was to let the South Koreans remember that if they want to monopolize the long-distance gold medals, they'll have to ask us if we agree."

The office remained silent for a long time. Suddenly, the director smiled, picked up the pen on the table, and signed the report. The sound of the pen nib gliding across the paper was soft, yet it struck Ren Xiyao's heart like a heavy hammer.

“Go prepare,” he pushed the signed documents back to him: “The list of projects to be submitted will be published tomorrow.”

Eight days before the opening of the Pyeongsang Winter Olympics, the national short track speed skating team arrived in Gangneung by chartered plane.

As Ren Xiyao dragged her heavy suitcase out of the airport, she felt as if she had returned to a different world. Those nightmarish days seemed to finally be over.

The atmosphere in the Olympic Village was tense yet enthusiastic. Top athletes from all over the world gathered here to strive for the same goal.

Ren Xiyao quickly immersed herself in acclimatization training. The ice surface was of decent quality, and after getting used to it, skating felt relatively smooth. However, her body was in a state where it could stop at any moment. Each training session required her to rely on closed-circuit ice to maintain a high level of competitive performance, and she also had to undergo long periods of icing and physiotherapy after the competition.

The room was filled with all sorts of medicines and medical equipment. Painkillers, anti-inflammatory drugs, muscle relaxants, infrared therapy devices, ultrasound therapy devices... These cold instruments and medicines became her closest "partners" in her preparation for the Olympics.

The night before the Olympic opening ceremony, Ren Xiyao arrived alone at the deserted ice rink. Unable to even enter the venue, she could only sit outside. She couldn't describe her feelings; all she felt was relief. "Thank goodness, I'm finally here."

Whether this frozen surface witnesses her glory or her regret, there's nothing to regret or fear. She has given everything. She has surrendered all her chips. She has given her all.

A grand wedding is taking place in Seoul.

Seoul celebrated its first major event in early February: the wedding of Taeyang and Hyorin. Kwon Ji-yong, of course, also attended this highly anticipated wedding.

The wedding venue was decorated warmly and romantically, filled with an atmosphere of happiness and joy. Watching Hyorin in her pure white wedding dress and Taeyang in his handsome suit, amidst the blessings of family and friends, Kwon Ji-yong felt a surge of inexplicable emotion.

He had considered getting married.

However, it seems that for him in his twenties, this is something he can only dream about.

He took out his phone, and the sports account he followed was pushing a notification that was playing a countdown promotional video for the Heisei Winter Olympics. A familiar figure flashed by in the video, and his heart clenched. But then he breathed a sigh of relief for her; at least she was standing on the Olympic stage.

Just one week later, the Gangneung Ice Sports Center was brightly lit and bustling with activity. The short track speed skating competition of the Pyeongseong Winter Olympics was in full swing. Ren Xiyao, in her red team uniform, looked like a phoenix rising from the ashes, reappearing on this familiar yet unfamiliar arena.

Her rise to prominence was truly the result of a complex interplay of various parties. Everyone deliberately avoided mentioning the tumultuous events in front of her, but their support allowed her to gradually reach where she is today.

She didn't want to disappoint those who cared about her, nor did she want to hear the hypocritical lament of those who had driven her to despair. She just wanted to win.