Chapter 133 After midnight, Ren Xiyao...

After midnight, Ren Xiyao couldn't sleep, so she grabbed her gear and went back to the ice rink.

From age 16 to 30, the old man on night watch had long been used to her extra practice sessions. He yawned and jokingly said, "Don't stay up too late, Sister Ren."

The sound of the ice skates cutting through the ice was particularly jarring in the midnight air. She skated round and round until her right leg went numb, until her helmet was soaked with sweat. The cold wind did not dispel her chaotic thoughts. Her heart still felt like it was weighed down by a stone.

Finally, she collapsed on the ice, staring at the steel frame of the dome. Lost, empty, and eerily silent.

"Why insist?" she asked herself softly. "Isn't it good this way?"

There was no answer, only the buzzing of the old ice machines on the ice rink. She slowly sat up, gazing at the perfect figure eight she had just traced on the empty ice. This was her favorite move from childhood, a habit she developed while practicing figure skating. Back then, if she fell, she would immediately get up, seeing pain as a badge of honor and scars as achievements. She believed these were necessary steps on the path to glory.

Now... the only thing that hasn't changed is that she still gets up immediately, but she no longer feels that pain is something to be proud of.

The winds of the northern grasslands in February are biting and piercing, a unique atmosphere of Northeast China. Everyone knows this match is a trap, but it's a battlefield everyone has no choice but to face.

In the athletes' waiting area of ​​the ice rink, Ren Xiyao bent down to adjust her skates when a sharp pain suddenly shot through her left shoulder. She frowned and moved it around a bit.

Two months ago, she won the gold medal in the 1500m at the Salt Lake City World Cup, and dominated the 1000m event to take the title. The International Skating Union commentator called her "still the most terrifying long-distance skater of this era."

She skated towards the starting line, hearing enthusiastic applause from the stands and the audience's complaints about the rules, but these were quickly drowned out by the DJ's blaring music. The sub-zero winds of Inner Mongolia seemed to have somehow seeped into the ice rink, causing a thin layer of frost to form on the edges, and everyone in the venue was bundled up like bears.

With two laps left in the final round, Ren Xiyao already knew she couldn't win.

She was in third place when she crossed the finish line. On the podium, the moment the bronze medal was placed around her neck, the metal felt against her chest, and even through her clothes, it was as cold as a long-frozen razor blade.

"Don't be discouraged, Sister Xiyao!" Wang Xiaotong said with a smile in the mixed zone, "It's so inspiring that you can still stand on the podium at your age!"

Ren Xiyao took off the bronze medal and put it in her bag: "Thank you."

She didn't look anyone in the eye.

Just as she was about to board the bus to leave, the club's assistant coach came to inform her that the national team's head coach wanted to see her. She handed her things to Lin Shan and went to the meeting room alone.

The large conference room with its long table created a very oppressive atmosphere.

"Sit down." The new head coach of the national team smiled and pushed a cup of tea towards him. "How are your knee and back injuries?"

Ren Xiyao didn't touch the teacup: "Periosteal injury, an old injury."

"If you ask me, the biggest advantage of veteran players is their ability to make choices." This seemingly harmless, gentle, and quiet female coach in her fifties didn't appear aggressive at all. Her hand unconsciously flipped through a folder: "In cycle 26, we'll focus on developing Wang Xiaotong and her group of kids. As for you, you'll be in charge of training and occasionally play in the league..."

The setting sun streamed through the blinds, casting interplay of light and shadow on the back of Ren Xiyao's hand. Seventeen years had passed—injuries, rule violations, systemic suppression—and she had barely weathered them all. She thought that having overcome them, she could retire peacefully.

Now, at 29, she is a two-time Olympic champion, a three-time World Championship all-around winner, and still dominates long-distance events internationally. However, the advice she received was to "play in the league."

"I'll think about it." As she stood up, a sudden, involuntary throbbing pain shot through her knee. It was as if she were echoing the coach's words in some way, leaving her feeling utterly powerless.

On the last day of the competition, the grueling race was finally coming to an end. Before the women's 3000m relay final, Lin Shan secretly slipped her a tube of ointment: "It was given to me by the club's team doctor; it's better than the one the team is currently using."

At the third baton exchange, they were half a lap behind the Lan Hai Club. The moment Ren Xiyao received the baton, she began a frantic chase, and by the last lap, she was almost pressed against the back of the Lan Hai Club's last runner.

Bend.

She lowered her center of gravity, pulled up the outside lane, and prepared to overtake with her signature right-angle change of direction, which was a very opportune moment.

But the last skater from the Quincy Club, who was right behind her and very close to her, suddenly slipped. In the instant he fell, he pulled her along with him.

Ren Xiyao slid more than ten meters on the ice and heard a chorus of gasps from the stands when she crashed into the barrier.

"Xi Yao!" Lin Shan rushed over without hesitation to take over.

"Continuing the game is not recommended." The team doctor stared at the image and sighed deeply. "Of course, if you want to take painkillers..."

"No need," Ren Xiyao interrupted him, this time his voice was crisp and decisive, as if he had made up his mind: "Do you have any paper?"

She sat on the examination bed writing her retirement report, her pen tip tearing two sheets of paper. When she wrote "Applying for retirement due to injury," a sudden sharp pain shot through her left shoulder, and she almost tore the paper apart.

When Lin Shan barged in, Ren Xiyao had just finished signing her name.

"You really want to withdraw?!" Lin Shan snatched the report, her brows furrowed tightly, her voice filled with disapproval: "Just for this stupid competition?"

"so what?"

“So…” She looked out the window. The stars in the Inner Mongolian night sky were very bright, just like that night at the Heilongjiang Winter Olympic Village: “I’m tired.”

"Perhaps Lee Eun-jung is right, it's time. It's time to start a new life."

After all the competitions were completed, she left the athletes' village the next day. She didn't rejoin the team. She finally returned to Harbin. Over the years, she had traveled to many places, rarely returning to Harbin. This was due to her schedule, and also because she deliberately avoided it; when she did return, it was to Hainan, Yantai, or Suzhou. On one hand, her family was on vacation, and on the other hand, her four elderly grandparents were living there in their retirement.

Winter 2014. Her family had originally planned to visit, but Ren Xiyao was incredibly grateful she had persuaded them otherwise. They spent the New Year in Suzhou. Ren Xiyao had also planned to go back, as it was still mid-year. But inexplicably, she went back to Harbin first. Everything in Harbin seemed so familiar. It was exactly as she remembered it, unchanged.

Ren Xiyao paused for a moment as she inserted the brass key into the lock.

It's been six years.

Returning to the old house where she had grown up, she felt a little uneasy. The click of the latch opening sounded like a distant echo, and dust swirled up as she pushed open the door, turning into a golden mist in the sunlight streaming through the window.

The combination to the safe in her bedroom was the date she won her first World Championship gold medal.

"Click".

The training notes filled half a bookshelf.

The one from 2015 was the most worn, its title page covered in Russian words. Ren Xiyao randomly flipped to a page and saw her own childish handwriting from back then: besides heart rate data, there was also a hastily written imitation of a Russian poem tucked inside:

Under the aurora borealis in Siberia

You ask me how long eternity is?

I said it looked like the marks left by ice skates cutting through the ice.

You think I'm talking about sports?

Actually, I was talking about love.

Turn the page to the next page:

Fluid buildup in my right knee. He came to deliver medicine in the middle of the night and was spotted by the team doctor, thankfully without his face being seen. I told him I was a fan, and the team doctor rolled his eyes: "A fan would know about such a remote little door?"

Turn to the next page:

I didn't tell him I got injured during the friendly match in Japan. It wasn't a serious injury; I should have recovered after just one game. But I don't know how he guessed it, and he flew over in the middle of the night to complain about me. I really wanted to argue with him—aren't we two birds of a feather? He didn't tell me last time either. But looking at his dark circles, I kept quiet.

Ren Xiyao only realized she was crying when her tears fell onto the paper. It turned out that a love story had long been hidden in those notebooks soaked with sweat over the years.

The last page featured a Polaroid photo: a backstage scene from G-Dragon's concert rehearsal, his mask half-covered his chin. His hair was dyed orange. His whole demeanor was a contradictory mix of seriousness and a touch of rebelliousness. The edges of the photo were slightly curled, as if it had been handled countless times.

There was a sandalwood box at the very back of the wardrobe.

Next to it lay a piece of mutton fat jade safety buckle, given to it by Kwon Ji-yong in 2015, who said it was an heirloom.

Ren Xiyao strung the two items together on a rope. The metal felt heavy against her collarbone, while the jade was warm, as if someone had been warming it for her for seven years.

"Liar," she said to the air. "What happened to our promised trip to Western Sichuan in the fall?"

Outside the window, night slowly descended upon Harbin. The old-fashioned radiator hummed, like the turning of the gears of fate.