Chapter 114 July, the sweltering heat of midsummer...
In July, the sweltering heat of summer swept across the Northern Hemisphere. For Kwon Ji-yong, however, this summer was colder than any winter before.
The new album burst onto the scene with an almost tragic grandeur, yet it truly ignited the passion of fans worldwide. The title track, "Untitled," with its mournful and poignant melody and heart-wrenching lyrics, acted as a key, unlocking the hidden pain in countless hearts and allowing people to glimpse the heart that was already riddled with wounds beneath his glamorous exterior.
After the album's release, with almost no time to catch his breath, his solo world tour, titled "Mother's Womb," kicked off at an almost frenzied pace in major cities around the world. From Seoul to Tokyo, from Singapore to Bangkok, from North America to Europe, and then to Oceania... his figure spun like a tireless top under the spotlight, burning brightly amidst cheers.
However, only close staff and attentive fans could notice that G-Dragon, who shone brightly on stage and commanded the entire audience, was rapidly losing weight at a visible rate. His jawline became increasingly sharp, and his already slender figure appeared even thinner, as if a gust of wind could blow him away.
He was in a very bad state. It wasn't just physical exhaustion, but also extreme mental drain. His personal relationship, which could be used as leverage at any moment, was like a sword dangling from his head; the news of his teammates' drug involvement was like an unhealed wound, constantly reminding him of the enormous crisis facing BIGBANG, this once-glorious group. And YG Entertainment's precarious financial situation was like a heavy mountain, weighing him down, making it hard to breathe.
While YG Entertainment still appears to be one of the top three entertainment companies on the surface, its management behind the scenes is utterly chaotic. It's a haphazard, piecemeal operation, something he's sensed during his years at YG. In some corners he can't see, cockroaches have taken over. But at this moment, he has no time to dwell on it.
The tour schedule was packed to the brim, one show after another, city after city, with almost no time for rest or adjustment. Flying, rehearsals, performances, and more flying... became his entire life. Only when he was alone late at night, or in the brief darkness between performances, would that deep-seated exhaustion and despair overwhelm him like a tidal wave.
He began to rely more frequently on alcohol and nicotine to numb his tense nerves. The ashtray was always overflowing with cigarette butts, and the minibar in the room was often empty.
How can one describe Kwon Ji-yong during this period? He was submerged in endless pain, as if every breath drained him of all his strength. It was the kind of pain that makes every fan who loves him cry while listening to "Untitled." It was the kind of 2017 that even later researchers dare not easily touch upon when digging into the past.
Fans flooded social media with expressions of heartache and concern for him.
"Brother is too thin, please eat properly!"
"YG, have some decency! Stop exploiting GD!"
"Seeing him force a smile, I really wanted to cry."
"The 'mother-in-the-womb' tour really pushed him into a 'mother-in-the-womb' state, making him so thin that he was just skin and bones."
However, these appeals seemed so pale and powerless in the face of enormous commercial interests and the pressure of the company's survival. He still had to drag his exhausted body, put on exquisite makeup, wear gorgeous performance costumes, and stand in front of tens of thousands of cheering people to play the omnipotent and radiant G-Dragon.
During the talking segment of a concert, after he finished singing "Untitled," the entire venue fell silent, broken only by the suppressed sobs of the fans. He stood on the rising platform, his back to the audience, not turning around for a long time. When he finally turned around, his face bore his usual smile, but his eyes were alarmingly red. He said, "Thank you everyone. Recently... a lot has happened. But as long as you're still here, I will keep singing."
At that moment, the fans in the audience burst into tears. They knew that G-Dragon was using his last remaining strength, sacrificing himself, to protect everything he wanted to protect.
And what is the person he so desperately wanted to protect, yet had to push away, going through right now? He dared not think about it, nor did he want to. Every time he inadvertently thought of it, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his heart, reminding him of that unforgettable love that ended without a trace.
The jade ring was still on his ring finger, but it looked even more bare than before. He would often unconsciously stroke it, feeling its cool touch, as if he could grasp a little bit of the warmth he once had.
Sometimes he felt like a walking corpse. Someone had shown him Kwon Ji-yong, someone had pulled him out of that dark, underground practice room, and he had been trying to achieve self-reflection and consistency. But now, the interrogation about Kwon Ji-yong and G-Dragon had become something to be used. All the gradually formed self-consistency had completely collapsed. He felt like he had become that lost teenager again, that trainee staring at the mirror, unsure of his future.
As for the capital city in July, it was also shrouded in sweltering heat.
The disciplinary action against Ren Xiyao was finally announced on that anxious Monday morning in the form of an internal notice.
"After investigation and verification, it has been confirmed that Ren Xiyao, an athlete of the national short track speed skating team, violated Article XX of the 'Regulations on the Management of National Team Athletes' during her training trip to South Korea in 2015-2016. Given her good attitude in admitting her mistake and her outstanding performance in previous training and competitions, which has brought numerous honors to the country, it has been decided to issue her a team warning and impose a three-month suspension. All athletes are urged to take this as a warning and strictly abide by all rules and regulations of the national team..."
He will be suspended for three months.
This result left her unsure whether to laugh or cry. Knowing full well that this seemingly lenient punishment was merely a delicate balance after the first round of negotiations, her first reaction was relief that, at least superficially, it hadn't affected the crucial Pyeongcheng Winter Olympics qualifiers.
Her phone was finally returned. She hadn't replied to a single message or text. During her suspension, she was prohibited from participating in any form of public competition or competitive training. She also had to temporarily leave the national team. Lin Shan and the others were kept behind for a tactical meeting, but that was temporarily irrelevant to her.
It took her less than half an hour to pack her things back in the dorm. There wasn't much to bring: a few training clothes, ice skates, a few spare blades, and a well-worn training notebook. As she closed her suitcase, intending to go to the cafeteria for lunch, she grabbed her meal card and headed out the door.
The card reader at the cafeteria entrance beeped, and the screen displayed the words "This card is invalid" in red. She paused for a moment, then swiped her card again, only to receive the same message. The auntie serving food next to her peeked out, recognized her, and looked a little embarrassed: "Xiao Ren... we just received a notification that your card has been suspended."
Ren Xiyao opened her mouth, but no words came out. Holding the invalid meal card, she suddenly felt a little ridiculous. Less than an hour after the suspension notice came down, her meal card and access card, things that had been with her for so long, were already eager to sever ties with her.
As she stepped out of the base gate, even the gatekeeper looked at her with a scrutinizing gaze. She lowered her head, pulled her hat brim even lower, and dragged her suitcase into the midday sun. The heat of Beijing at the end of June was already unbearable, but her heart felt like it was filled with ice, chilling her to the bone.
She originally planned to go straight back to Harbin to find a commercial ice rink she was familiar with. There were also owners there she could ask for help. But then a text message popped up on her phone, the black text stinging her eyes: "According to anti-doping regulations, you are currently still on the testing pool list. During your suspension, you must cooperate with random spot testing and are not allowed to leave Beijing without approval."
The following sentence added: "Although the review has ended, the observation period is not yet over. Please strictly abide by the regulations."
Ren Xiyao stopped and squatted by the roadside, staring at the text message for a long time. This city, where she had lived for so long, suddenly felt unfamiliar and harsh. She felt like a trapped person, with an invisible wall surrounding her even though there was a flat road beneath her feet.
At 3 PM, she randomly chose a coffee shop, her phone screen displaying a list of all the commercial ice rinks in Beijing that she had found. Short track speed skating has extremely demanding requirements for the ice surface; the blades are thinner and sharper than those for figure skating, causing significant wear and tear on the ice. Therefore, most commercial ice rinks explicitly prohibit short track skates from being used. She called each rink one by one, but the responses were either, "Sorry, we don't accept short track training," or "Booking the entire rink isn't an option either; the ice maintenance costs are too high."
In 2017, ice and snow sports were not yet a popular activity, and ice rinks were limited. These limited ice rinks all had good relationships with Lanhai Club to some extent, but she had no choice; she needed a piece of ice.
When they were down to the second to last of the 17 ice rinks, a staff member at one of the rinks finally hesitated and said, "Our boss said... you can use it, but there are conditions."
"What are the conditions?"
"First, the ice rink can only be used between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m., when no one is around and the ice is easier to repair if it gets damaged. Second, the fee will be doubled, and you will be responsible for the wear and tear on the ice grinder. Third, you cannot use our changing rooms, and you will have to provide your own equipment."
She answered almost without hesitation: "Okay, I agree."
After hanging up, she realized her hand holding the phone was trembling. It was between 1 and 3 a.m., a sleep schedule she didn't even know she came from. Oh well, she couldn't sleep anyway, and this was the only straw she could grasp at.
The next morning, Ren Xiyao stood at the entrance of the ice rink. The night breeze was chilly, making her T-shirt stick to her back; she felt a little cold. A security guard led her inside, and as they walked through a dark corridor, the rink lights suddenly came on, making her squint.
The ice surface shimmered with a bluish-white light and appeared fairly smooth, but as she approached, she noticed several uneven scratches—shallow grooves left by figure skating blades. For short track speed skating, such unevenness is enough to cause the blades to slip when cornering, especially given her old knee injury, which makes her particularly vulnerable to this type of ice.
"Hurry up, the lights will be off at three o'clock sharp." The security guard said this and left, his footsteps echoing in the empty ice rink.
Ren Xiyao took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice rink. The ice beneath her feet was noticeably thicker than usual, and the sound of her skates cutting through it was rough, far less smooth than the ice rink where her team was.
The ice surface was uneven and rough, and even the smallest cracks felt like a series of speed bumps to her as she trod on her thin blades. To make matters worse, the ice was causing her skates to wear out extremely quickly, and at this rate, the two spare skates she had brought with her probably wouldn't last more than a month.
She tried to accelerate and navigate the corners, but the jerking and the opposing force twisted her knees, sending a familiar dull pain through her, like needles gently pricking her. She gritted her teeth and continued, lap after lap. The only sounds on the ice were her breathing, the scraping of her skates, and the ticking of a distant clock. She knew that improving in the next three months was a pipe dream; maintaining her current level without a significant decline was already a stroke of luck.
On her twentieth lap, her skates got stuck in a shallow ditch at a bend, causing her body to tilt sharply outwards. She clung tightly to the ice to avoid hitting the barriers; this was commercial ice with no protective padding, and being thrown off at high speed could easily lead to an accident. Her palms were numb from the cold, but her knees felt like they had been twisted violently, causing her to gasp in pain.
Kneeling on the ice, staring at the glaring light from the ceiling, she had no time to think. The ticking of the clock in the silence was like a death knell, allowing no room for relaxation. She got up, looked up at the clock; forty minutes until the lights went out. Taking a deep breath, she skated off again, this time slower, each step exceptionally steady.
She had to tell herself over and over that even if the ice was uneven, the time was tight, and countless eyes were watching her fall, she had to skate down and accept it; it was too unfair. She couldn't let that spirit die; once it did, she'd never be able to get back up.
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