Chapter 118 In the days that followed, she...
In the days that followed, she trained her core at her own pace, trying to avoid using her knees to generate power. Coach Li saw this and sarcastically remarked from the side, "The first team is still the most precious; we're too rough around the edges here, we can't tolerate finesse." Several young players chuckled secretly, their eyes filled with a curious, almost mocking, interest.
She went to the team's medical room, hoping for some basic physical therapy. The team doctor, a recent graduate, examined her knee for a long time before stammering, "I need your previous injury records, otherwise I don't know what intensity to use..."
"It's in the national team's files; you can contact them to send it to you."
“We don’t have the authority to access the team’s files.” The young woman shrugged. “We have to wait for approval from above, which will probably take several days.”
It's the same old story. Again with these inexplicable rules, again with countless people to ask, again with countless days to wait. Her knee was swollen; she could feel the fluid sloshing around inside when she pressed on it.
She went to find Coach Li, who was lecturing the young athletes. Upon hearing that she needed medical records, his face immediately darkened: "What did I just tell you? Stop trying to get special treatment! Are the team's records so easy to access? You'd be better off skating a few more laps!"
"But my injury..."
"Injury, injury, injury? You're the only one injured?" Coach Li's voice suddenly rose: "I bet you came down from the first team and are resentful, looking down on our second team's training!"
The words "look down on" were like poison, striking Ren Xiyao and leaving her speechless. She stood there, watching the young players smirking with their heads down, and suddenly felt a chill run down her spine. It turned out he wasn't ignorant; he was doing it on purpose. With a label of "looking down on the second team," he could silence all her demands, making her feel like she was throwing a tantrum even when defending her rights amidst the doubts.
She called the national team's former team doctor, who sighed after listening: "Your file... seems to have been transferred to the Institute of Sports Science. I can't find it here. The first team is busy with the World Cup right now, and there's no one to handle this. Besides, you're in the second team now, and according to the rules, it should be handled by the second team's medical room. It wouldn't be compliant for me to send it directly."
The word "compliance" felt like a lump of ice stuck in her throat again.
She tried submitting a report, filling a full page with details of her injury and the required rehabilitation plan, including the club's rehabilitation therapist's contact information, and clicked "submit." But after three days, the system status remained "pending review." She went to inquire, but the office clerk didn't even look up: "The leaders are busy watching the World Cup; this is a small matter, just wait."
Such a small matter? She touched the kinesiology tape on her knee; the tape had curled at the edges from repeated friction, just like her current predicament.
She could only call the club, and the team doctor who used to train her spoke with a helpless tone: "The club's records are easy to find, but where are the records from South Korea and the national team? You were training at Seongbuk Club back then, and now you want to transfer them out... It's difficult."
"Should I ask the North City T Club for it?"
“All of Chengbei’s files have been archived and transferred to the Sports University. They said it needs to go through the approval process.” The team doctor’s voice was low: “I asked the team to coordinate, but the situation isn’t good now… They said… it involves cross-border files, and the procedures are complicated…” One of the few things Ren Xiyao found particularly good about training in South Korea was sports rehabilitation, which was comprehensive and professional, starting from when the athletes were eleven or twelve years old. Therefore, she had quite a few records from her time training in South Korea in Chengbei. But now they can’t be transferred out.
What the team doctor didn't finish saying was that the cooperating institution had been called in for a talk by the police, who said the clinic was suspected of illegally prescribing drugs, and all files were temporarily sealed and investigated. In other words, the official channels for transferring the drugs from the university were being delayed, and even the channels for seeking help privately were blocked.
She lowered her voice and asked a question she already knew the answer to: "Even the General Administration... won't work?"
The team doctor sighed, "Yao'er, I know what you're thinking. Let me ask you, do you have any evidence? Of course, the General Administration and the Winter Sports Management Center are in charge! But the problem is evidence! If you had evidence, not only the General Administration, but the Winter Sports Management Center could shut down Lan Hai immediately. The problem is that the child has had so many issues these days, and these old foxes are passing the buck like a football. Has anyone given you a straight answer? Has anyone uttered even a single word that could be considered evidence?"
"Why didn't Lan Hai take direct action against you? Or did he gather a bunch of dubious evidence and file a formal complaint against you first? It's because of management, and the same applies to you. You can't just say they're targeting you and ask what they think they are; you have to provide evidence. Take the matter of returning to the national team, for example. They kept dragging their feet and wouldn't process it for you. Today they told you to ask this officer, tomorrow that leader, the day after that that administrator. In the end, it all came down to Lan Hai's people. Tell me, isn't that irregular? Are you planning to make a scene? Even if the higher-ups take it seriously and hold you accountable, they'll just say they have too much work, unclear division of responsibilities, or even worse, laziness. At most, some officer will get a scolding, but during the thorough investigation, you..." But there's no going back. Lanhai has been operating within the rules from beginning to end. But they just keep finding ways to obstruct you, one problem after another. Regarding injuries, transferring your medical records to the Sports Science Institute is the normal procedure. To retrieve your records from the Sports Science Institute, you need an approval slip. You need the national team leader's signature—didn't you call? Did he answer? Or submit it to the system—did anyone even respond? Putting aside everything else, just consider your equipment—do you even get to choose your skates now? And Coach Li is over 50 years old, his training methods are outdated, and he speaks harshly—do you think that's against the rules? As for Lanhai athletes violating regulations, are you planning to follow their example and report the athletes targeting them? Every little thing is difficult, but not every little thing has someone to arrange things. Human nature is to seek advantage and avoid harm…”
"Sigh, you know better than I do... How many events does the General Administration of Sport and the center oversee? How many athletes do they manage? They're not a surveillance system; there are always areas they can't see. And in those unseen areas, darkness and filth breed... The athletes haven't even had a chance to be seen... As for results, don't you understand better than I do? Yao'er, the moment you step off the podium, it's all in the past. Who can guarantee an Olympic gold medal? Maybe for other winter sports, a World Championship medal is enough to make them stand out, but Yao'er, in short track speed skating, there have been too many brilliant talents. Two all-around titles aren't enough..."
The team doctor's words echoed in her ears, though she didn't quite hear them clearly. She understood these principles. Competitive sports are never short of talent; she realized this from her very first day on the team…
What infuriated her even more was Coach Li's attitude. After several unsuccessful attempts to communicate, he completely ignored her, but her name was always on the plans. Anything that left a trace was always impeccable. But when it came to "team members' condition," it was always a sarcastic and insinuating remark.
These past few days have been the first time she's truly understood the desolation of the phrase "the coldness and warmth of human relationships." So many people are so cruel, as if she were meeting them for the first time today…
The young players were looking at her more and more strangely, and some of them were whispering increasingly unpleasant things about her...
Ren Xiyao swallowed these words. She didn't have time to argue. As soon as the lockdown ended each weekend, she had to go to a hospital in the city. She knew this wasn't a good option; no matter how good the doctors were, their priority was relieving her pain, not ensuring comfortable training. This completely contradicted her needs. Sports rehabilitation in China started late, and the system isn't yet mature. And most of it is concentrated on top athletes...
The training ground was in the suburbs, and even if she took an early bus, she wouldn't arrive at the hospital until almost ten o'clock. The doctor looked at her knee, frowned, and said, "How did it get like this? You'd better stop training now and get systematic physical therapy; medication alone won't help."
"I can't stop, and there's no physical therapist available..."
"Then you should at least bring your previous imaging data and surgical records so we can determine a comprehensive treatment plan."
Ren Xiyao's throat tightened. She had nothing. The surgical records that should have been in the national team's files, the rehabilitation records from the Chengbei Club, all seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving her alone, with this indescribable injury, being forced to move forward on the suburban ice rink with the words "you can handle it."
Finally, it took a whole day to have a thorough check-up again. I didn't get a physiotherapy appointment until just before the end of the workday. By the time I got home, it was already very late. My knee felt a little better after the physiotherapy, but the thought of facing Coach Li's sarcastic remarks and those meaningless brute-force training sessions again tomorrow made me feel heavy all over.
It's not that she can't endure hardship; she can practice from six in the morning to eight at night on a wild ice rink where the temperature is minus twenty degrees Celsius. It's not that she's afraid of being tired either; she can honestly say that in all the competitions over the years, she has skated several times in her prime and has suffered many injuries, big and small. When has she ever backed down?
What she feared was this invisible drain. It was having a solution but being blocked by layers of rules, needing protection but being labeled as "being dramatic," and watching helplessly as her knees deteriorated day by day, feeling powerless like a lost soul.
She even felt like she was living in two different worlds. Her life was so disconnected that she couldn't even imagine it. Just a year ago, she had top-notch medical care and was a core member of a top-notch coaching team, but now she couldn't even explain what she was doing.
Another day of training came to an end. Coach Li was waiting for her at the entrance of the ice rink, holding a piece of paper in his hand: "Tomorrow we'll switch to strength training, two sets of weighted squats, you lead the way."
Ren Xiyao looked at the piece of paper, then at her swollen knee, and suddenly laughed. She didn't take the paper, but slowly untied her ice skates, her voice as soft as mist on the ice: "If I ruin my training, who will lead the young skaters?"
Coach Li's face flushed instantly, and he pointed at her nose, yelling, "What kind of attitude is this! Do you really think our second team can't tolerate you?"
She didn't say anything more, turned and walked out. Behind her, she heard the whispers of the young athletes, and Coach Li's roar echoed across the ice rink, but she couldn't hear anything. The pain in her knee grew clearer, like countless needles pricking her, but the pain in her heart was even worse—those invisible, soft knives hurt more deeply than the old wounds.
She knew they just wanted to wear her down. Once her condition plummeted, they could casually say, "See, she couldn't keep going. Competitive sports are inherently cruel."
Meanwhile, Coach Wang, who had already resigned, was still monitoring Ren Xiyao's situation. The overwhelming online criticism and her absence from the roster were causing him immense distress. After much hesitation, he finally called Coach Zhang at the club. However, almost every result he received pointed to the worst-case scenario. Once again, helplessness was repeating itself regarding her situation.
His computer screen displayed a sports forum. There were posts discussing the "International Skating Union's Recent Key Testing List," with someone anonymously revealing: "A certain Chinese long-distance skater is being targeted for 'psychotropic drugs,' and the frequency of surprise tests has been alarmingly high lately." In the comments below, someone vaguely mentioned Ren Xiyao's name.
His heart sank. He knew Ren Xiyao was taking anti-anxiety medication, but she had avoided all prohibited drugs, making it compliant and legal. However, when this reached the ears of the International Anti-Doping Agency, it took on a different meaning. Who would bother checking if you were compliant? They only needed a reason to "pay close attention" to dismantle your training.
More importantly, was there no one behind this, pulling the strings? He didn't believe it. What chilled him to the bone was the notification for the third leg of the Elite League.
During the second leg in Lanhai, which involved points for national team selection, Ren Xiyao's medical examination report determined that she was unfit to participate in high-intensity matches. Under the pretext of "protecting the athlete," she was prevented from playing, effectively barring her from the national team roster.
However, when the notification for the third leg came down, it explicitly required Ren Xiyao to participate. He saw the latest medical report submitted by the club, which stated, "Right knee ligament injury has worsened; it is recommended to stop high-intensity exercise." But the approval was only one sentence: "Overcome the difficulties."
He remembered the last time he saw Ren Xiyao at the ice rink. She was wearing a red training uniform, gliding slowly on the ice. He didn't say goodbye because he didn't want the girl to feel guilty. He was the one who should feel guilty. Over the years, their club had failed to protect too many athletes. But he knew Ren Xiyao was truly a rare talent; a thoroughbred is a rare find, a gift from heaven to the sport. You have to carefully nurture it for it to grow into a thoroughbred. He didn't dare call himself a talent scout. He just wanted to be a horse breeder. Until the day he met his talent scout, but unfortunately, not every thoroughbred meets its discerning eye.
The current state of international short track speed skating is clear to anyone with a modicum of insight. In recent years, not only South Korea but also Europe and America have been rising in prominence, posing a significant challenge to Asia. It won't be long, perhaps even within the Beijing cycle, that the entire international short track speed skating landscape will undergo substantial changes. Ren Xiyao, however, is capable of not only completely breaking South Korea's monopoly on long-distance events, but her flexible tactics can also effectively stop the Europeans and Americans. Therefore, he wants to take a gamble, and more importantly, he doesn't want to face this helplessness again. But the current situation seems to mock his futile efforts.
I turned off the computer, and the cold moonlight streamed in through the window. Actually, I should have known this long ago, shouldn't I? The sharpest thing in short track speed skating isn't the skates, but the words hidden behind the rules. They don't need to be spoken aloud, nor written down; a casual mention at a meeting, a toast at a dinner party, can silently rewrite an athlete's fate.
Ren Xiyao was caught in this web, criticized by the public as "unworthy of her position and lacking in ability" and "wasting national resources." She was monitored for "doping" by testing, dragged through training by injuries, and forced by the rules to do the impossible. No one asked her if she was in pain, no one cared whether she had a medical record, and no one remembered that she was once the person who came closest to winning an Olympic gold medal.
Like a silent strangulation, each blow drawing no blood, yet under everyone's watchful eyes, she was slowly worn down, her strength and hope eroded, until she became the name others uttered as "ultimately, she couldn't go on." And those words that determined her fate had long since vanished without a trace, carried away by the steam rising from her teacup, the clinking of glasses at the dinner party, and the phone call in her office…
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