Chapter 3 It's already 10 PM, at the training ground...
It was already 10 p.m. The iron fence beside the training field sliced the moonlight into diamond-shaped scales, and a low metallic hum drifted through the air when the wind blew. Ren Xiyao walked across the scattered starlight on the ground. After passing the training field, she headed towards her dormitory.
Passing by a convenience store, feeling a bit hungry, Ren Xiyao pushed open the glass door, and the brass bell hanging above the door jingled. While adjusting her scarf, she moved her left shoulder; the burning sensation from the therapeutic electrodes on her skin hadn't yet subsided. A mascot pendant for the upcoming Socheng Winter Olympics was attached to the zipper of her backpack, swaying gently with her steps.
The refrigerated air hit her face as she stared blankly at the triangular rice balls on the shelf. Tuna salad or kimchi beef? This period of training had truly numbed her taste buds. She'd lost a lot of weight because she simply couldn't get used to the food. Her fingers left fogged scratches on the glass as she struggled to choose the least unpalatable option from among the many unpalatable foods. Suddenly, she heard a dull thud behind her as a shelf was struck.
"Aish!" A low-pitched Korean voice rang out amidst the sound of a can of coffee rolling down.
She instinctively turned around, her backpack strap slipping off. A man in a black down jacket was crouching behind the overturned snack shelf, his baseball cap pulled low, several camera lenses dangling from between his fingers like a string of deformed black fruits.
"Need..." She swallowed her instinctive Chinese, pulling out a Korean sports and common terminology handbook from the side pocket of her backpack: "?" (Do you need help?)
"Are you injured?" She switched to English and pulled out a spare kinesiology patch from her bag. Her instinct for dealing with sudden injuries on the training field allowed Ren Xiyao to overlook his strange behavior at this moment.
Kwon Ji-yong paused, then finally realized. His long-held suspicion about the girl's identity was finally confirmed. His preparations hadn't been in vain. But he still asked, "Athlete?"
Ren Xiyao noticed the camera he was holding. She wanted to ask, but didn't know how. So she simply shoved the kinesiology tape into his hand. She replied, "Short track," and then knelt down to help tidy up the scattered items. Casually, she opened her backpack and stuffed a Korean terminology booklet inside. A training schedule peeked out from the slightly ajar bag, a calendar filled with dates circled in red.
Kwon Ji-yong slowly squatted down beside her, the faint smell of smoke mixed with a woody perfume wafting over. Together with Ren Xiyao, they picked up items that had fallen from the shelf, his fingertips nervously gripping the merchandise. He had rehearsed his self-introduction many times before. He blurted out, "GD...you can also call me Kwon Ji-yong." He had subconsciously wanted to say GD, but at the last moment, he added his real name, Kwon Ji-yong. This feeling was strange. It was as if, by some unseen force, this girl's arrival wasn't for GD, but for Kwon Ji-yong.
"Ren Xiyao." She responded reflexively, then added, seeing the other person's confused look, "Ren...Xiyao." The Chinese pronunciation sounded abrupt in the quiet convenience store.
Ren Xiyao's eyelashes trembled involuntarily. Most people she'd met confused short track speed skating with speed skating, but his gesture was definitely at an amateur level. She took out her phone and opened a translation app: "Have you watched short track speed skating competitions?"
"Shanghai, 2013." On the back of the note, Kwon Ji-yong drew the warm drink shop where they had met a few times before: "Ice rink, warm drink shop, here." The pen tip touched three places in turn, and finally stopped on the convenience store icon.
Ren Xiyao suddenly realized something. The training notes that she had lost at the hot drink shop last week had mysteriously reappeared at the guard's place at the training ground the next day. There was a hand-drawn lemon water cup on the first page. At the time, she thought it was a kind gesture from the hot drink shop employee, but now the person in front of her was skillfully drawing it on a sticky note.
The glass door opened again, and a man in a motorcycle jacket poked his head out and spoke a string of Korean. Kwon Ji-yong quickly pulled his hat brim tighter, grabbed a pen, and scribbled a string of numbers on a sticky note. He then slipped the note with the drawing into her palm. As he turned, his down jacket brushed against the shelf, and something gently landed next to Ren Xiyao's sneakers. It was a silver USB drive labeled "04 DEMO".
Once the roar of the motorcycles had faded into the distance, Ren Xiyao bent down to pick up the USB drive. The television next to the cashier was playing sports news, the scene switching to the preparation site for the Winter Olympics in Suocheng. She stroked the string of numbers on the back of the note.
The cold air from the freezer interrupted her train of thought, and she casually tossed a bag of ready-made chicken breast into her shopping basket. At checkout, the clerk pointed to the kinesiology tape in her hand and reminded her, "Need any band-aids? Buy one get one half price today."
Outside the glass door, Seoul's first snow began to fall. Ren Xiyao walked absentmindedly back to her dormitory. She looked at the number on the sticky note over and over again. Finally, she tucked it into page 87 of her training manual, the chapter that recorded the selection criteria for the Solomon Islands Winter Olympics.
Lin Shan was quietly packing her things outside the door. Her flight back home was the day after tomorrow. The condensation on the bathroom mirror formed ice flowers, and her hand unconsciously slid across the fogged glass: the "G" in GD looked like a speed skating curve, and the "D" like a sprint to the finish line. Then, realizing what she was doing, she quickly scrambled the condensation away.
That night, she sat on the bed, hugging her knees, staring at the string of numbers on a sticky note. She was lost in thought. Looking out the window, she saw the moonlight illuminating Seoul's first snow. Everything seemed quiet and beautiful. It was as if so many romantic things should happen at this moment.
But inexplicably, the Slavic coach's voice kept resonating deep within my ears: "An athlete's ability to win lies in controlling all the unknown variables."
Meanwhile, Kwon Ji-yong's mind was in turmoil from the moment he got into the car. This was their sixth meeting. He remembered the pounding of his heart when he gave her his number. The rate was even higher than his heartbeat after a high-intensity concert. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this sense of loss, entrusting his fate to someone else. All five meetings had been fleeting encounters, barely enough time for a few extra words. But he could clearly remember every single one. The girl's clothes, even the details of her every movement and expression, every word she uttered—it was all etched into his mind. He replayed it in his mind repeatedly.
By the way, her name is Ren Xiyao, which is a bit hard to pronounce, but it's a nice-sounding name.
The Han River Bridge, already past midnight, flickered between light and shadow outside the car window as I watched the first snowfall falling in Seoul. My manager glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him repeatedly unlocking his phone: "You registered for WeChat?"
"Hmm," he responded briefly. He placed his phone face down on his lap; the educational video about short track speed skating was still playing in his browser. Suddenly, the manager slammed on the brakes, his face serious: "Those guys are catching up again."
"Let's go straight back to the company," Kwon Ji-yong said, sounding somewhat irritated. The anxiety from not receiving any news for so long, coupled with the persistent stalker following him in his car that he had tried to shake off several times throughout the night, had made him lose his temper.
Ren Xiyao tossed and turned all night, unable to fall asleep. At the same time, Kwon Ji-yong was in YG's studio, working through the night. His phone lay to the side, but no messages came. He couldn't control his restlessness. Even in his familiar work environment, he lacked inspiration. He suddenly realized that his previously established method of channeling pain, anxiety, and restless sleep into songwriting seemed to have failed him; all his attention had been diverted.
When Ren Xiyao's biological clock woke her up, only one clear fragment remained from her chaotic dreams of the night: the smile he gave her as she turned away from the convenience store. It was so warm. So warm that she couldn't ignore it. She picked up the note from under her pillow.
Kwon Ji-yong finally managed to fall asleep under the influence of sleeping pills. Now, still dizzy from the lingering effects, he swiped his screen and saw a notification for the Winter Olympics qualifying livestream colliding with Ren Xiyao's default WeChat profile picture. He immediately perked up, quickly opening the app and accepting the friend request. He then swiftly sent a greeting. While waiting, he finally took a closer look at Ren Xiyao's account. The profile picture was of the Socheng Winter Olympics figure skating venue. Her signature was a long string of Russian text he couldn't understand.
As snow began to fall outside the window, he finally saw the "typing..." indicator appear above the chat box. The cursor blinked for an unknown amount of time before Ren Xiyao sent an overexposed photo: it was the fallen silver USB drive. It read "04 demo" followed by the question, "Is this yours?"
Kwon Ji-yong subconsciously touched his pocket. The joy of receiving the message was replaced by a cold sweat. He quickly replied, "Thank you, it's mine. I was probably in too much of a rush last night, so I lost it. It's very important, thank goodness you found it."
The message came quickly from the other end: "If you have time today, come and pick it up. I'm leaving the country the day after tomorrow."
Kwon Ji-yong's heart skipped a beat, and he asked cautiously, "Will you come back after returning to Korea?"
The message came quickly from the other end: "Don't you have time today? But if I come back, it will be next month. Isn't this something very important? You should take it back as soon as possible."
Kwon Ji-yong breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the message. He then realized what was going on and found it somewhat amusing. The person on the other end seemed completely oblivious to the true meaning behind his question.
Kwon Ji-yong pondered for a moment and then had an idea: "Would it be convenient to pick it up at your usual training location? I'm also quite curious about short track speed skating."
"People can come in, but cars can't. It's a rest day today. People can enter through the side gate. I'll send you the address."
The black screen of the phone reflected Kwon Ji-yong's broad smile. It wasn't safe anywhere outside, and coming here wasn't convenient either, but this was the training camp—I'd heard it was quite large, semi-closed, and paparazzi and stalkers couldn't get in. This time, he could probably have a proper chat.
A note from the author:
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