Chapter 46 Late February on the Songhua River...
By the end of February, most areas of the Songhua River were no longer suitable for ice skating. The winter-only ice skating parks were all closed. Having returned from western Sichuan, I didn't choose to come during the day. Instead, I chose the evening, when the setting sun of northern China shone on the frozen surface of the Songhua River. The arcs of the cold wind were just as Ren Xiyao remembered.
When she got off the plane, she went back to the base dormitory to get her ice skates, but didn't disturb anyone. At this moment, Ren Xiyao was squatting on the riverbank tying her skates, her fingers red from the cold. Quan Zhilong was wrapped in a military overcoat that Ren Xiyao had borrowed from the old man guarding the base, with a thick scarf around his neck, looking like a bear. He looked like a sent-down youth from the 1980s; even his manager probably wouldn't recognize him. A down jacket had survived the snow-capped mountains, but it would be useful for long periods outdoors in Harbin's winter. Nothing was more suitable than a mink coat and a military overcoat.
"Are you sure this ice is safe?" He stepped on the grayish ice beneath his feet. "Didn't you say before that you wanted to work on wild ice too?"
“Hasn’t someone already done this? Besides, it’s below zero, far from the city, and it’s nighttime.” Ren Xiyao finished tidying her shoelaces and looked into the distance. “Besides, those old men are skating just fine, aren’t they?”
Kwon Ji-yong followed her gaze and saw the last group of elderly people skating on the ice in the distance packing up to leave, leaving only a few children chasing and playing on the ice rink. The setting sun dyed the ice surface orange-red, and the reflections from the cracks looked like they were inlaid with gold threads.
When Ren Xiyao first pushed off the ice, her right leg still trembled reflexively. But then, familiar momentum took over her body, the blade cut into the ice, her arm swung naturally, and the sound of the wind rushing past her ears was like some ancient summons.
The straightaway on the wild ice was very long, even longer than the standard length. Fortunately, Ren Xiyao skated smoothly, experiencing only a slight soreness in her injured right leg. As she turned, she instinctively lowered her center of gravity, the ice blades tracing a beautiful arc in the setting sun. Memories of her fall at the South Korean station last year suddenly flashed back, but this time there was no fear, only the familiar, crisp sound from the ice.
Kwon Ji-yong was recording with his phone on the shore as Ren Xiyao's speed increased. The red figure drew a smooth arc in the sunset, leaning very low as she turned. There was no protective gear, no opponent, only pure, almost instinctive gliding.
Kwon Ji-yong slowly lowered his hand holding the camera. Ren Xiyao in the lens grew smaller and smaller, her red down jacket making her look like a dancing flame on the ice. He remembered the eagle he had seen in Seda, which also spread its wings in this way and plunged into the valley without hesitation.
"How was it?" she asked, her eyes shining brightly.
Kwon Ji-yong didn't speak, only staring at her right leg. Now firmly planted on the ice, he raised his hand and wiped the sweat from her forehead with his thumb. Ren Xiyao smiled; the unspoken words remained on the river before the setting sun disappeared. No words were needed, but everyone understood.
On the way back, they saw an old man ice fishing. Kwon Ji-yong walked over and squatted down next to the ice hole to watch him fish.
He asked the old man wrapped in a quilt, "Can you catch fish like this?" His Chinese has become more fluent these days, and although his pronunciation is not particularly standard, he can express his meaning clearly.
The old man exhaled a smoke ring and pointed to two small crucian carp in the bucket: "Young people don't understand, fish are easy to catch before spring."
The old man squinted at the ice skates Ren Xiyao was holding: "Girl, you skate quite well. Have you practiced before?"
“Hmm,” she said, taking off her gloves, “physical students, that’s what they do.”
Kwon Ji-yong suddenly interjected: "A World Cup gold medal...she won one."
The old man almost dropped his cigarette. Ren Xiyao kicked Quan Zhilong, who nimbly dodged, but stepped on a puddle of water near the edge of the ice hole and nearly did an impromptu split.
"Be careful," the old fisherman said slowly, "it's very deep down here."
On the way back to the shore, Quan Zhilong gripped Ren Xiyao's sleeve tightly: "That old man definitely recognized you."
"impossible."
"He just secretly searched for you on his phone! I saw your picture!"
Ren Xiyao suddenly turned around, and Quan Zhilong almost bumped into her. The river wind blew her hair into a mess, and the tip of her nose was frozen red.
“Kwon Ji-yong,” she looked him straight in the eye, “thank you.”
"ah?"
“From Seoul to Beijing, then from Beijing to Harbin, then from Harbin to western Sichuan and back. And…” She pointed to her right leg: “This one.”
Kwon Ji-yong stood there, stunned. This was the first time Ren Xiyao had been so candid since her injury. After the incident, she had frozen herself in a cold, obsessive way, forcing herself to calm down with reason. But now she had returned to her former self—rational, but not obsessive.
“Actually, I also want to thank you.” Kwon Ji-yong looked at her earnestly: “This is the period in the past two years that Kwon Ji-yong has lived the most ‘human’ life.”
The two smiled at each other as the setting sun completely disappeared beneath the ice of the Songhua River. Before nightfall, their eyes lit up with a starry galaxy in their gaze.
At 7 PM in Harbin, it was completely dark, and the streetlights near the memorial tower worked diligently. The park was nearly deserted in the twilight. Kwon Ji-yong bought two roasted sweet potatoes, and the rising steam as he broke them open blurred their vision.
“So,” he handed her the larger half, “your PTSD is cured?”
Ren Xiyao took a bite of the sweet potato, the sweet and glutinous aroma spreading in her mouth: "I don't know."
"have no idea?"
"I still think about the moment I fell," she said, gazing into the distance and somehow recalling the time when she had just come off the ice. Although it was already late, there were still a few children skating on the ice, and the image of them mingled with the Tibetan children at the sky burial site in her thoughts. "But I don't seem so scared anymore."
Kwon Ji-yong suddenly pulled out his phone and played the ice skating video he had just recorded. Ren Xiyao on the screen paused subtly during a turn, almost imperceptibly.
“Here,” he paused the video, “you hesitated.”
Ren Xiyao stared at the blurry image. He noticed details she herself hadn't even realized.
“Memories leave traces,” Kwon Ji-yong said, turning off the video. “But you see, it can’t stop you. It just takes a little time.”
In the distance, the muffled sound of ice breaking on the Songhua River could be heard—a sign that the river was about to thaw. Ren Xiyao suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him up: "Come on, I'll take you somewhere."
This tiny ice rink, tucked away in an alley in the old town, was made by nearby residents who poured ice themselves in an old warehouse, and the ice quality wasn't very good. A few children, around seven or eight years old, were practicing spinning, laughing loudly when they fell.
“I’ve skated on 90% of the ice rinks in this city. The formal ones, the informal ones, the commercial ones, the professional ones; but now there are basically none like this anymore. But thankfully this one is still here. I even lost a tooth when I was skating here,” Ren Xiyao pointed to a bench in the corner: “I cried so much that an old lady nearby gave me ten yuan as hush money.”
Kwon Ji-yong, who was listening with a smile, suddenly caught something out of the corner of his eye and pulled Ren Xiyao outside the ice rink, asking her to borrow a piece of chalk from one of the children playing outside.
While Ren Xiyao looked puzzled, he went to the outermost wall and drew a crooked little figure with a round head, thin arms, and exaggerated ice skates on its feet: "A souvenir!"
“Ren Xiyao, world champion,” he wrote in Korean, then fiddled with his phone for a while before adding in Chinese: “with her boyfriend.”
The children gathered around, teasing her. A little girl with pigtails suddenly pointed at Ren Xiyao and exclaimed, "I know you! I've seen you on TV!"
Kwon Ji-yong immediately pulled his scarf up, but Ren Xiyao squatted down and gave the little girl a high five: "Practice hard, and you'll be able to skate faster than me in the future."
Ren Xiyao went outside and bought two hot drinks. The two sat down on a bench next to the ice rink. "Actually, that night in Seda," she suddenly said, "the wish I made wasn't that everyone would remember that night."
Kwon Ji-yong turned to look at her.
“I wish…” she paused for a moment, “that I can watch the starry sky with you many more times.”
The drink glass creaked in Kwon Ji-yong's grip. He opened his mouth, but found himself unable to make a sound.
Ren Xiyao continued, "I used to be a bit obsessive about short track speed skating, a rational kind of obsession. I always thought I was quite rational, but I still got stuck on the details. I felt that short track speed skating was my whole life. Because I had already switched sports once. I didn't want people to think that I would only give up halfway, I didn't want people to think that people who switch sports can't achieve results, so I was a bit obsessive. But after experiencing a lot last year, including the injury, I realized that you can't have only one ice surface." She drew an ellipse with her hand as she spoke, saying, "Like this river, it freezes in winter, melts in spring, and flows in summer, but it will always be the Songhua River. Of course, being with you is also like that."
Kwon Ji-yong suddenly stood up, spilling his hot drink all over the floor. He pulled Ren Xiyao up and hugged her tightly.
“Ren Xiyao,” his voice muffled by her scarf, “have I ever told you that you’re very good with words?”
“No,” she chuckled, “because I’ve never said that before.”
Ren Xiyao suddenly stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
The kiss carried the chill of Harbin. Kwon Ji-yong paused for a second, then gripped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. The ice rink lights weren't bright, but the shadows reflected on the wall were filled with ambiguity.
As they parted, Kwon Ji-yong's forehead pressed against hers, and Ren Xiyao, slightly out of breath, said, "I know."
What do you know?
"What you want to say," she looked into his eyes, "is, me too."
Kwon Ji-yong suddenly laughed and stuffed her frozen red hands into his military coat to warm them: "Ren Xiyao, you've really gone astray."
The two returned to the hotel. Ren Xiyao stood by the window, looking down at the lights of Harbin from the upper floors, which resembled a shimmering galaxy. Quan Zhilong wrapped his arms around Ren Xiyao from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head: "Don't come to see me off when I leave tomorrow."
"good."
"You have to send me a message every day. And you're not allowed to make excuses to avoid answering my video calls anymore."
"...when no one is around."
"In short, you have to accept it." He tightened his arms: "Also, if there are any problems, tell me immediately."
Ren Xiyao turned around, her fingers tracing the outline of his brow bone: "You too."
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