Chapter Eleven: So Moved?

Zhang Ma had gone home for the New Year. That afternoon, Fu Yiqing was absent, and Qin Liubei had disappeared somewhere as well. Shu Ran ate a little, just enough to fill her stomach, then headed to the ice rink.

Her body was gliding across the ice, but her thoughts had already flown to City D.

Last New Year's Eve, her mother cooked all her favorite dishes. The house was filled with relatives; she was the youngest child in the family, while her brothers and sisters were mostly married, so everyone was more concerned about her situation.

She wondered what her relatives thought of her not coming home this year—would they mention her?

The more distracted she became, the less she could focus on skating. Though she was acutely aware of it, she couldn’t bring herself to snap out of it. At least for now, she didn’t want to return to the villa or watch a movie.

She skated over to the barrier, her fingers scrolling up and down in search of a song. Her gaze lingered on the words “Swan Lake,” and without much thought, she set it to repeat.

She had never seen the classic ballet, only knew the rough outline of its story, but she tried her best to immerse herself in the music, expressing her understanding through movement and performance.

The cold wind stirred by her spinning seemed to create a natural shell, a constant companion to Shu Ran and the cold.

Yet, at this moment, it felt as if her heart had turned cold as well.

She raised her free foot, spread her arms wide—a perfect swallow glide—but her face remained clouded with sorrow.

Not enough! Still not enough!

Surely this piece was meant to convey something far from a face full of misery.

She switched feet with a three-turn, preparing to enter a triple flip. Left foot inner edge to take off, right toe picks the ice.

Just as she was about to jump, the ice beneath her feet snagged; her smooth glide was interrupted, her balance unsettled. Sensing a fall, she stopped the jump immediately.

“Bang—”

Yet she still tumbled in the center of the cold, icy rink.

Her phone rang, echoing ethereally across the ice.

Used to falling, Shu Ran endured the pain and slid toward the barrier. The word “Mother” on the screen made her eyes redden.

“Ran Ran, am I interrupting your training?”

Shu Ran forced herself to sound strong. “No, I was just about to take a break. It sounds lively over there. Are you spending the New Year at Grandma’s or at Nana’s?”

“This year we’re at Grandma’s. Everyone says they miss you. Would you like to video call them?”

“No!” Realizing her tone was too harsh, Shu Ran quickly added, “No need, I just finished training and look a bit messy.”

Across the phone, separated by mountains and rivers, Li Zhiqing didn’t sense anything amiss with her daughter. “Your grandma wants to speak with you; I’ll put you on speaker.”

The call switched to her grandmother, whose familiar, affectionate dialect came through. Grandma complained a little about why Shu Ran wasn’t coming home, then worried about her spending the New Year alone, asking how she was spending the day. Hearing she had been training, Grandma lamented again.

After only five minutes, her grandfather’s voice came through, urging Grandma to stop chatting and not delay Shu Ran’s practice.

By then, Shu Ran was already in tears, covering her mouth so her sobs wouldn’t be heard.

When the call ended, she leaned against the barrier, her back hunched, slowly sliding down until she was crouched there, arms around her knees, crying her heart out.

*

Whenever Shu Ran thought of her family, a wave of grievance welled up inside.

Just as she was about to return to the rink, something pressed down on her head.

Shu Ran lifted her head from the crook of her arm, her tear-blurred vision mixed with the bright lights overhead. The figure before her stood backlit, face obscured.

Once her eyes adjusted and she found her focus, she finally recognized Fu Yiqing’s unusual expression—surprise, pity.

That unfamiliar look stunned Shu Ran, making her forget her own disheveled state.

“Why are you crying?”

Why else could she be?

Shu Ran didn’t want to see Fu Yiqing at this moment, nor did she want him to witness her weakness. She didn’t answer, just stood up, removed her skate guards, and was about to glide back onto the ice when the rink’s lights all went out, plunging the space into darkness.

Shu Ran was bewildered, just about to ask what was happening when footsteps sounded from another direction.

In the empty rink, every sound was amplified.

Shu Ran vaguely saw a faint warm glow coming from the source.

The light drew closer, dispelling the darkness from Shu Ran and Fu Yiqing’s sight. Only then did she realize the sudden blackout’s purpose.

Qin Liubei approached slowly, carrying a cake with candles aflame atop it. Worried the candlelight might be extinguished by the breeze, he walked carefully.

“Happy New Year to you—”

“Happy New Year to you—”

…

With the song finished, Qin Liubei arrived in front of Shu Ran.

“Little Shu Ran, well? Did my surprise catch you off guard? According to my precise calculations, starting to sing from that spot and walking at my pace, I’d finish the song just as I reached you… Hey, you’re crying—so moved?”

Shu Ran hadn’t had time to wipe her tears; she broke into a smile through her sobs. “Yes, very moved.”

It was true.

“Since you’re moved, blow out the candles first.”

As soon as Shu Ran blew out the candles, the lights came back on. Fu Yiqing walked over. “So your surprise is just a cake?”

“What about you, what did you prepare?”

Fu Yiqing was momentarily speechless, unable to answer.

Qin Liubei looked smugly at Shu Ran. “I don’t know how New Year is celebrated in China, but I guess it’s similar to a birthday, so I bought a cake. Even though it’s not your birthday, and cake can make you gain weight, today is special.” He glanced at Fu Yiqing. “Surely you won’t stop her today?”

Fu Yiqing said, “Just avoid too much cream.”

As a female athlete, especially in figure skating where weight is tied to performance, she had to maintain a sculpted physique. Good shape meant beauty for the audience; stability meant not just skill but maintaining a consistent weight, as fluctuations could affect balance and jumps, impacting scores.

So Shu Ran’s meals were always planned by the team’s nutritionist; fattening foods were strictly avoided.

Shu Ran was even more cautious than Fu Yiqing. “I’ll just have one bite.”

She dug a small hole in the cake with her fork, scooped out a piece with little cream, and put it in her mouth.

The sweet taste blossomed on her tongue, and suddenly she forgot why she had been crying—none of her troubles seemed to matter anymore.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” Fu Yiqing said suddenly. “Today actually is her birthday.”

Shu Ran and Qin Liubei stared at him in shock, wide-eyed and speechless.

“How do you know?”

Fu Yiqing frowned. “Your resignation request is still on my desk.”

He had a good memory, and happened to glance at the date today, found it familiar, and realized it was Shu Ran’s birthday.

Qin Liubei freed one hand to clap Fu Yiqing’s shoulder. “You knew but came empty-handed. Should I say you’re shameless or just have low emotional intelligence?”

Suddenly inspired, Qin Liubei handed the cake to Shu Ran. “Wait for me here!”

He dashed off, disappearing from sight.

Shu Ran always felt awkward alone with Fu Yiqing, but with the cake in her hands, she couldn’t escape onto the ice, so she sat aside and patiently waited for Qin Liubei to return.

Fu Yiqing, usually reticent, spoke first. “Shu Ran, let’s talk.”

She met his eyes, deep with unspoken thoughts. Qin Liubei’s appearance had already dispelled her sense of grievance, so she nodded calmly.

But as the car drove farther, Shu Ran couldn’t help but remind, “Qin Liubei told us to wait for him.”

“He’s not important,” Fu Yiqing said, hands on the wheel, eyes ahead. “Time is short.”

Time, again.

Since Shu Ran had known Fu Yiqing, the word he used most was “time.”

She imagined if “time” were erased from his vocabulary, perhaps he’d have little left to say.

*

Shu Ran could hardly believe Fu Yiqing had brought her to Mount Lingjue in the middle of the night.

Strangely, despite it being New Year's Eve, the mountain was crowded with couples, hand in hand and smiling.

Shu Ran’s quiet demeanor, paired with Fu Yiqing’s expressionless face, made them stand out—no, made them truly unconventional.

Fu Yiqing didn’t get out to climb, but drove up the winding road straight to the summit.

The moment she stepped out, Shu Ran felt she might freeze to death, wrapped herself tighter, yet still shivered.

Even standing on the mountain road, she could see all of City B. The city, bathed in lights, seemed even warmer—not just from the glow, but from the feeling of gazing from above. If only it weren’t so cold.

She couldn’t understand what could be so urgent as to require coming to the mountaintop. She waited for Fu Yiqing to speak, hoping to finish quickly and return; it was simply too cold.

Fu Yiqing noticed her reaction. When she moved forward, he pulled her back. “Let’s talk in the car.”

Back in the closed warmth of the car, Shu Ran finally felt her hands and feet again. She touched her cheek, only to shrink from the coldness of her own skin.

“Do you know why I made that bet with Quentin?”

Shu Ran grew nervous, thinking Fu Yiqing would quiz her again, racking her brain for an answer. “Because art matters more?”

Fu Yiqing shook his head. “In recent years, figure skaters have focused on technical difficulty, using high-value moves to earn high scores and win competitions. As this continues, opportunists multiply, and figure skating loses its beauty. More importantly, high-difficulty moves cause greater harm to athletes’ bodies. The international skating federation must change the rules—not just for the artistic beauty of skating, but for the long-term careers of its athletes.”

“But changing the rules isn’t simple. This battle was bound to come; I just brought it forward a little.”

His gaze was complicated. “Shu Ran, even if it wasn’t you, someone else would be the test subject. You’re not my puppet, because I don’t care whether I become president of the international federation in three years. But the federation must change.”