Chapter Fifteen: The Power of the Mind

Fu Yiqing negotiated with the skating rink staff to minimize the overlap between Shu Ran’s and Chiyuan Yexiang’s training times. As a result, the two of them now saw each other only in passing, with no further interaction.

The music began, its rhythm intense from the very first notes, compelling Shu Ran to respond with increasing speed to each step. Fixing her gaze on a single point, her eyes brimmed with resentment, self-mockery, and a touch of frivolity. She was a woman who traded in pleasure and companionship, while he was a lofty nobleman. She hoped he would stop speaking of the past—those were days of happiness she could never return to. She would much rather he spoke of the present, of ways to clear her name.

For example, how he might help her prove her innocence.

Shu Ran glided into a wide split, bent backward, and just as she rose, the music softened, the notes pure and crystalline, reminiscent of the beauty of first love.

That first love was always so simple and pure. Maslova recalled that Easter years ago, dressed in a clean, simple frock, hunting for eggs with her beloved Nekhlyudov. Yet the bittersweet nightmare also began on that very Easter.

It was then that she fell.

Shu Ran hugged herself tightly, spinning low and fast. As she gradually raised her free leg into the Biellmann spin, it marked the moment of Maslova’s rebirth.

The music faded to silence.

As Shu Ran completed her final pose, Qin Liubei stopped the timer. “Five seconds over.”

Berus was the first to applaud. “Shu, your performance today was outstanding! What made you understand so quickly?”

Shu Ran touched the tip of her nose bashfully. “Was it? But I went overtime, missed a few moves, and even fell on the triple jump.”

“These are minor issues. What matters is that your performance was brilliant—I felt like I was watching Maslova herself on the ice.”

After these two days of training, Shu Ran had realized that Berus was a truly kind soul. If he were a teacher, he would be the encouraging sort. Still, she looked to Fu Yiqing, hoping to read from his expression what he truly thought of her performance.

Sensing her gaze, Fu Yiqing spoke. “It was indeed very good. You embodied the Maslova you understand. This is the greatest progress I’ve seen in you in a year.”

Shu Ran’s eyes widened in surprise, her brows arching with delight, a smile finally breaking free on her face.

“But,” Fu Yiqing added, “the transition in the middle of the music was abrupt. It still needs adjustment.”

*

Shu Ran performed the technical elements of the short program well, and having conquered the psychological journey of the heroine of *Resurrection*, she no longer worried much about the short program.

Now that she had mastered it, the teaching of the free skate was about to begin.

“I’ve chosen Chopin’s ‘Nocturne in E-flat Major’ for your free skate.”

If there was one type of music Shu Ran feared most, it was classical pieces like this.

Classical music was hard to interpret; it often carried a sense of sorrow, but expressing only that sorrow would be shallow. Shu Ran’s usual approach was to consider the era and events that shaped the composer, to imagine the mood in which the piece was written.

For novels with storylines, or stage plays and films with vivid imagery, the artistic expression demanded by classical music was higher—and far more challenging.

Compared to her rivals, Shu Ran’s technical skills were not outstanding, so she could only strive for high marks through artistic interpretation. Why not, then, make her strengths even more pronounced?

After a day’s training, Shu Ran’s performance was poor.

That evening, as she stepped down from the scale, she called out to Fu Yiqing. “Coach Fu, um…”

He withdrew his hand from the door and looked back. “What is it?”

“Do you think… it’s possible to change an already-choreographed program?”

Recalling her struggles during the day, Fu Yiqing guessed her meaning. “You want to change your free skate choreography?”

Shu Ran bit her lip timidly. “I want to change the music.”

To change the choreography or the music—there was little difference in the end.

“Give me one reason,” he said. “If you can convince me, it’s not impossible.”

Shu Ran replied, “Classical music is too difficult to interpret. I think we should use a classic film soundtrack. Everyone is familiar with those, so it would be easier for me to express.”

“You’re mistaken,” Fu Yiqing replied. “Your goal isn’t to do your best right now—it’s to elevate your artistic expression to a new level, to strengthen your future skills.”

“So I’m rejecting your request.”

Shu Ran hung her head, a child scolded, and murmured a dejected “oh.”

“When did you become so childish?” Fu Yiqing couldn’t help but smile, gently ruffling her hair. “Trust Berus… or at least, trust me.”

His large hand still rested atop her head. As Shu Ran looked up, she met a pair of smiling eyes—gentle and kind.

Only when she was alone in her room, the quiet settling in, did she raise a hand in a daze to touch the spot still warm on her head, and feel her heart thudding quietly in her chest.

*

With the increased intensity of training, Shu Ran burned more energy each day and needed to eat more as well. To prevent weight gain, she weighed herself and measured her body three times a day.

A month and a half passed. Her free skate still lagged behind her short program.

The short program’s new music version was complete. She’d skated to it yesterday, and the results were promising.

Today she would test her free skate with music. Standing in the center of the ice, she cast a hesitant glance toward her coaches at the edge.

Qin Liubei had developed a scoring system based on ISU standards. By inputting data from previous women’s singles performances and their final scores, and then entering Shu Ran’s completion rate for each element, he could predict her technical score with great accuracy, matching the judges’ scores closely.

But no matter how precise, machines had no sense of aesthetics, and artistry was the only variable.

Shu Ran finished her free skate. Her technical score was not high.

She grew worried, but Fu Yiqing seemed relaxed, leaving her completely at a loss.

*

The hotel was close to the rink, but even after returning, Shu Ran couldn’t settle. She threw on a jacket and headed back.

The vast rink echoed with the sharp hiss of blades on ice.

Apart from Shu Ran, there was only one other possible skater here at this hour.

Chiyuan Yexiang glided to the edge, pushed off, and executed a relaxed combination jump.

3F-3T.

She landed smoothly and skated out with twizzles.

She soon noticed Shu Ran’s presence. After practicing a few basic spins, she looked over. “Are you here to train?”

Shu Ran understood some English and quickly waved her hands. “No, no, you go ahead—I’m just practicing a bit.”

Chiyuan Yexiang said nothing more, but kept her training to half the rink, leaving space for Shu Ran.

Changing into skates and training gear, Shu Ran worked on some connecting moves.

Though her jumps were decent, her flexibility left much to be desired. Whenever she attempted the Biellmann spin, her expression always twisted with pain.

“Don’t tear.”

The oddly-accented Chinese startled Shu Ran. After a moment, she guessed the girl meant “No, that’s not it.”

Not far away, Chiyuan Yexiang shook her head as their eyes met.

What did that mean?

Before Shu Ran could puzzle it out, Chiyuan Yexiang repeated the move she’d just attempted, then mixed three languages together: “If you do it like that, you’ll get injured.”

She patted her elbow, wrinkled her face in pain to demonstrate.

Shu Ran, surprised and grateful, followed her advice—lowering her center of gravity and raising her leg for the spin. As expected, it was much easier, and the transition smoother.

She beamed at Chiyuan Yexiang in thanks.

The other girl’s expression remained cool as she skated off the ice.

Alone, Shu Ran cut through the chilly air, the smooth glide cooling the heat of exertion.

Her technical score for the free skate was low because of too many small mistakes, each one diminishing the performance as a whole.

Having just fixed a rotational problem, she moved on to her step sequence before jumps.

“Ah—” she cried, falling hard on the ice once again.

Rubbing her numb backside, she decided to take a break. As she was slipping guards onto her blades, she caught a glimpse of a long pair of legs.

Looking up, she met a pair of deep, obsidian eyes.

“You never listen,” he said, helplessness in his voice. “I told you to follow my plan.”

Shu Ran replied with conviction, “But it’s already mid-August. If I don’t get it right now, there won’t be enough time.”

“I know. We’ll increase training soon, but for now, you must rest.”

In the end, Fu Yiqing hauled her back to the hotel to rest.

As she was preparing for bed, Fu Yiqing appeared at her door.

Clad in a nightdress, Shu Ran let him in. He showed no reaction, merely reminding her, “Did you forget something important?”

“?”

“Your weight.”

Realization dawned, and she stepped onto the scale. Fu Yiqing followed.

Weight: 44 kilograms.

She hesitated while measuring her body, but seeing Fu Yiqing’s calm demeanor, she decided she was being overly sensitive and let him record the data.

Her measurements stable, Fu Yiqing closed the notebook. “Sleep. Tomorrow morning is off-ice training.”

“Wait.” Shu Ran stopped him. “Lately, my jump success rate has dropped. I’m falling a lot.”

Fu Yiqing walked over, unhesitatingly reached for her thigh, squeezed, feeling the muscles. He was about to speak when he noticed Shu Ran’s face flaming red.

With only a thin layer of fabric between them, he suddenly realized that, in some contexts, this could be considered harassment.

The burning heat in his palm made him withdraw his hand quickly, his gaze shifting away in embarrassment.

Usually unflappable, Fu Yiqing was now at a loss. “Well… about tomorrow morning’s training…”

He caught himself, corrected, “Your leg muscles are strong. It’s probably just psychological. It’s late—get some rest.”

With that, he hurried out.

Standing barefoot on the tiles, Shu Ran’s heart pounded wildly. The spot where he touched seemed to throb, as if her skin was still burning.