Chapter Thirty-Five: So It Was Her

With the Four Continents Championship approaching, the team placed high hopes on Shu Ran, but fearing they might put too much pressure on her, they simply offered a few words of encouragement before departure.

The atmosphere at previous figure skating competitions had been less than ideal; rarely was a venue filled to capacity. But this time, the Four Continents event was different. It was being held in Japan, a powerhouse in figure skating. This meant the audience would be larger and more enthusiastic than she had ever experienced.

Even though she had mentally prepared herself, Shu Ran was still taken aback by the sheer excitement and bustle of the crowd as she entered the rink. Most of the spectators had come with clear intentions: waving national flags, holding banners emblazoned with the names of star skaters, and carrying plush toys and flowers, ready to throw them onto the ice as tokens of affection at the end of performances.

As its name suggests, the Four Continents Championship brings together figure skaters from the Americas, Asia, Oceania, and Africa—everyone except for Europe. Among them are giants like Japan, Canada, and the United States, their strength not to be underestimated.

Compared to the Tallinn Cup, the lineup for this event was even more prestigious, with many more renowned athletes competing.

Shu Ran reminded herself constantly that she was here to collect points, doing her best not to burden herself with undue pressure.

While waiting for her turn, she listened to music and practiced spins in the training room, replaying Fu Yiqing’s advice in her mind. When the staff finally came to notify her that it was almost time, her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath.

Last time, her short program costume was adorned with sequins. Though Shu Ran hadn’t complained, Fu Yiqing had noticed from her expression and movements the drawbacks of those sequins, so he’d already prepared a new costume—just in time for the Four Continents.

This new dress featured a gradient, appearing deep blue from afar and a subtle blend from blue to violet up close, accented with flecks of off-white. Fitting snugly against her frame, it lent her an ethereal, almost otherworldly aura. The pristine white ice set off the gradient blue of her dress, making her shine with a pure, captivating brilliance.

Those who performed before her were mostly less skilled, leaving the skating enthusiasts in the audience rather bored as they awaited the main attraction. Shu Ran’s beauty instantly captured their attention.

“The next skater is Shu Ran, representing China. Her program is titled: ‘Rebirth.’”

“Resurrection” also means rebirth, and changing the program’s name had been Fu Yiqing’s idea. He believed this was Shu Ran’s unique interpretation of the story, and she shouldn’t be confined by the original title.

Her phantom-blue silhouette glided across the rink, drawing every eye. Each movement was perfection, especially her jumps—among the best even compared to the sport’s current elites.

Fu Yiqing stood with arms crossed, a faint smile at his lips.

After this season, the old Shu Ran had turned a new page; now, she had been reborn as a dazzling presence on the ice.

At the end of her routine, Shu Ran delivered a flawless, clean performance for the audience.

The spectators, stunned by the caliber of her skating, forgot to applaud at first. After a long pause, cheers and applause finally erupted in waves.

Qin Liubei clapped Fu Yiqing on the shoulder. “You were right—Shu Ran is a true competition skater.”

She rises to the occasion.

They were confident Shu Ran would break her personal best in the short program.

Fu Yiqing opened his jacket for Shu Ran, and she naturally slipped her arms into the sleeves, zipping it up to her chin.

Shu Ran knew this was her best skate yet. She looked expectantly at the big screen, hoping for a clear improvement, for only then would she have more confidence to work harder next season.

But the result had the crowd gasping in disbelief.

61.44 points.

Not only did she fail to break her Tallinn Cup record, her score was actually lower than last time.

As soon as they left the camera’s view, Qin Liubei’s face darkened. “What’s going on? Isn’t that score a bit too suspicious? What are the judges thinking?”

Fu Yiqing’s tone remained calm. “Shu Ran skated too early in the order. The judges tend to be more conservative at the start.”

“But her performance was clearly better than the score they gave. The audience could see it too.”

Fu Yiqing nodded. “It was a bit excessively conservative. Now that the short program results are set, she’ll just have to widen the gap in the free skate tomorrow.”

He looked at Shu Ran and added, “That score isn’t bad. You did great. With this result, you should be grouped in the later flights for the free skate.”

The free skate groups are arranged according to short program ranking. Ultimately, Shu Ran placed sixth in the short program, just making it into the final group—a close call, but she made it through.

Perhaps Lady Luck felt the score had been unfair to Shu Ran, for the next day she drew the second spot in the last group.

The final two groups were packed with top talent, including some new faces—young, fresh skaters likely just promoted to the senior division this year.

Her old rival, Miyuki Miyae, due to too many errors in the short program, was relegated to the second-to-last group.

For Shu Ran, this meant she wouldn’t be directly compared with the top names skating after her; her starting position was just right.

In the end, Shu Ran outperformed her previous standards, making remarkable progress.

And this time, thanks to her later draw, her score wasn’t held back.

She scored 141.11 in the free skate.

Adding the previous day’s short program, her total was 202.55.

She was provisionally ranked second, with only a narrow gap between her and Miyuki Miyae.

A sudden sense of accomplishment and relief washed over her; for Shu Ran, the curtain had closed on this season’s final competition while she was still in peak form.

The audience looked at this delicate, fair-skinned girl with newfound respect, realizing that China’s ladies’ singles would soon stand atop the international podium because of her.

“How high do you think you’ll place this time?” Qin Liubei asked curiously.

Shu Ran took the water Fu Yiqing handed her, sipped, and frowned slightly. “Fifth, at best.”

Although Chen Yuqi’s last result wasn’t as good as Shu Ran’s, this time things were different. Yesterday, Chen Yuqi’s short program score was nearly eight points higher, and she would skate after Shu Ran in the free. Even though Shu Ran hadn’t seen Chen Yuqi’s performance, the cheers from the crowd were telling—she had skated very well.

Then there was Yeka Chihara from Japan, a true legend, and several other young faces from the US and Canada. Fifth was the best she could hope for, Shu Ran thought.

Fu Yiqing patted Shu Ran’s shoulder. “This season’s competitions are over. Compared to the Tallinn Cup, you’ve made huge strides.”

Shu Ran shyly scratched her right cheek. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

As the time drew near, Shu Ran sat in front of the TV with Fu Yiqing, watching the event’s broadcast.

The Canadian skater, second to last, had just finished, scoring 191.8.

The live rankings appeared.

When Shu Ran saw the five-starred red flag in second place, she was stunned.

A cry burst from deep within her. “Oh my god.”

Qin Liubei and Fu Yiqing were equally unprepared for such an outcome. The three of them watched Yeka Chihara’s performance in nervous silence, and finally, Shu Ran’s live ranking was third.

A bronze medal.

Yeka Chihara’s gold had been expected by all. Chen Yuqi’s silver was also among the predicted winners. But who was this newcomer snatching third?

Only when Shu Ran stood on the podium did the crowd realize.

Oh, so it was her.

Many famous names had appeared this time, but some were hampered by injuries or major mistakes and missed out on medals altogether.

Such stories are common in every competition; a dark horse like Shu Ran emerging was only natural.

Yet some spectators noticed something strange.

Why did this dark horse look so familiar? Where had they seen her before?

When people went online to investigate, they realized they really had seen this Chinese skater before.

That night, as Shu Ran finished her shower and was preparing to rest, someone knocked wildly at her door.

Peering through the peephole, Shu Ran finally relaxed and opened the door.

Qin Liubei’s voice was full of excitement. “Shu Ran, you’re trending on Twitter!”

Fu Yiqing was also dragged to Shu Ran’s room to watch the video. Strictly speaking, it was Shu Ran’s video that had gone viral.

The footage was from the last Grand Prix event in France, where Shu Ran had performed a program to the original soundtrack of the film “Green Snake.”

The title read: “Ice Sorceress from the East.”

Usually, figure skating stars have similar nicknames—“Ice Queen,” “Ice Empress,” “Ice Princess”—all referencing royalty. This was the first time anyone had been called a sorceress.

Shu Ran was a little bewildered.

Qin Liubei said, “I thought I heard someone in the arena shouting Shu Ran’s name today. Old Fu said I was imagining things, but now it looks like those were Shu Ran’s own die-hard fans!”

Fu Yiqing took the phone, watching the video again in silence.

No one responded. Qin Liubei frowned and snatched the phone back. “Stop watching that. How many fans do you think will come to watch your gala performance tomorrow?”

Shu Ran quietly answered, “Five thousand.”

That was the arena’s capacity. Since Shu Ran would be performing, the audience would naturally see her. Who could say how many came specifically for her?

Her answer was bulletproof.

“Want to make a bet?” Qin Liubei was energized. “I bet there’ll be tons of fans there just to see Shu Ran skate.”

Shu Ran asked, “How do we know if they’re there for me?”

“That’s easy. Listen to the cheers. After your performance, see if the crowd is louder than for the skaters before you.”

Shu Ran raised an eyebrow. “Fine.”

Qin Liubei declared, “If I win and lots of fans are there for Shu Ran, I get to take a vacation and finally end my long-distance relationship.”

Shu Ran asked, “And if you lose?”

Qin Liubei replied, “Then when you have a fan club, I’ll sponsor the first round of funding. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll bet a lot of people will come for Shu Ran, too,” Fu Yiqing said. At this, Qin Liubei’s smile faltered. “Hey, if you place the same bet as me, how can we tell who wins? How will I get my vacation and end my long-distance relationship?”

Fu Yiqing thought for a moment. “You can end your long-distance relationship right now.”

He said it with utmost seriousness.

For Qin Liubei, “ending his long-distance relationship” meant he could finally be with Xu Jingyu in person, but Fu Yiqing’s meaning was clearly, “If you break up, long-distance ends immediately.”

Qin Liubei put on a stern face. “We’re through.”

Shu Ran could almost guess that Fu Yiqing’s next words would be “Deal,” so she quickly covered his mouth and laughed, saying, “Who says there can’t be a winner and a loser? If you both win, you both get what you want. If you lose, you listen to me. Basically, you’re betting with me.”

Qin Liubei considered it for a moment and agreed to her proposal.

Shu Ran couldn’t understand how, in a wager she’d been dragged into, she somehow ended up as the house.