Chapter Thirty-Seven: Promise Not to Sleep

On the screen was the Weibo login page.

Shuran opened it, half skeptical, and followed Qin Liubei’s instructions to check the trending topics.

“Do you see the headline ‘Ice Witch’?”

Shuran saw it, but another headline also caught her attention: #Shuran#

Still, she clicked on the trending topic Qin Liubei had mentioned first.

@FigureSkatingFanClub: “Even the legendary fairy can’t compare—I still prefer the enchantress with wicked charm! I originally went to see Chen Yuqi perform live, but I ended up discovering a hidden gem. She’s already trending on Twitter too. I hear tonight’s Four Continents exhibition tickets are impossible to get; everyone’s hoping to witness the fall of the fairy into the world of enchantresses. [Video]”

Judging from this, the #Shuran# trend must be about her.

Shuran clicked into the hashtag and found it was a sports news repost with an explanation.

@SportsNews: “It’s our adorable skater Shuran! This is an exhibition performance from the Grand Prix’s French event, where Shuran took first place, followed by this performance. If you want to see her live, you’ll have to wait until next year—the season’s competitions have all ended.”

“She’s just too beautiful! Her features may be delicate, but with that gentle face she managed to evoke the graceful aura of my former goddesses. What program is this? I want to watch it too.”

“Just to clarify: this is a ladies’ figure skating exhibition, performed for the audience after the competition ends. Maybe I’m not a true ice fan—I had no idea the national team had such a charismatic skater. I feel guilty now.”

“You must not have followed this year’s figure skating, upstairs. The young lady in the video is Shuran, a ladies’ singles skater from the national team. She took silver at the Tallinn Cup—Chen Yuqi was third. At yesterday’s Four Continents, she took bronze. The spring of our ladies’ singles has finally arrived.”

“I thought I’d found a new idol, but I didn’t know our Ranran was so amazing! I’m in Japan—if I’d seen this video earlier, I would have bought tickets to see her live. Crying a storm!”

“I did some digging and discovered figure skating competitions are so complicated! The Grand Prix alone has six events, including one in China. I hope Shuran competes in the China event next year, so I can watch her in person.”

…

Most comments were overflowing with praise for Shuran, and many people were asking for a link to her Weibo. This left Shuran feeling dazed.

Figure skating had always been a niche sport in her country; that people reacted this way after seeing the video was already surprising, let alone in a country where the sport was popular.

So tonight, many fans truly had come just for her.

Shuran suddenly remembered she had registered a Weibo account earlier.

She unlocked her phone and logged in. Since she’d only registered and never posted, the increase in followers was modest, but she had dozens of private messages.

“Hi, are you the Shuran from the national team?”

They were all similar queries.

The car moved smoothly along the road. From the front, Qin Liubei’s voice drifted back. “So? After seeing all the praise from netizens, aren’t you happy?”

Shuran replied, “Mm.”

Qin Liubei glanced at Shuran in the rearview mirror, noticing her head bowed low. “You don’t sound happy.”

Fu Yiqing also turned to look at her, just as she said, “I am happy.”

Shuran turned away, gazing at the city streets awash in dazzling lights, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “How could I not be happy?”

She had skated alone for so many years, and now, finally, there were people supporting her. Their encouragement made her realize her persistence had been worthwhile. So many times she’d wanted to give up, and every time she continued, it became that much harder.

Only she knew how many tears she had shed and how much sweat she had poured out to reach this day.

Though Shuran didn’t reply to the netizens’ questions, it didn’t stop the Sherlock Holmes among them from deducing her identity.

Among the few accounts Shuran followed—apart from the system’s default ones—was one called “Ice Butterfly Aiphytinia.”

Some fans pointed out that “Ice Butterfly” was the nickname given to the Belgian skater Aiphytinia, and both she and Shuran had competed at the Tallinn Cup.

Sharp-eyed netizens also noticed that “Ice Butterfly” and “Shuranice” were registered on the same day, which coincided with the dates of the Tallinn Cup.

With the collective sleuthing of netizens, the case was soon solved.

Shuran’s Weibo account was uncovered.

Her private messages exploded overnight, and she gained thirty thousand new followers.

So, when Shuran woke the next day and saw all this, she was stunned anew.

Qin Liubei, envious of Shuran’s skyrocketing followers compared to his own five thousand, frowned and grumbled, “What kind of people have this much time on their hands?”

Aiphytinia’s fans were delighted to discover she had also started a Weibo account.

With these two following each other, ice skating fans—who were essentially idol-chasers at heart—were eager to learn more about their favorites. Seeing Aiphytinia and their own compatriot getting along so well, they accepted Shuran as one of their own and followed her en masse.

Shuran’s new daily routine became this:

Fans begged her to post updates every day.

With the competition season over, her training was greatly reduced, but that didn’t mean she had nothing to do; even figure skaters had to keep up with classes.

What classes?

Academic ones, of course.

Being able to skate wasn’t enough; without an education, after retiring she’d be left with nothing.

Back when Shuran was at the bottom of the team, she would attend school classes regularly. Now, as her skills had improved, she couldn’t afford to lower her training intensity, so there was no need to attend school in person. Instead, she studied with a teacher the team had hired.

Naturally, her classmates were also her usual training partners.

One of them was Chen Lecheng.

During a break, Chen Lecheng came over to greet her. Shuran couldn’t help but ask, “Where’s Zhu Hongzhe and the others?”

Chen Lecheng grinned mischievously. “If you want to ask about Zhu Hongzhe, just say so; why add ‘and the others’? Women always say one thing and mean another.”

Shuran rolled her eyes and moved aside, not wanting to talk to him.

Chen Lecheng raised his hands in mock surrender. “My bad, don’t be mad. Zhu Hongzhe’s at training—Wu Xincheng and Shen Yu too. They’re all busy preparing for Worlds!”

Only then did Shuran remember there was one last competition this season.

The World Championships.

Chen Lecheng said, “But I’m a bit puzzled—why aren’t you competing at Worlds?”

She wondered the same, but since Fu Yiqing hadn’t scheduled her, he must have his reasons.

Seeing her fall silent, Chen Lecheng thought he’d touched a sore spot and hastily changed the subject, nudging her elbow. “It’s not so bad without them. We can take classes together. I’m good at math; you girls are always strong in English. We can help each other out.”

Shuran wagged her finger mysteriously. “That’s where you’re wrong. Aside from Chinese, I’m not good at any other subject.”

“Incredible!” Chen Lecheng exclaimed. “You’re the coolest underachiever I’ve ever met—so confident about being bad at school.”

Shuran was speechless.

Having lived abroad for more than two months last year, she could manage daily English conversations, but often had to rely on gestures when she couldn’t find the words.

So English was a subject she urgently needed to improve.

To boost her English, Fu Yiqing now spoke to her in English every day.

This kept Shuran on edge, as if she were constantly taking a listening test.

Of course, academic lessons weren’t just about basic subjects like Chinese, Math, and English.

Fu Yiqing thought it was a perfect opportunity to supplement her knowledge of world history and volunteered to teach her himself.

Shuran understood his reasoning. Each program they performed was inspired by music, and every piece of music told a story.

Whether foreign or domestic, these stories were rooted in their own historical and cultural contexts, so knowledge of world history was essential.

With the company of her fans, Shuran began posting daily updates about her life.

She became much more cheerful.

But Fu Yiqing’s frown only deepened.

It was already early March; the World Championships were about to open in Vancouver.

Since she wasn’t competing, Shuran only paid attention to the schedule and didn’t know who the participants were.

That morning, after finishing her ice practice and preparing to change for class, she walked with Fu Yiqing, who said, “No class today.”

“Why didn’t I hear about this?”

Fu Yiqing kept walking. “I’ve already got you excused. Our flight’s at one. Go pack your things, we’re heading to the airport.”

Shuran was dumbfounded. “Where are we going?”

Fu Yiqing glanced back at her, calmly announcing their destination. “Vancouver.”

When she asked why, he only said they were going to watch Worlds.

Shuran didn’t understand—couldn’t they just watch the livestream? Did they really need to go to the competition in person? Wasn’t that excessive?

After more than ten hours on the plane, Shuran felt she could fall asleep at any moment. As she walked, her eyelids drooped and she bumped right into Fu Yiqing.

“Ow—”

She clutched her nose, tears stinging her eyes.

Fu Yiqing shook his head helplessly and crouched before her. “Let me carry you.”

“Huh?” Shuran protested. “That’s too much—it’s broad daylight.”

“If you fall and get hurt, should I compete next season instead of you?”

Shuran still hesitated. “I promise, I won’t fall asleep again.”

“This is the last time I’ll believe that promise,” Fu Yiqing said.

Shuran scratched her temple in confusion.

Had she broken her promises that often?

She followed him resignedly, and when they finally settled in at the hotel, she discovered it wasn’t just the two of them—Qin Liubei and Xu Jingyu were there as well.