Chapter Fifty-Six: Her Peculiar Ways

Shu Ran was startled; she had never expected Fu Yiqing to be so literal-minded, utterly incapable of understanding jokes. He had taken her words seriously once again.

“Not old, not old at all. You’re very handsome; I’ve never seen a coach more handsome than you,” she replied.

Fu Yiqing’s gaze sharpened. “Coach?”

Shu Ran quickly amended, “Oh, no—I mean, you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever seen.”

Only then did Fu Yiqing nod in satisfaction. “So, am I old?”

Shu Ran shook her head so vigorously it looked like a sieve rattling. “Not at all. And that problem is easily solved—just use Weibo.”

After this episode, Fu Yiqing no longer refused as quickly as last time, simply responding with a faint “Mm.”

Shu Ran secretly wiped her brow, deciding she could never again complain about Fu Yiqing on her main account.

During the exhibition skate that afternoon, many spectators had come specifically to see Shu Ran, making her the most applauded performer in the arena.

When the exhibition ended, all the figure skaters joined hands on the ice to thank the audience. The Russian event finally drew its curtain.

That evening, a celebration banquet was held; all the skaters attended, Shu Ran among them.

Fu Yiqing wore a subtle smile, having received Shu Ran’s affirmation, while Qin Liubei was pleased with his own revenge against Fu Yiqing. The two tacitly reconciled.

Skaters occasionally came over to greet Shu Ran. Jennifer was one of them.

Jennifer held up her phone and greeted Shu Ran, saying, “Everyone wanted to see Shu Ran, and now they have. What? Say hello? Shu Ran, they want you to greet them.”

Glancing at the screen, Shu Ran realized Jennifer was probably livestreaming, so she raised a hand and smiled, “Hi, everyone. I’m Shu Ran.”

Jennifer quickly sat down to chat with her. “It’s been a year, hasn’t it? Last year, we both competed at the French event. I loved your exhibition skate so much, and my fans said they adored your performance.”

Shu Ran laughed softly. “Yes, I can hardly believe another year has passed.”

“Didn’t you give your prop to Chen Yuqi that day?”

Shu Ran recalled the fan she’d given Chen Yuqi, surmising that was what Jennifer meant. She felt a little embarrassed and said, “If you like, I can give you a fan too.”

Jennifer’s face lit with delight. “Really? Do you have so many fans?”

“Online shopping is easy in my country. I’ll bring one for you next time we meet.”

Jennifer nodded eagerly. “I’ll absolutely love that fan.”

The two took a photo together, exchanged contact information, and added each other as friends on Instagram.

But Shu Ran didn’t know how to use Instagram, so she only posted on Weibo.

They chatted happily; once they were familiar, Shu Ran explained some jokes in English to Jennifer, who laughed so hard she didn’t want to leave. But her teammate needed her, so she had to step away for a moment.

Shu Ran, ever the action-taker, immediately ordered a round fan on a shopping site, choosing a DIY option where the buyer could provide an image. On a whim, she sent their photo to customer service.

“Is anyone there?”

A girl’s voice suddenly sounded overhead.

Shu Ran looked up, stunned.

Samantha sat down. “I’ve thought about it for a long time. I think what I said the other day may have given you some unnecessary misunderstandings.”

Shu Ran was puzzled and simply listened.

Samantha took a sip of juice. “I wasn’t saying you didn’t deserve the championship at the event. I just meant,” she turned to Shu Ran, her gaze sincere, “I can’t see your love for figure skating in your performance. Your routines are too textbook. Figure skating needs soul, but I haven’t seen that in your eyes.”

Shu Ran was confused, her furrowed brow revealing her bewilderment.

But Samantha continued, “Too many skaters now pursue technical prowess, neglecting the true artistry and beauty of skating. I started skating because I felt every dancer on the ice embodied the beauty of the sport. But now, the environment pushes us to train for higher technical difficulty. I don’t like this.”

“Everyone says, ‘Samantha won the Olympic gold but hasn’t retired—she’ll regret it one day.’ But I stayed because I wanted to perform programs that express what I believe is right. I want to change this environment, even though I know it’s impossible. But I still want to try.”

She spoke to Shu Ran as if confiding in a friend.

Shu Ran genuinely tried to listen.

Samantha’s English wasn’t very standard, making it exhausting for Shu Ran to follow, missing bits here and there.

“Last season, I already saw your performance, but,” Samantha said, “I noticed you’ve changed.”

This time, Shu Ran understood clearly. “What?” Nervous, she blurted out something in her own language.

Samantha frowned at her. “Last season, your results weren’t as good as this season’s, but your performance then had soul. What happened to you this year?”

Samantha had beautiful eyes, irises of blue like the polar sea, deep and tranquil, forever accompanied by ice, steady and gentle.

Shu Ran was stunned for a moment, lost in Samantha’s clear gaze.

What had happened? Shu Ran already knew the answer, yet told herself not to be swayed by others’ words.

Most athletes were sincere, but there were exceptions who might try to disrupt her focus.

Before leaving, Samantha shared some of her own training insights.

Shu Ran found herself unable to read Samantha’s intentions.

Then Samantha suddenly said, “I think I really may never stand on that podium again. But you have a chance. I want to see the version of you from last season appear at the Winter Olympics. Maybe after watching your performance, everyone will understand how much artistry matters in figure skating.”

Samantha came and went swiftly.

Fu Yiqing noticed Samantha had gone to speak with Shu Ran as she got up, and hurried back to his seat. “What did she say to you this time?”

A flicker of panic passed through Shu Ran’s eyes, but she feigned composure. “Nothing much, just came to say hello.”

“Really nothing?”

Shu Ran pressed her lips together. “Well, actually, she did say something.” She blinked. “Samantha said at next year’s Winter Olympics, I’m very likely to stand on the podium.”

Fu Yiqing was skeptical. “She really said that?”

Shu Ran nodded; it wasn’t a lie, since Samantha’s words did include that.

Fu Yiqing didn’t press further, but worry lingered in his brow. “Do you remember what I told you? If anything happens, you must tell me right away. I’m not just your coach. I’m also your...”

Shu Ran replied, “Family.”

That was what he truly felt—he hadn’t planned to say it aloud, but Shu Ran beat him to it. In the past, he’d thought those words too conspicuous, but hearing them now, they felt so warm.

Fu Yiqing paused, then smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Mm.”

A week later, the French event of the Grand Prix came to a successful close.

Liang Yue skated her worst performance ever, but since everyone’s attention was on Shu Ran, no one noticed her score, much less mocked her.

It was at this moment that Liang Yue realized the era of the national women’s singles no longer belonged to her.

The Grand Prix Final would be held in half a month, featuring six skaters: Shu Ran (China), Chen Yuqi (USA), Samantha (Russia), Lorraine (Italy), Miyuki Miyagawa (Japan), and Efitinia (Belgium).

Except for Shu Ran and Efitinia, the other four were veterans, world-class names.

Shu Ran was especially surprised by Efitinia’s presence. She had watched her performance last year: though her results were decent, there were many shortcomings. Yet this year, she had entered the GPF directly.

But among these six, the one Shu Ran found most surprising and bewildering was the Italian skater Lorraine.

She remembered vividly that last year, Lorraine won the event championship but suffered a severe injury, finishing her program in agony and being carried away on a stretcher.

Shu Ran had not followed Lorraine’s news. In her mind, Lorraine’s injury was so serious she should have retired, yet here she was again.

Fu Yiqing was equally astonished. “I heard she’s been seeking doctors for treatment.”

Qin Liubei added, “If I recall correctly, she was still in treatment two months ago.”

That meant Lorraine hadn’t rehearsed any new programs since her injury last season, focusing on recovery, yet she still managed to qualify for the GPF through sheer effort.

Regarding Lorraine, Shu Ran couldn’t say if she was more moved or awed; in any case, she was an opponent with extraordinary inner strength.

Fu Yiqing’s tightly knit brow finally relaxed. He looked up and smiled lightly. “It seems she’s made up her mind.”

Shu Ran asked, “What do you mean?”

Fu Yiqing explained, “Even if her injury has barely healed, the wiser choice would be to rest and aim for the World Championships in March. If she finishes in the top twenty-four, she’ll win a ticket to the Olympics. That would give her nearly a year to recover before the Games, where she could shine. But instead, she’s chosen to compete in the Grand Prix.”

His tone grew heavier. “This means she knows her injury cannot be fully healed.”

Shu Ran swallowed, her expression complex. “Can’t heal? But she’s in the final now, isn’t she?”

Qin Liubei bit her lip, finally managing a sentence. “Maybe she’s still injured.”

Shu Ran pondered, then her eyes widened in disbelief.

So Lorraine was competing while injured? Was that possible?

“If that’s true, why not compete in the World Championships? There’s only one event, but the Grand Prix has three—won’t that worsen her injury?” Shu Ran asked anxiously.

Fu Yiqing shook his head. “This year’s World Championships will feature the Olympic lineup, so she has no choice but to gamble on the Grand Prix.”

He gently patted Shu Ran’s shoulder. “She’s risking her own leg for a championship. So, Shu Ran, you must compete well. She will be the most formidable opponent you’ve ever faced—even stronger than she was last year.”