Chapter Eighty-One: Never Give Up

After more than an hour of surgery, Shu Ran was utterly exhausted. Her eyelids felt so heavy she could close them at any moment, yet she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Head throbbing, heart racing, unease gnawing at her.

Perhaps things weren’t as dire as she imagined? Until Fu Yiqing told her the outcome, everything else was just needless worry. After all, wasn’t the situation already bad enough?

With some effort, she rolled to her left side and waited for dawn. Gradually, drowsiness claimed her, and she finally drifted off.

When the first ray of morning sunlight, absent for so long, slipped into the hospital room, Shu Ran’s mood brightened with the weather. She stretched languidly, turned her head, and saw Shu Yutian. “Dad?”

Her face was wreathed in smiles, but she was met by Shu Yutian’s grim expression. Glancing aside, she noticed Shao Anhong’s eyes were still red, her gaze filled with regret.

Shu Ran anxiously searched for Fu Yiqing and soon spotted him standing near the door, his expression unreadable and dark.

“Mom, what’s wrong? Aren’t I getting better?” She wagered her mother didn’t know what had happened the previous night.

Fu Yiqing had promised her, and she trusted he would never tell her parents.

“Ranran, no matter what you say this time, we’re taking you home with us,” Shao Anhong said, her voice brooking no refusal.

Shu Ran was taken aback, casting a pleading glance at Shu Yutian, but he avoided her eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Dad? Why do you look like that? Yesterday, you said you’d help persuade Mom.”

“Yesterday was yesterday. If we hadn’t rushed over unexpectedly, how much longer would you have kept this from us? Coach Fu, we entrusted our daughter to you because we believed in you, but how could you let her do as she pleased and not tell us about the surgery last night?” Shao Anhong pressed.

Fu Yiqing looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Shao Anhong was about to continue, but Shu Yutian cut in, “Enough. Things have reached this point. In the end, it’s our failing as parents for not being attentive enough. You’ve seen how much effort Coach Fu has put into caring for Ranran these past days. Why blame her coach?”

Shao Anhong sighed, then apologized to Fu Yiqing.

Fu Yiqing waved it off. “I share some responsibility for this as well.”

Shu Ran’s heart sank at once. So, her parents did know about last night’s surgery. “What’s wrong with all of you? Why are you acting like my condition is so serious? Isn’t it just fluid buildup? They drained it already. While I’m recovering from the metatarsal, my knee will be fine in no time.”

Seeing her naive, oblivious look, Shu Yutian felt even more wretched, sighing repeatedly.

Shao Anhong kept insisting they take her back to D City.

With no way out, she turned to Fu Yiqing. “Coach?”

He seemed somewhat guilty—since she’d woken up, he hadn’t met her gaze once. “Shu Ran, you need to stay calm. There might still be hope.”

“Regardless of hope, your father and I won’t let you skate again. If you still consider us your parents, you’ll come home with us in a few days.”

Shu Ran’s tone turned urgent. Propping herself up on the bed, she pressed, “Just tell me—what’s wrong with my leg?”

Fu Yiqing hurried to support her, making sure she didn’t hurt her injured leg.

She gripped his sleeve tightly, eyes desperate. “Coach!”

Fu Yiqing sighed softly. “The doctor said you’ll need at least a year to recover, and even after that, it’s unlikely you’ll regain half your former strength. If you get injured again, you might spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.”

Shu Ran swallowed with difficulty, then forced a thin smile. “Coach, you must be joking.”

The room was dead silent. No one answered her.

Her hand slowly slipped from his sleeve, and the lustrous light in her dark eyes faded in an instant, like a bird with broken wings plummeting from the sky.

The disappointment in his daughter’s eyes broke Shu Yutian’s heart. He couldn’t bear it. “Ranran, listen to your mother. Come home with us. Even if you can’t skate, we’ll support you for the rest of your life. There are so many possibilities ahead.”

Shao Anhong’s voice was low. “Your father is right. Your elementary school math teacher always said you were smart. We can hire a good tutor—if it takes a year or even two, you can get into a good college and come back to inherit your father’s company.”

Their words passed through Shu Ran’s ears without meaning, mere symbols drifting from one side to the other.

She only heard the noise in the room, but her mind was strangely clear. She seemed almost dazed, yet suddenly calm. “Dad. Mom.”

“We’re both here.”

“Leave. Both of you.”

The couple froze. Shao Anhong was the first to react. “Ranran, we’ll stay here with you.”

“Please leave.”

Sensing her condition, Shu Yutian could only lead his wife out, casting a helpless look at Fu Yiqing as they left.

Fu Yiqing nodded slightly, understanding at once.

Neither of them looked up. Silence stretched between them.

Fu Yiqing was the first to speak. “Shu Ran, I know what you’re thinking. If you want to keep competing, as your coach, I have to tell you: it’s not possible.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.” Her voice was eerily calm. “I’m thinking of the last fourteen years—how grueling every training session was, but I survived them all. I never thought it would end like this.” There was a hint of self-mockery in her tone.

Fu Yiqing stepped forward and sat at the edge of her bed. “If you love figure skating, I can help you stay in the sport another way. You can work behind the scenes.”

“Behind the scenes?” Her voice was empty, eyes hollow as she met his gaze. “How can an athlete who can’t get on the ice retire to work behind the scenes?”

“You could be a judge, an artistic director—there are options. I’ll help you.”

“But I just want to skate. Coach, I won’t give up.”

Fu Yiqing was momentarily stunned, then spoke sternly, “I won’t let you harm yourself this way. Do you want to lose your leg forever?”

“The doctor only said that further injury could result in lasting complications—could, not will!”

Fu Yiqing’s brow furrowed, his voice rising. “The doctor said you need a year to recover. Aren’t you planning to compete in next year’s Winter Olympics?”

She fell silent.

If she ever had a shot at the top podium, it would be at the next Winter Olympics. She didn’t have the physical strength to wait another four years.

Her silence confirmed his suspicion. He gripped her shoulders. “This time, listen to your parents. Go home with them. I promise I’ll find a way for you to stay with the ISU.”

Her empty eyes met his, suddenly laced with irony.

Before Fu Yiqing could react, she shook her head. “If you insist on refusing me, then from now on we go our separate ways.”

“Shu Ran, you—”

She lay back down and refused to look at him again. “I will never give up. Even if I lose a leg, I don’t care.”

Staring at her back, Fu Yiqing’s resolve faltered. “You should try to understand the people who care about you.”

“I hope they can understand me, too. Coach, if you care, you should help convince my parents.”

“Huo Guang and the national team already know about your injury. They’ve released a statement saying your injuries are severe.”

Shu Ran’s back stiffened. She gripped the edge of the blanket.

After a moment’s hesitation, she fumbled at her bedside for her phone, but couldn’t find it. With a sigh, Fu Yiqing handed it to her.

Without glancing at him, she urgently opened Weibo.

@SportsBureau: “Recently, Shu Ran aggravated an old injury after a fall at the World Championships in Russia. Though surgery has been performed, the accumulation of injuries has placed an enormous burden on her leg. She is still undergoing intensive treatment and will miss the Olympic qualifying event in September. Thank you to everyone for your concern.”

“Oh my god, an official notice, and it emphasizes ‘serious injury.’ Official news in the past would at least describe the injury, and they’ve never used such strong language before. Looks like this might end her career.”

“So it was an old injury—was she hurt before the competition? Why let her compete? Isn’t the team being unreasonable, caring only about honor and not the athlete’s wellbeing?”

“Don’t speculate if you don’t know the facts. If the athlete wasn’t willing, officials wouldn’t have let her compete. Why else would we have heard nothing about her injury until now?”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me Shu Ran’s poor performance at the Grand Prix Final was because she was already injured! If that’s true, all the critics owe her an apology—she wasn’t trying to get into showbiz, she just loves the sport!”

“I suddenly want to cry. Competing while injured—her pain must have been unimaginable. She still took second in the short program on the first day. If not for excruciating pain, she wouldn’t have skated so poorly in the free program.”

“If Shu Ran retires, I fully support her moving into showbiz. Athletes without results return to ordinary life with nothing—no skills, no degree!”

“I’d love to see Shu Ran act in sports dramas—she’d basically play herself.”

…

Nearly all the comments assumed Shu Ran would retire.

The concern and encouragement from the fans failed to stir even the faintest ripple in her heart. Suddenly, she wanted to cry.

Her grip slackened, the phone slipping from her hand as she collapsed onto her pillow like a kite with its string cut.

“Leave me alone for a while.”

“Shu Ran.”

She slowly lifted her eyelids, her voice icy. “Are you worried I’ll try to kill myself? Look at my leg—what could I possibly do now?”

Fu Yiqing lowered his eyes, silent.

“Just go. I won’t do anything foolish. Things are already bad enough for me.”

She turned her head to the side.

At first, her sobs were muffled, but soon she buried her whole face in the pillow.

Fu Yiqing’s heart ached all the more. He held her arm gently, embracing her. “Shu Ran, just give it a year. Maybe your injury won’t be as bad as the doctors say. Maybe you’ll skate again.”

“Get out!”

Shu Ran sobbed harder.

He said nothing more, rose, and left, deciding to let her have some time alone.

His footsteps faded away.

Suddenly, her tear-choked, stubborn voice rang out, “Even if the team won’t allow it, I’ll compete anyway! I will!”

Her weeping grew louder, and the room filled with an even heavier, suffocating silence.