Chapter 113: From All Directions

Though it was the off-season, once they returned, everyone had to slip back into the tedious routine of training, especially the rookies. For them, the coming sessions would be even more grueling; if they failed to make significant progress at their age, breaking through in future competitions would be a distant hope.

As for Shu Ran and her cadre of “veterans,” their challenges were no less daunting. Their battles were physiological, confronting the inevitable changes in physical condition brought on by advancing years.

The group boarded the plane amid laughter and playful jostling.

Once seated on the flight back to City B, Shu Ran stretched her back, seeking the most comfortable position to lean and rest. Suddenly, a thought exploded in her mind like a firecracker.

Just as Fu Yiqing had just draped a blanket over her, Shu Ran abruptly sat up, causing the blanket to slip to the floor.

Fu Yiqing’s long hand flicked out to retrieve it. “What’s wrong?”

Shu Ran glanced around furtively before leaning in close. “How’s the situation with the ISU?”

After asking, she recalled what Qin Liubei had said—that internal matters of the council must not be disclosed to outsiders, especially not prematurely to Shu Ran, as it would be unfair to other athletes.

With that in mind, Shu Ran suddenly leaned back, hastily extending her right hand to cover his mouth. “No, better not…”

The warm breath on her palm sent a ticklish sensation through her, causing her to forget what she was about to say.

That unmistakable touch.

Shu Ran quickly withdrew her hand, her heart galloping wildly, out of control.

While Shu Ran fumbled awkwardly, Fu Yiqing, composed and practiced, steadied himself and said, “Don’t worry, it’s resolved. Their main suspicion was that Quentin and I, coaching athletes from China and France respectively, might have leaked internal information to our athletes. But that premise has significant flaws.”

His earnest analysis made Shu Ran momentarily forget her pounding heart as she quieted herself to listen.

“Even if we didn’t place this bet, everyone in figure skating knows that technical difficulty has been escalating these past two years. This trend is detrimental to the sport’s popularization, so a shift toward artistic emphasis is inevitable. The issue is that the ISU hasn’t yet introduced new rules to lower technical difficulty scores, meaning athletes can still choose to focus their training on artistry or technique. Quentin and I’s wager is about the balance between technique and artistry, serving to decide how much each aspect’s weighting will be adjusted.”

Shu Ran was more confused than enlightened.

She pondered for half a minute, trying to digest his words. “So, you mean, regardless of how my competition with Kristina ends, after the next Winter Olympics, the technical base scores will definitely change?”

Fu Yiqing nodded. “But whether it will be partial or comprehensive adjustments, whether scores will rise or fall, depends on your competition results. If Kristina wins, technical scores will be raised; if you win, the base technical scores will be lowered.”

Finally, Shu Ran felt reassured.

No matter how the new rules changed, she likely wouldn’t compete under them anyway, as she was nearing retirement age. Her focus remained on this Olympic cycle’s competitions.

Upon disembarking, Shu Ran immediately followed the team.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a dense, bustling crowd within the airport.

She was dumbfounded.

Nowadays, domestic sports stars wield as much influence as popular idols?

Chen Lecheng sighed as he dragged his suitcase. “Everyone, hold on—looks like we’re going to see Zhu Hongzhe put on a show again. I bet most are here for his looks.”

Wu Xincheng bristled. “Why not for me?”

Chen Lecheng cast a sly glance between her and Shen Yu. “If it’s you, it’s probably your shipper fans.”

Rumors had long circulated online that Wu Xincheng and Shen Yu were a couple, though in reality they remained emotionally stagnant, leaving fans constantly clamoring for them to marry.

Wu Xincheng shot him a fierce glare.

Zhu Hongzhe cleared his throat and tugged his jacket. “Behave yourselves in front of my fans. There are so many media waiting outside to interview me. What if they catch you all scowling?”

Instantly, Wu Xincheng and Chen Lecheng united in shared resentment, glaring hatefully at him.

Shu Ran smiled helplessly at Fu Yiqing. “Looks like we’re about to experience the power of the crowd once again.”

Fu Yiqing replied, “Let them pass first, then we’ll join them later.”

Shu Ran agreed.

So Chen Lecheng and the others waited patiently.

Zhu Hongzhe led the way, soon surrounded by a throng of reporters and fans chanting his name.

Who says only pop stars get airport receptions?

If you’re good-looking, even sweeping the streets earns you cheers.

However, only a small portion of the media swarmed Zhu Hongzhe. Shu Ran had assumed those unable to squeeze into the interview circle were lingering nearby, so she and Fu Yiqing slipped out through the glass doors, bypassing the crowd.

Suddenly, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed behind them, and their path was blocked by countless cameras and microphones.

Wu Xincheng and the others were stunned.

The media surrounding Zhu Hongzhe dispersed instantly, leaving only a few reporters determinedly pursuing interviews. Some even approached Chen Lecheng.

The smile on Zhu Hongzhe’s face froze at the corners, confused as he looked at Shu Ran, whose way was completely cut off by the press.

Chen Lecheng couldn’t help but laugh. “Looks like you’re still not famous enough!”

Zhu Hongzhe was speechless.

Most of the media present were entertainment journalists rather than sports reporters; they sought heat and explosive topics, so their questions were sharper than the usual fare.

“Shu Ran, after disappearing for two years, now competing in the World Team Trophy, are you planning a comeback?”

“Regarding your withdrawal from the Winter Olympics, rumors say you had conflicts with the Ice Association. Were your two missing years because of them?”

“Is your injury fully healed? Did it flare up again, causing your withdrawal?”

A barrage of questions rained down from all directions.

Some were barely finished before another louder voice cut in.

Shu Ran felt overwhelmed.

A heavy weight settled on her shoulders, then Fu Yiqing swept her into his arms, pulling her through the crowd. “Sorry, Shu Ran is a bit tired.”

Wu Xincheng and the others came to her aid, rescuing her from the onslaught.

Only after boarding the team’s bus did everyone finally relax.

From some hidden corner, a sudden laugh rang out, soon joined by others spreading joy through the space.

Qin Liubei remarked, “I never thought Shu Ran was this popular!”

Chen Lecheng feigned reflection. “What did someone say just now? ‘Watch your image in front of my fans, don’t get caught scowling by the media interviewing me’? Whom were they interviewing?”

Zhu Hongzhe clenched his teeth. “It was really my fans.”

Chen Lecheng exposed the truth. “But the media was actually interviewing Shu Ran.”

Everyone paused before bursting into laughter.

The junior sisters mentioned “trending topics,” prompting Qin Liubei to pull out his phone and log into Weibo.

At a glance, he shouted, “Old Fu, look at this!”

Shu Ran had not logged into Weibo for nearly two years and thus hadn’t browsed it either.

Qin Liubei handed her the phone, and she watched together with Fu Yiqing.

@IceSkatingNews: “On the 20th, at the World Team Trophy opening ceremony, Chinese team members donned Dragon Ball-themed Chinese-style costumes. Their unique way of thanking the audience left a deep impression. Japanese Twitter users engaged in lively discussion, calling the Chinese skaters adorable and fun.”

“China-Japan friendship through—skating? Emmmm, seeing their outfits reminded me of chasing Dragon Ball as a kid. I even bought merchandise but never got seven Dragon Balls together, so no dragon appeared to grant me a wish.”

“Shu Ran! I actually saw Shu Ran! Has she not retired yet?”

“I thought Shu Ran was retiring, but here she is again!”

“I watched the video and felt Shu Ran’s performance wasn’t as good as before. I thought women’s singles had hope, but at this rate, she’ll probably retire before the 2026 Winter Olympics.”

“Regardless of Shu Ran’s retirement, no one can deny her tremendous contributions before her injury. When she withdrew, the internet was flooded with criticism. Back then, defending her even got us labeled as shills—a nightmare.”

“Suddenly changing topic? Since we’re off track, I’ll say this: Shu Ran hasn’t competed for two years; why does the national team still give her chances? Shouldn’t opportunities go to newcomers? She’s older now; even with good results, she can’t skate much longer. Isn’t that wasting resources?”

“Shu Ran earned her spot at the World Team Trophy herself! Anyone implying she used connections isn’t a true fan. She placed eighth at last month’s World Championships—the best domestic women’s single result this season. The World Team Trophy rules mandate the season’s best player must participate.”

Below this post, a wave of figure skating knowledge explanations began.

Online fans spontaneously defended Shu Ran.

They pointed out Shu Ran had quit Weibo and urged others to stop hurting her. As long as she fought for her country’s honor, keyboard warriors shouldn’t mock her recklessly.

Shu Ran’s last Weibo post was two days after her withdrawal from the 2022 Winter Olympics, with just three words: “I’m sorry.”

Yet it garnered 140,000 comments.

As netizens noted, the comments overwhelmingly accused her of disrespecting the competition, insisting that even with injury recurrence, she should have skated the entire program on one leg.

If that post’s comments made Shu Ran fear the crowd, this moment’s partial understanding from some netizens allowed her to forgive their impulsive words.

They judged wrongly because they lacked the full story.

But undeniably, most were reasonable.

Noticing the caring gazes from her companions, Shu Ran couldn’t help smiling. “Why are you all staring at me like that?”

The comments were already stirring controversy, and the media presence confirmed Shu Ran was once again in the spotlight.

She sighed, her smile softening. “Actually, everyone’s just curious about the truth behind my injury.”

She lifted her head, her clear eyes meeting each person’s. “You didn’t tell me back then either, so you must have been curious too, right?”

The group looked at her, expression unchanged.

Shu Ran smiled faintly. “If even you were curious, how much more so the internet gossipers? You understand me because you know who I am, but they don’t.”

Seeing her furrowed brow and thoughtful look, Fu Yiqing asked, “What are you thinking about?”

She suddenly looked up, blinking her clear eyes. “Coach, can I hold a press conference?”