Chapter Thirty-Nine: At Last, a Worthy Opponent

Now that Fu Yiqing and Qin Liubei had already revealed Shu Ran’s identity, she no longer hid it, and graciously took a photo with this figure skating fan. Not long after, the surrounding whispers of discussion grew noticeably louder.

Indeed, whether in appearance or demeanor, Fu Yiqing was impossible to overlook in any crowd. What’s more, such an outstanding-looking person was actually Shu Ran’s coach. Perhaps at first glance one might forget, but seeing him again, it was hard to ignore his presence.

Fortunately, not many skating fans recognized Shu Ran, but when the others saw so many people taking photos of Shu Ran and her companions, and noticed Fu Yiqing’s striking features, they assumed they had run into a celebrity and all started snapping pictures as well.

Seeing the commotion, Xu Jingyu shook her head with a sigh. “Fu Yiqing’s face is truly a menace.”

Qin Liubei wore a look of existential doubt. “Am I not as handsome as Fu Yiqing? Why is everyone only photographing him and not me?”

Xu Jingyu and Shu Ran turned to look at him simultaneously, sharing a “hopeless case” expression.

In the end, Qin Liubei even chased after Xu Jingyu, asking her whether he or Fu Yiqing was more handsome. At first, Xu Jingyu teased him, claiming Fu Yiqing was more attractive. Who would have thought Qin Liubei would believe it, turning his face away in annoyance, and no amount of comforting words from Xu Jingyu could persuade him otherwise.

Observing the way these two interacted, Shu Ran thought to herself that Fu Yiqing had been right—these two truly had a taste for this sort of thing.

For the upcoming ladies’ singles competition, Shu Ran was much more familiar.

She found the starting list online and discovered that many renowned skaters she had encountered before—Miyagawa Miharu, Chen Yuqi, Mia, and Chelsea—would all be competing, as well as some new faces, including several of the top five from the previous Winter Olympics, such as Chihara Yekou.

Each country’s number of entries depended on their athletes’ rankings at the previous World Championships, but even with poor results, every nation was guaranteed at least one spot, provided the athlete met the minimum technical score requirement.

With Shu Ran’s current results, she had clearly reached the minimum threshold for Worlds, but at the time of registration, she was not yet eligible, so the national team sent Liang Yue instead.

Just as the competition was about to begin and Shu Ran was about to look away from the list, her gaze froze on a name she couldn’t move past.

“Kristina?” she murmured.

Qin Liubei happened to hear her and asked in surprise, “You didn’t know? Kristina is also competing at Worlds this year. Their country has two spots, and Kristina’s technical score just met the minimum, so she qualified.”

Shu Ran really hadn’t known. Weren’t she and Kristina supposed to be on the same level? How had Kristina reached the minimum standard for Worlds in previous results?

Fu Yiqing answered her question: “Did you forget? The entire last season, you were training and didn’t compete at all.”

Shu Ran suddenly understood.

He continued, “Besides, the standard by which you and Kristina’s strengths were compared was the internal team test at the end of last August.”

Just as Shu Ran was starting to calm down, Qin Liubei added, “Kristina is quite a contender. She took fourth place at the Grand Prix Final last time.”

Shu Ran was shocked once more.

A peculiar emotion rose within her, and her previously relaxed brow knitted slightly.

Fu Yiqing said, “Focus on the competition.”

Shu Ran nodded. No longer watching as a bystander, she unconsciously straightened her back, fully attentive, her gaze fixed seriously on every skater on the ice.

As before, the early skaters were not strong, making frequent mistakes.

Fu Yiqing only spoke after each program, when the big screen replayed slow-motion highlights of key moments—good and bad—to explain to Shu Ran.

He wanted her to remember what others did well, and also to learn from others’ mistakes.

Yesterday’s short program results had been rather unexpected. Liang Yue was off her game, placing 25th and failing to earn a ticket to today’s free skate.

Even three or four of the favorites made consecutive mistakes. Chihara Yekou was one of them, dropping directly to eighth and ending up in the penultimate group.

In the free skate, Chihara Yekou had just one jump error, with no other major mistakes.

As the music ended, Fu Yiqing commented, “Chihara Yekou is already out of the running for an Olympic medal.”

Shu Ran asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Didn’t you notice her lack of stamina?” He turned his attention from Shu Ran’s face to the big screen. “She’s not young anymore. After a full program, she looks a bit strained. Even if she can maintain her current fitness, the other skaters are improving, and even staying steady will be difficult for her.”

Shu Ran agreed and nodded, then thought of Rowena. “But didn’t you say last time not to underestimate a skater’s desire for a medal?”

He patiently explained, “Lack of stamina and injury limitations may look similar, but they are actually very different.”

Shu Ran roughly understood what he meant.

Chihara Yekou’s heart was willing but her strength inadequate, while Rowena was limited by injury despite having both the will and drive.

It was like illness could be treated, but aging had no cure.

As the last skater in the final group, Kristina was easy to spot in the crowd.

The announcer declared, “Next to skate, Kristina from France.”

Every figure skater is at least somewhat good-looking, and Kristina had the classic features of a Frenchwoman—fine brows, large expressive eyes, deep-set sockets. As soon as she stepped onto the ice, she flashed a brilliant smile and waved to the audience.

Their seats were right in the front row, and as Kristina glided past Shu Ran, they were close enough for Shu Ran to clearly sense the confidence and charisma radiating from her.

Suddenly, a pair of beautiful hands appeared before Shu Ran, curling into a fist with a swift motion.

Fu Yiqing asked, “What are you daydreaming about?”

Shu Ran snapped back to attention. “Oh.”

The announcer then introduced Kristina’s program music: the classic “The Little Prince.”

It was a piece that, through a child’s perspective, reflected the adult world, celebrating the beauty of innocence and scorning materialism, imbuing philosophy with the breath of life.

At the opening pose, Kristina’s expression bore a smile, but as the choreography unfolded and the music changed, the pure smile faded, leaving only a trace of sorrow.

Shu Ran thought her emotional delivery felt off, then suddenly remembered that Kristina was not trained in the same way as herself.

Kristina’s training was much more focused on technique.

Indeed, Kristina’s technical prowess was high.

She opened with a 3A, landing it cleanly. The rest of her jumps increased in difficulty, and her spins and footwork filled the program to the brim. She made hardly any mistakes, and by the end, she delivered the first clean free skate of the ladies’ event that day.

Thunderous applause followed.

Since Shu Ran’s own training focused more on artistry, she naturally felt dissatisfied with Kristina’s performance, her brow furrowing deeply.

Kristina picked up the plush toys thrown by the audience, left the ice, and embraced a stern-looking middle-aged man. Only when he patted her back did a faint smile appear.

His expression was so severe, it seemed he was not pleased with Kristina’s performance; his tension marked him as a strict, almost tyrannical coach.

A flash of realization crossed Shu Ran’s mind, and she sought confirmation from Fu Yiqing, “That’s… Quentin?”

Fu Yiqing didn’t let her finish. He simply hummed in agreement, his eyes dark, lost in thought.

The big screen replayed Kristina’s program. Fu Yiqing commented, “Her jump quality is good, her stamina excellent. Although she lacks in aesthetics, fitting so many jumps into one program—on this stage, only she can do that.”

Indeed, though artistry was lacking, the scoring system meant her free skate would surely earn a high score.

The debate over whether technical skill or artistic expression mattered more in figure skating still had no definitive answer internationally. That was the very point of the wager between Fu Yiqing and Quentin.

But it was certain that high technical skill would always bring high scores.

Kristina’s combined score was 208.64.

Miyagawa Miharu was in the best shape of her career today, scoring more than five points higher than Kristina and winning the world championship this season.

Chihara Yekou followed closely, taking silver.

With so many errors from the top contenders, and Kristina having placed last at Worlds the previous year, today she pulled off a remarkable turnaround to claim the bronze.

Kristina had only just moved up to seniors last season. At eighteen, a year younger than Shu Ran, she already had a Worlds bronze and had established herself internationally.

Through this competition, Shu Ran clearly saw the gap between herself and Kristina. She could confidently say that if she had competed today and performed steadily, her best result would have been a top ten finish.

Remembering how the fans online had lauded her to the skies in recent days, Shu Ran found it laughable.

While others worked tirelessly, she had been content with her current achievements.

Suddenly, Shu Ran understood Fu Yiqing’s purpose in bringing her to the World Championships: to let her clearly see her own abilities. Only when this wager was over could she truly pause and look back. Otherwise, every backward glance would only widen the gap between her and her competitors.

“Coach Fu, I understand now.”

Fu Yiqing only responded lightly, patting the top of her head. “Shu Ran, you still have a long way to go.”

Qin Liubei and Xu Jingyu must have noticed Shu Ran’s low spirits, mistaking it for inferiority after watching Kristina’s performance.

Qin Liubei tried to comfort her. “That program of Kristina’s was practically unwatchable—just showing off technique, no beauty of skating at all. The audience claps and exclaims, but there’s no lasting impression, no soul. What’s the point of a high score?”

Fu Yiqing quietly interjected, “In competition, only the score counts. It’ll be the same at the Olympics in two years.”

Qin Liubei shot Fu Yiqing a look and muttered through gritted teeth, “Would it kill you to offer some comfort?”

But Shu Ran heard him and couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t need to comfort me. I’m not upset. I’m just wondering whether I should focus more on schoolwork or training when I get back?”

“Of course, focus on your studies,” Fu Yiqing replied.

“Oh,” said Shu Ran.

“But there was one thing Liubei said that was right,” Fu Yiqing added.

The three turned to him, curiosity in their eyes, and even Qin Liubei felt touched that his friend hadn’t been completely acerbic.

“Art endures because the values behind it give it a soul,” he said. “A program without soul leaves no memory.”

If it cannot be remembered, it is nothing more than a product of transition in its era.