Chapter Four: Time Waits for No One

The sky in the east was just beginning to lighten, a pale glow barely touching the horizon, when the phone rang, jolting Shu Ran awake. The next moment, a knock sounded at the door. No one spoke; except for Fu Yiqing, there wouldn’t be anyone else.

Shu Ran’s morning routine was a battle—dressed and ready in five minutes flat. The day’s schedule included both land training and an hour on the ice.

During breaks, Shu Ran recalled what Xu Jingyu had told her the day before.

Lunch was prepared by Aunt Zhang. Shu Ran had just sat down when Fu Yiqing answered his phone. “Hello? I’m just eating. Come on your own. If you’re late, you miss out.”

As they were finishing, a stranger arrived—a man with decent looks, though ordinary compared to Fu Yiqing. He greeted Fu Yiqing with a smile, but when his gaze landed on Shu Ran, his expression shifted from spring to winter, cold and bleak.

Shu Ran was puzzled, her mind conjuring wild scenarios, her eyes darting between the two men as if she’d stumbled upon some extraordinary secret.

Fu Yiqing introduced them simply. “Qin Liubei, Shu Ran.”

Though there was a guest, Shu Ran knew Fu Yiqing—his plans were unchanging. She finished her meal, set down her chopsticks, and headed to the rink for training.

“This is the girl you went through so much trouble to find…” Qin Liubei began, but when he turned, he saw not only Shu Ran had left, but Fu Yiqing as well.

He gritted his teeth. “Came all this way, and this is how I’m treated.”

Surveying the table of leftovers, Qin Liubei clenched his fists, glaring at the door as if it were Fu Yiqing himself. “Not even a word of greeting, and I’m expected to eat scraps!”

Just as he thought this, Aunt Zhang brought over a bowl of noodles. “Mr. Qin, please enjoy.”

Qin Liubei looked at her with grateful eyes. “Auntie, you’re truly a good person.”

Shu Ran had just stepped onto the ice when Fu Yiqing called from the sidelines, “Warm up first. In fifteen minutes, I’ll test your understanding of the film.”

Since Fu Yiqing rented the rink, only Shu Ran skated there, so the ice was always in pristine condition. Opening her arms, she moved into a swallow step, feeling the wind brush her cheeks.

Fifteen minutes passed swiftly, and it was time for the assessment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Shu Ran spotted the man from earlier. She frowned slightly, wondering who he was.

As she pondered, Qin Liubei placed a laptop on the rink’s barrier, on a table extending from a pillar, and glanced at her, his demeanor shifting from cold to earnest and serious.

Fu Yiqing saw Qin Liubei was ready and called to Shu Ran, “Are you prepared?”

“Yes.”

Music began to play.

Like the first beam of sunlight on the morning grass, life’s green bursting forth and crowned with golden brilliance; the melody, tender as a first love, shy and unspoken, hidden within the heart—like Humbert’s first sight of Lolita, water cascading over the girl, her playful legs raised on the grass, sunlight bathing her in purity and beauty.

Shu Ran hadn’t choreographed her routine—her movements were simply based on Xu Jingyu’s explanations from the night before. The steps weren’t much different from her short program, but she paid more attention to her expressions.

Recalling the film’s plot, the gentle music flowed through her heart. She could finally understand the protagonist’s actions, his repression, his pain, his lonely love—even though Lolita never loved him, even as she carried another’s child to torment him, his love remained unchanged.

The music shifted from light to secret yearning, then to pain, and finally concluded in tranquility.

When the piece ended, Shu Ran was still somewhat dazed.

She skated off, looking hopefully at Fu Yiqing. “Coach…”

Fu Yiqing turned to Qin Liubei, who walked over with the laptop in hand. “Her leg muscles are still too loose—she needs more endurance and muscle group training. Arm swing amplitude is stable between four and five, closer to four, which also relates to stamina. The right leg’s bend is inferior to the left: right is near six, left is near five—that’s flexibility training. Jump height is close to eight, so her bounce is good. Reaction and agility…”

Qin Liubei spoke in Chinese, but the combination of terms and numbers left Shu Ran baffled. Where did all these figures come from?

Finally, he added, “Are you really going to coach her? She seems so unambitious. These days, who among world champions lacks ambition?”

Fu Yiqing replied calmly, “She fits the criteria best.”

“That’s because you argued so fiercely with Quentin, knowing full well he’s a stubborn traditionalist.”

Their conversation dragged on, so Shu Ran spoke up, seeking acknowledgment. “Um… Coach Fu, were you satisfied with my performance?”

Qin Liubei shot her a disdainful glare.

Fu Yiqing shook his head, blunt as ever. “Not satisfied.”

Shu Ran felt defeated, like a rooster losing a fight. She thought she’d done well for an unchoreographed program, but evidently, she’d failed. It seemed she’d never know the reason behind this training arrangement.

Suddenly, Fu Yiqing said, “The result was just as I expected, so now I’ll tell you why I changed your training mode.”

“Huh?” Shu Ran looked up, bewildered. “Even if you’re not satisfied, you’ll tell me?”

“Precisely because I’m not satisfied, I must tell you.”

Qin Liubei frowned, interrupting, “Wait, she still doesn’t know the situation?”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

Qin Liubei nodded and stepped aside, leaving them to talk.

Fu Yiqing began, “During your last team test, what was your ranking?”

Shu Ran was embarrassed—there were only three seniors in the women’s singles group, and not only was she last, but two junior girls had surpassed her.

She spoke quietly. “Fifth.”

“The reason for the team test was that the International Skating Union decided to select two athletes of similar levels worldwide, one focused on technical training, the other on artistic training. At the next Winter Olympics, you two will compete head-to-head.”

Shu Ran blinked, stunned.

Fu Yiqing continued, “So you weren’t chosen for any particular talent, but because among globally average athletes, you two have the closest qualifications.”

“So… my training is more focused on artistry, I’m the artistic candidate? And the other is focused on technique?”

Fu Yiqing nodded. “Now that you know the truth, don’t question my training methods in the future.”

Shu Ran couldn’t believe it. She, a nobody, was now tied to the International Skating Union.

Later, she remembered an even greater question: Why did the ISU choose two evenly matched athletes to compete in technique and artistry? What was the purpose?

She couldn’t fathom the ISU’s intentions. All she could do now was train hard. Otherwise, forget competing for victory—at her current level, she couldn’t even qualify for the Grand Prix Final, let alone the Olympics.

Shu Ran collected herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She hesitated, then lay back down to continue her floor exercises, struggling to grasp her ankle.

Emphasizing artistry didn’t mean abandoning technical training—it meant focusing more on artistic expression while still pursuing technical excellence.

She licked her lips. Clearly, her flexibility needed more work.

*

On the laptop screen, the data was clear and precise. Every movement was reduced to cold numbers, lacking beauty but perfect for analysis.

Qin Liubei turned the laptop toward Fu Yiqing. “Her talent is just good enough for the national team. If she pursued technique, her jumping ability would be an asset, but you’re focusing on artistry. Quentin still doesn’t know who his skater will be. Why not pick someone more gifted in artistry?”

“Precisely because she’s a blank slate, she has endless potential. You don’t need to persuade me, nor oppose her. She’s my student now. Unless you become her coach, you have no right to criticize.”

“Hey—” Qin Liubei stood up, unhappy, pointing at Fu Yiqing. “I’m doing this for your sake. Is that opposition? I just think… staking your future on an average athlete is reckless.”

Fu Yiqing stood up as well. “If you’re willing to help, stay. If you’re here to convince me, you can leave.”

With long strides, he entered the dance studio.

Qin Liubei shook his head in resignation. “These days, asking for help means being treated like royalty.”

Shu Ran half-knelt on her yoga mat, her back pressed to her thighs, muscles taut, tendons stretched straight.

She’d set a ten-minute timer, but hadn’t heard the alarm yet. She could get up any moment if she couldn’t hold on, but a voice in her mind urged, “One more second, ten more seconds…”

Suddenly, the alarm rang.

Relieved, Shu Ran opened her eyes, a smile breaking across her face. In her vision, she saw Fu Yiqing, upside down.

Startled, she tried to rise, but ten minutes of kneeling had left her calves full of lactic acid, her knees weak, and she toppled forward.

Her arms grew suddenly warm as Fu Yiqing caught her, steadying her like a chick and saving her from a fall.

“Thank you.”

He quickly withdrew his hands, as if nothing had happened. “Did you really interpret the film yourself?”

Shu Ran looked up, then guiltily avoided his gaze.

Her guilty expression was obvious; even without an answer, Fu Yiqing knew he was right.

“In future, try to figure things out on your own. Other people’s experience is theirs—it can never truly become yours. Understand?”

“Understood.”

Thankfully, Shu Ran breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t punished. “Coach Fu, how did you know?”

“You didn’t perform as badly as I imagined.”

“….”

Shu Ran felt wounded. In his eyes, she was probably nothing more than rubbish.