Chapter Sixty-Four: Jump Training

The vast expanse of the ice rink echoed with the monotonous, uninteresting sound of blades slicing through the surface. Off to the side, Fu Yiqing watched Shu Ran’s facial expressions and hand movements intently, while Qin Liubei kept his eyes glued to his laptop screen. His fingers danced swiftly over the keyboard, moving so fast they seemed to blur, and every now and then, he muttered a technical term under his breath.

“The jumps with the highest success rates are the toe loop and Salchow. The flip and loop jumps have a 95% success rate… The probability that the pre-rotation angle during takeoff doesn’t exceed 180 degrees is over 88.7%. The chance that the second jump in a combination is a loop jump is 60%, so it’s better to substitute another jump for the second one.”

Shu Ran finished her daily training and glided off the ice. Fu Yiqing handed her a tissue. “You were in good form today.”

She wiped the sweat from her brow. “I could really capture Ophelia’s sense of loneliness today.”

Fu Yiqing tilted his chin slightly and looked at Qin Liubei. “Well?”

Qin Liubei tapped in the final few numbers, then turned his laptop towards them. “Since the top athletes have explosive power, I’ve kept data on the top ten. According to the comprehensive stats of skaters who have competed internationally more than ten times, these are the current rankings based on overall strength.”

1. Samantha (Russia)
2. Kiyohara Yaka (Japan)
3. Chen Yuqi (USA)
4. Chelsea (Canada)
5. Christina (France)
6. Miyake Miharu (Japan)
7. Shu Ran (China)
8. Maggie (UK)
9. Jennifer (USA)
10. Afitinia (Belgium)

Shu Ran’s eyes widened in delight at seeing her own name among these giants—a place she wouldn’t have even dared to dream of a few years ago. But the joy was quickly replaced by worry.

Her first glance fell on her own name; the second, on Christina—ranked ahead of her.

A thought struck her. “What about Lorraine? She’s performed really well this season.”

Qin Liubei raised an eyebrow. “Rumor has it she’s retiring. Her injury is serious; she can’t skate anymore.”

Shu Ran was momentarily stunned, recalling Fu Yiqing’s words that Lorraine might force herself to compete despite the pain, and thinking back on how desperately she’d fought in her last competition—it really had seemed like a farewell.

“It’s a choice every athlete must face, but Lorraine had no choice at all.” Fu Yiqing’s voice was slow and measured, his gaze resting on Shu Ran as though to comfort her.

Shu Ran sighed, accepting the reality with quiet composure. She knew, after all, that one day it would be her turn to face the same fate.

After a pause, Qin Liubei asked, “Have you noticed anything?”

Fu Yiqing replied, “Six of these athletes competed in the last Winter Olympics. Is it because there aren’t enough senior-level competitions for younger skaters to get a reliable sample?”

Qin Liubei snapped his fingers. “You’re half right. Young athletes’ results are mostly unstable, so the averages don’t put them in the top ten. But compared to veterans, the young ones are wild cards. According to internal sources, this year’s World Championships will have over thirty-five entrants, just like in previous Olympic seasons. Many younger skaters are likely to outperform expectations, so these numbers aren’t enough to go by.”

Shu Ran had felt confident about the World Championships—after all, she only needed to finish in the top twenty-four out of thirty-something skaters to qualify for the Winter Olympics. But now, her confidence was shaken.

She blurted out, “So what should I do now?”

Qin Liubei paused, then closed his laptop and lowered his arms. “I’m afraid you’ve stumped me for once. I’d say you should let your coach handle your strategic planning.”

He shot a look at Fu Yiqing.

Fu Yiqing picked up the thread. “You’re more consistent than before, but you can’t count on always being in top form like you were at the Russian Grand Prix. For now, you just need to focus on training.”

Still, Shu Ran couldn’t quite set her worries aside.

Except for her poor showing at this season’s Grand Prix Final, her overall performance had been strong. Christina, on the other hand, hadn’t even made the Grand Prix Final, yet she still outranked Shu Ran overall.

So, even if she played it safe at the World Championships, it would be difficult to beat Christina at the Winter Olympics a year from now.

Shu Ran began considering what she could do to prepare for the next year.

After her morning training, Shu Ran changed clothes and was about to eat lunch when her phone chimed.

The screen lit up with a message from Zhu Hongzhe. Shu Ran paused for a second, then opened it and replied: Yes? Is something wrong?

Zhu Hongzhe: I wanted to apologize for last time, about the takeout. It was half my fault. I know it doesn’t mean much to say this now, but it’s been bothering me for a long time. I felt I had to tell you I’m sorry. Shu Ran, can you forgive me?

Zhu Hongzhe: Or… do you still consider me a friend?

As he waited anxiously for Shu Ran’s response, Zhu Hongzhe found himself more nervous than when he’d confessed his feelings in the past.

His phone buzzed.

He looked up quickly.

Shu Ran: Are you playing a part again? This time you’re acting the apologetic friend?

Zhu Hongzhe was momentarily taken aback, about to explain further, but then realized what she meant. She was easing the awkwardness with humor, letting him know she’d never really blamed him.

A wave of warmth washed over Zhu Hongzhe. He typed: I owe you one this time. If you ever run into trouble with your training, you can always come to me for advice—after all, I am an Olympic bronze medalist.

Through the screen, Shu Ran could almost picture the smug grin on Zhu Hongzhe’s face as he typed those words.

She smiled, started typing “Okay,” then deleted it.

Shu Ran: Since you mention it, I do have a problem. How can I improve my skills in just three months?

Zhu Hongzhe’s status showed “typing…” for a long time before his reply came: Increase technical difficulty, then train.

That was what Shu Ran had been thinking too. Her step sequences were already level three, and on a good day, her spins could reach level four. That left the jumps to decide her fate.

Though her jumps were high, their quality wasn’t great. So far, she’d only earned a +3 GOE score once, at the Russian Grand Prix. Everywhere else, her best was a +1.

Clearly, she needed to focus on jumps and increase the difficulty of her program.

Of the six jumps, the easiest were the toe loop and Salchow, followed by the flip and loop, then the Lutz. The Axel, being the only forward takeoff, was the hardest of all.

Shu Ran was proficient in the first four, though her GOE scores weren’t high, so she still needed to practice.

After a week of intense training, Shu Ran’s jumps improved noticeably, but a new problem arose.

With more difficult jumps added to her program, her stamina couldn’t keep up. She ran out of energy in the second half and had no strength left for artistic expression, causing her PCS scores to drop.

Both Fu Yiqing and Shu Ran were quiet by nature, so lunch was a silent affair.

After eating, Shu Ran got up, ready to go upstairs and rest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fu Yiqing noticed her slower pace and turned his full attention to her.

Her left foot bore most of her weight, while her right barely touched the ground, her steps sluggish.

Fu Yiqing’s gaze sharpened, his nerves snapping taut. “Wait!”

Shu Ran stopped, puzzled, and looked back. “Yes?”

She suddenly noticed a crack in Fu Yiqing’s usually gentle demeanor; he looked stern, almost angry, as if wrestling with fear. “You’ve been focusing on jumps lately?”

Shu Ran’s eyes flickered away, and she mumbled, “No, I haven’t.”

She’d been increasing the difficulty of her jumps in secret, knowing Fu Yiqing wanted her to focus on consistency.

Seeing her avoid his eyes, Fu Yiqing knew he’d guessed correctly.

“Did you injure your foot?”

“No.”

“Then why are you walking like that? You’re not putting any weight on your right foot.”

Shu Ran flushed with embarrassment, realizing nothing escaped his sharp eyes. She sighed and shook her head. “It’s not an injury, just overtraining. My ankle cramped up this morning.”

She didn’t dare meet his gaze, certain he was angry with her for defying his training plan.

Suddenly, her world spun—she felt an arm tighten around her waist, and the next thing she knew, she was being lifted off the ground.

She stared in alarm at her rescuer. “Coach Fu!”

Fu Yiqing’s face was still grim as he carried her back to the living room and set her on the sofa.

Her foot felt a sudden chill as he slipped off her slipper, then her sock.

Her pale, smooth foot was exposed before him. Years of training had left it fair but slightly misshapen from the demands of her sport.

A sudden flush rose in Shu Ran’s cheeks. She didn’t want him to see her feet like this.

She grabbed a cushion, trying to cover them. “Coach, I’m really fine. This has happened before. If I soak my feet tonight, I’ll be perfectly fine tomorrow.”

Fu Yiqing frowned. “Let me see.”

When she kept hiding her foot, Fu Yiqing raised his voice, though there was a note of tenderness in it. “Be good.”

Shu Ran wasn’t obedient.

Fu Yiqing snatched the cushion from her hands and tossed it aside, then threw the other one away as well before she could react.

Shu Ran stared in disbelief.

A warm hand rested on her foot as Fu Yiqing knelt and examined it from every angle, his brow furrowed in concern.

Shu Ran’s heart pounded wildly.

“Have you seen a doctor?” His gentle voice sounded, his warm gaze meeting hers.

Before she could feel shy, a sharp pain shot through her ankle, making her cry out, “Ouch!”

Fu Yiqing immediately let go, flustered, his expression darkening as he stood. “I’m calling the doctor!”

“Really, there’s no need.”

Fu Yiqing looked down at her, his expression cold. “A skater’s feet are their life. If you don’t take care of them, how can you expect to compete?”

The words she’d meant to protest with died on her lips. She glanced away, guilt written all over her face as her eyes reddened.

“Oh.” She looked aside, her guilt plain to see as her eyes filled with tears in a matter of seconds.

Fu Yiqing immediately regretted speaking so harshly. Even if she had done wrong, he shouldn’t have scolded her that way.

But this was not the time to dwell on it. He quickly went upstairs to call the family doctor.