Chapter Eighty-Nine: How Could I Be Reconciled!

Japan and the United States, who ranked among the top three in the short program, had already secured Olympic qualification at the World Championships and would no longer compete with other athletes in this event. In a certain sense, this meant that Shu Ran had become the most promising candidate to advance to the Winter Olympics.

All the skating fans believed Shu Ran could become one of those six.

On the second day, in the free skating segment, Shu Ran remained in the last group. This time, she drew number 31, making her the first to perform in the sixth group.

Perhaps because most of the competitors were still very young, the tension on the first day had prevented them from showing their full abilities. Today, in the free skate, more than half the athletes performed far better than they had in the short program. The rankings shifted dramatically, and the scores were tightly contested.

Shu Ran, instead, felt calm.

As long as she completed her performance, her task would be finished; everything afterward would be left to fate.

After the fifth group finished, a dozen ice children skated across the rink, collecting stuffed toys thrown by the audience.

Of the three athletes in the sixth group, Lucchesse and Yukiko Nakayama, representing the United States and Japan, had already secured Olympic spots. Even if the two of them took first and second place in this qualifying event, the final six spots would naturally pass to the next eligible athletes.

This meant that the top five spots for women’s singles in the qualifying event had already been determined: Australia, Norway, Czech Republic, Brazil, and Austria. The last spot would be decided between China and Georgia, making Shu Ran’s ranking crucial.

The three athletes in the sixth group stood at the entrance, ready to begin the six-minute warm-up before the competition.

Shu Ran removed the skate guards and was about to step onto the ice when her wrist was gently grasped.

She turned, surprised.

Fu Yiqing spoke softly, “Do you remember what I told you three days ago?”

Shu Ran nodded after a moment’s thought.

He gently kneaded her shoulder, a warm smile spreading across his lips. “Go on.”

The six-minute warm-up before the competition was mainly for the athletes to find their rhythm, deepening their sense of balance in jumping and familiarizing themselves with the venue.

Shu Ran’s skating speed was just right; she was ready. As her pace slowed slightly, she prepared to jump off the right back outside edge, tapping the ice with the right toe pick, then quickly pulling back, not truly leaping into the air, just seeking her balance point.

Had she not pulled back in time, she might have fallen. Her balance was a bit shaky.

It was not a good sign.

So, after practicing spins and footwork, Shu Ran returned to jumping practice.

This time, it was a triple toe loop.

Jumping off the left back outside edge, her gaze sharpened instantly, her expression focused as she leapt with all her might.

She still hadn’t intended to execute a full jump; she withdrew immediately. However, her left foot landed prematurely, and instinctively she tried to balance with her right foot, but unexpectedly, she fell.

Outside the rink, Fu Yiqing’s face tensed sharply, his upper body leaning forward instinctively.

Qin Liubei also grew worried.

Fortunately, Shu Ran sat on the ice for just a second before getting up and continuing her warm-up.

Qin Liubei let out a relieved sigh. “That almost scared me to death.”

When Fu Yiqing didn’t respond for a while, Qin Liubei glanced at him, only to find Fu Yiqing’s brow deeply furrowed, his expression filled with anxiety and confusion.

“Hey, Fu? She’s fine.”

Fu Yiqing glanced at Qin Liubei, his eyes complex and hard to read.

Qin Liubei smiled helplessly. “You’re just worried. Look at her—she’s doing fine.”

Fu Yiqing murmured a vague response, his expression shadowed, lost in thought.

Six minutes passed, and Lucchesse and Yukiko Nakayama skated off the ice, leaving Shu Ran alone.

The announcer began, “Shu Ran... performing Bach’s ‘Air on the G String.’”

Shu Ran glided to the center of the rink, finished her movements, and waited for the music to begin.

The music, cold and unattainable yet tinged with a unique rebelliousness, poured over every corner of the rink; graceful movements danced with the melody.

Shu Ran endured.

During the six-minute warm-up, her fall had seemed minor; she had thought the pain would pass quickly, as was often the case after a tumble. But it was clear now that things were not so simple.

Her right foot began to ache faintly.

She couldn’t help but worry about her upcoming jumps.

A fraction of a second later, Shu Ran realized this was the competition—her last chance.

Perhaps Bach played this piece with such emotion, only he knew he was forcing himself, but his pride would not allow him to show weakness.

She wanted to display her most beautiful side to the camera, to present her most brilliant performance to the audience.

Shu Ran steeled herself, biting her lip as she continued with the choreographed steps.

She jumped with all her strength.

A bit unstable, but the rotations were enough; she shouldn’t lose points.

Shu Ran had arranged most of her jumps in the latter half of her program: two solo jumps, a combination, and a sandwich jump, including her signature triple Axel.

Only two solo jumps appeared in the first half.

But her right foot’s pain grew increasingly clear, sweat beading on her brow.

She had to focus on both her performance and her physical condition.

Caught between these demands, she attempted another triple loop.

Landing on the right back outside edge, her old injury flared up.

Unable to bear it, Shu Ran frowned, her foot slipped, and she crashed hard to the ice.

The arena erupted in commotion.

Qin Liubei’s smile vanished, his pupils contracting as Fu Yiqing seemed ready to rush onto the ice.

In a heartbeat, Shu Ran had already risen and resumed her performance.

She showed no panic, though the sweat on her forehead was striking.

Shu Ran was certain her injury had returned, but she couldn’t stop—not yet, not for another three minutes.

Three minutes suddenly felt interminably long.

Pain flooded her tear ducts, but she held back the tears, immersing herself in the music.

The more it hurt, the harder it was to enjoy the performance.

She was unwilling to give up!

If she lost this competition, as she grew older, she would never again have a chance to compete in the Olympics.

So even if she couldn’t participate next year, she was determined to earn her Olympic spot in this qualifying event.

Lost in thought, a voice echoed in her mind.

“This competition is just a way to account for your fourteen years of training.”

The figure before her grew clearer.

It was Fu Yiqing—his reply to her three days ago.

This was a fourteen-year journey. Three years ago, she couldn’t see any hope, but today, finally, she saw the finish line. How could she fall just before the end?

Even if she had to crawl, she would crawl to the finish!

Shu Ran twisted her body, swung her arms, and, following the music, raised her right leg vertically above her head, gliding on one foot across the ice.

Her footwork shifted unpredictably.

Each movement was enough to make her cry out, but she carried on as if nothing were wrong, seamlessly moving to the next step.

The first half ended; all moves in the program’s second half could earn a 10% bonus.

Shu Ran broke free.

Her first triple Axel—she fell.

But she quickly followed with a triple toe loop.

This landing was shaky, but fortunately, she managed to balance.

Yet the previous fall was not the end, but the start.

She fell again and again; the audience watched with both sympathy and a new kind of admiration.

If her tumble at the last World Championships had failed to evoke a sense of beauty, today her falls seemed to fuse perfectly with the music—or perhaps her artistry had reached new heights.

Each time she fell, she immediately rose and threw herself back into the performance.

Her expression remained proud, like Bach himself, filled with love and attachment for the rink.

Yes, attachment.

The audience sensed her resolve, though the precise emotion was hard to name.

As the four-and-a-half minutes drew to a close, Shu Ran rose from a sit spin to change into a Biellmann spin, then skated to the center, her toe picks scattering a spray of ice as she spun low, hugging herself tightly.

The free skate finally ended.

An unexpected silence fell over the rink, holding for a half-second, before someone began to clap.

The applause spread like a tide, sweeping across every corner.

It was an extraordinary performance.

Ordinary people might understand how difficult an athlete’s journey is, but rarely empathize—yet at that moment, everyone’s emotions resonated.

She was not merely performing a routine; she was enacting her own figure skating career.

Shu Ran lifted her head from her arms. The smile from her performance vanished instantly, and she turned away from the camera as tears streamed down her face.

Every audience member was moved.

Thunderous cheers erupted, and everyone called out her name—Shu Ran.

At that moment, Shu Ran finally understood why Lorraine had poured everything into her performance.

She remembered Lorraine’s tears at the end of her routine, and could now truly empathize.

Perhaps this is what awaits athletes: knowing their future selves might be broken, they still press forward with all their strength.

Shu Ran did not participate in the exhibition skate on the third day; after her old injury flared up, she immediately returned home.

Her qualifying performance deeply moved the audience, the judges, and even brought tears to the eyes of professional athletes.

In this free skate, Shu Ran’s artistry, in a certain sense, broke the world record for women’s singles, but since there is no official Olympic record for individual components, only insiders recognized this achievement.

Despite her artistry earning nearly perfect marks, Shu Ran’s repeated falls meant her technical score was among the lowest, so her overall free skate score was not high.

But thanks to her strong showing in the short program the previous day, Shu Ran ranked seventh among the thirty-three athletes overall.

Since the top two could not claim Olympic spots, Shu Ran secured the fifth qualifying place, winning an Olympic berth for her country in the women’s singles.

In those days, Shu Ran’s free skate video was shared over thirty thousand times, with more than one hundred million views.

Everyone who watched was genuinely moved to tears.

On social media, the hashtag #HeartacheForShuRan trended.

At the same time, news broke that Shu Ran’s injury was serious.

No one knew what was true.

Some commented that Shu Ran’s performance in the qualifying event had clearly declined, indicating her injury hadn’t healed. If she only managed seventh place now, what would happen at the Olympics in five months?

So the online community split into two camps:

One group, the conservatives, worried about the women’s singles at next February’s Olympics, believing that since Shu Ran’s injury hadn’t healed, the national team should give the lone spot to another athlete.

The other group, the philosophical ones, argued that the national team’s best result in women’s singles was merely reaching the free skate, so as long as Shu Ran competed, she would bring honor to the team.

Unexpectedly, the heated online debate prompted a response from the person herself.

@ShuRanIce: “There is no ‘doing one’s best,’ only giving everything.”