Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

An airplane tire struck the runway.

A vibration spread from the landing gear throughout the fuselage, a muffled thud came from the overhead bins, and the overhead luggage racks swayed slightly. Gu Xidong opened his eyes.

Outside the porthole, Beijing unfolded in the morning mist.

The sky was gray and white, the buildings were gray and white, and the helipad was gray and white.

An Air China 747 was taxiing in the distance, the red phoenix on its tail fin diluted to light pink by the mist.

His left knee was stiff.

The ten-hour flight caused swelling in the old injury, and the knee bend angle was 15 degrees less than normal.

He pressed his right hand against his left thigh, slowly straightened his leg, and pressed his Achilles tendon against the front seat rail.

Ling Wuwen was still asleep.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her breathing steady.

The down jacket was zipped up all the way, the collar covering the lower half of his face, revealing only his tightly closed eyes.

The eyelids were thin, revealing pale blue blood vessels beneath the skin. The eyelashes cast fine shadows in the dim cabin lights.

He remained still in that position.

Three minutes later, the flight attendant announced over the intercom: "The aircraft is taxiing. Please keep your seatbelts fastened."

Ling Wuwen opened his eyes.

She didn't say anything.

I glanced at the airport buildings outside the window, sat up straight, and pulled the zipper of my down jacket down an inch.

The movement of her left shoulder aggravated the wound, causing her brow to furrow briefly before relaxing.

She took her phone out of the seat pocket.

Turn on.

The screen lit up, and the message notification sounded continuously for thirty seconds.

473 missed calls. Over 2,000 unread WeChat messages.

She put her phone back in her pocket.

"We've arrived," she said.

"Um."

The plane taxied into the jet bridge.

The brakes made a sharp sound, and the engine jerked slightly. The seatbelt indicator light went out.

The passenger in the front row stood up and opened the luggage compartment to retrieve their bag.

A man's backpack strap grazed Gu Xidong's forehead, but he didn't flinch. The man turned around and apologized, and Gu Xidong nodded.

The business class aisle is blocked.

Everyone was waiting; no one went back to their original seats.

Gu Xidong stood up, holding onto the handrail.

As his left knee bore the weight, he gripped the back of the seat in front of him to steady himself. Ling Wuwen was behind him, his hand resting on his lower back.

It's very light. Only your fingertips touch the surface of the down jacket.

one second.

She withdrew her hand.

2

At the end of the covered bridge, the glass door slides open automatically.

A heat wave swept in.

The indoor heating in Beijing at the end of October was dry, stuffy, and mixed with the smell of disinfectant.

The air conditioner vent was directly facing the exit of the corridor bridge, and the wind blew Ling Wuwen's stray hairs onto his face.

She raised her hand and tucked it behind her ear.

The first checkpoint is the border defense.

Long queues formed in front of the self-service lanes.

They went through the diplomatic protocol lane, their passports were scanned, their faces were recognized, and the gate opened. The whole process took forty-seven seconds.

The second checkpoint is baggage claim.

The turntable hasn't started spinning yet.

Passengers gathered around, staring at the baggage claim area.

Someone recognized them. A young man raised his phone to take a picture; the flash was on, and the white light exploded in their faces.

Gu Xidong did not dodge.

Ling Wuwen turned his head to the side, presenting the back of his head to the camera.

The third checkpoint is customs.

There were more than a dozen people queuing at the application channel.

They had no checked luggage, only carry their own bags, and went through the no-declaration channel.

The customs officer glanced at the passports, looked up at them, then looked down at the passports again.

"Gu Xidong?" he asked.

"Yes."

The official paused for three seconds. He handed the passport back.

"Welcome back home."

Gu Xidong took the passport.

Behind the official, the glass doors of the arrival hall were ajar.

Through the crack in the door, you could see a dense crowd of people outside, holding up their phones, light boards, and flowers.

There were also people carrying video cameras, setting up telephoto lenses, and holding voice recorders.

The sound squeezed in through the crack in the door.

Stifling, chaotic, like ocean waves crashing on the shore in the distance.

3

The glass door was pushed open.

The sound exploded.

"Gu Xidong—look this way—"

"Ling Wuwen—may I ask about your brother—"

"Now that the truth is out, what do you want to say?"

What are your plans after retirement?

"What's your relationship with me—"

The flashes went off in a continuous barrage. Not one after another, but a constant stream of white light. Every face flickered in and out of focus, their features fragmented.

Gu Xidong stood still.

His gaze swept over the crowd, over the raised phones, over everyone who called his name, and landed at the end of the arrival hall.

There were three people standing there.

The one in the middle is wearing a dark suit, no tie, and his hands are behind his back.

Two young men stood two steps behind him, wearing the same suits, standing in the same posture, and with the same expressionless faces.

Deputy Director of the General Administration of Sport.

Wang Jianguo.

They stared at each other from thirty meters away.

The crowd surged among them. No one noticed the three people.

All the cameras were pointed at Gu Xidong.

Gu Xidong walked forward.

The crowd automatically parted to make way for a narrow path.

It was so narrow that he could only squeeze through sideways. The phone came out from both sides, almost touching his face.

He saw his own face on the screen, which looked unfamiliar after being smoothed by filters.

Thirty meters.

Twenty meters.

ten meters.

Wang Jianguo didn't move. He waited for Gu Xidong to walk up to him before extending his right hand.

shake hands.

Dry, strong hands, lasting 1.5 seconds. Release.

"Rest first."

Wang Jianguo's voice was low, almost inaudible in the noise. He took half a step closer, his voice barely audible to Gu Xidong.

"The investigation will take time."

He stepped back.

Turn around.

Two young men followed.

Three people walked through the crowd toward the employee entrance. No one stopped them, no one recognized them. The door closed behind them.

Gu Xidong stood still.

Ling Wuwen walked to his side.

"What did he say?"

"The investigation will take time."

She didn't ask any more questions.

The crowd gathered again.

Someone held a microphone in front of her face, and she turned her head away. The microphone followed, and she turned her head away again. The third time, she raised her hand to block it.

The microphone slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

The person picking up the microphone was a young female reporter. She squatted down, looked up, and met Ling Wuwen's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ling Wuwen said.

The female reporter shook her head. She stood up and put the microphone back in her bag.

"fine."

4

It took 47 minutes to walk from the arrival hall to the parking lot.

Normal walking time: six minutes.

They were stopped seventeen times. Signatures, photos, more signatures and photos, say one sentence, then another, then nothing more.

Security guards came over to help clear the way, but they were also stopped from signing the papers.

The parking lot is on the underground level.

The elevator doors opened, revealing two middle-aged women inside. They froze when they saw Gu Xidong. As the elevator doors were about to close, one of the women reached out to stop them.

"Are you Gu Xidong?"

"Yes."

The woman turned to look at her companion. Her companion pulled a notebook from her bag, flipping to a blank page. There was no pen. She checked her bag—nothing. She checked another bag—nothing there either.

She looked up.

"Can we take a photo together?"

Gu Xidong stepped into the elevator. Ling Wuwen followed. The elevator doors closed. Two women stood in the corner, holding up their phones and taking three pictures of them.

We've arrived at the basement level.

The door opened.

Gu Xidong walked out.

Just before the elevator doors closed behind him, he heard the woman's voice: "He's thinner in person than on TV."

5

The parking lot lights were a stark white.

There is a lamp every three pillars; the lamp tubes are old and emit a slight hum.

There was standing water on the ground, which seeped out from under the chassis of a car and flowed down the slope into the drainage ditch.

Their car was parked at number 47 in section C.

The silver minivan was rented.

The driver was leaning against the car door smoking. When he saw them, he stubbed out his cigarette under his foot and rubbed it twice with the sole of his shoe.

He opened the car door.

Gu Xidong glanced back before getting into the car.

The parking lot was empty. Only a few cars were parked there.

A person in a security guard uniform stood at a distance, holding a walkie-talkie, looking this way.

He got into the car.

The car door slid shut.

The driver started the engine, drove the car out of the parking space, and slowed down as he passed the security guard.

The security guard took a step back, his eyes following the car window.

The window tint was too thick; he couldn't see anything.

The car drove up the exit ramp.

The slope was very steep, the engine speed increased, and the sound was amplified in the enclosed space.

The front of the car lifted up, the front wheels went over the speed bump, and the car shook.

At the end of the ramp, there is a toll gate.

The driver hands in the parking card. The machine scans it, and the barrier lifts. The car exits the underground and enters the surface.

The sunlight was blinding.

It wasn't real sunlight; it was the grayish-white light scattered by smog.

The brightness was enough to make you squint, but there was no warmth.

Gu Xidong narrowed his eyes.

Ling Wuwen leaned back in his seat.

Outside the window, the airport expressway was packed with traffic.

A black Audi overtook them from the right and merged into front of them. The driver braked and slowed down.

The Audi's taillights flashed briefly before disappearing into the traffic.

She looked out the window.

"Where is your home?" she asked.

Gu Xidong did not answer.

He looked in the rearview mirror.

In the mirror, the airport terminal looks smaller and smaller.

The curved roof of Terminal 3 was blurred into a hazy outline by the smog, like a pencil sketch erased.

6

My home is located on the East Third Ring Road.

It's an old residential complex built in the late 1990s. The exterior walls have been repainted, but the security doors downstairs are rusty.

The access control system has been broken for six months. The property management said they would fix it, but they haven't.

The car was parked at the entrance of the building.

Gu Xidong got out of the car, and stumbled the moment his left knee hit the ground. He grabbed the car door to steady himself.

Ling Wuwen got off the car from the other side.

She looked up at the building.

Six floors, no elevator.

The exterior walls are painted gray, and rainwater seeps from the drainpipes, leaving dark stains on the surface. The first-floor windows have security bars, and rust starts to spread from the weld points.

She looked away.

Gu Xidong had already entered the building. She followed.

The stairs are narrow. Two people walking side by side will bump shoulders.

The handrails were made of iron, the paint peeling off to reveal the rust underneath. At each corner were piles of clutter: cardboard boxes, old bicycles, and a dusty baby stroller.

Fourth floor.

Gu Xidong stopped.

The door was a security door, dark green, and the peephole was covered. He took out his key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and turned it twice.

The door opened.

Inside is an old house of fifty square meters.

The living room is 10 square meters, the bedroom is 8 square meters, the kitchen is 4 square meters, and the bathroom is 2 square meters. The furniture was bought 20 years ago; the sofa springs are broken, and sitting on it leaves a dent.

He stood at the door.

"I rented it three years ago," he said. "I haven't moved it."

Ling Wuwen went inside.

She walked around the sofa and went to the window.

The window faces the street; it's on the sixth floor, and you can see the rooftops of the buildings across the street. A bread truck is parked downstairs, with a satellite dish mounted on its roof.

She saw the camera.

A telephoto lens, black, extends from the side window of the bread truck, aimed at this window.

She drew the curtains.

The curtains were light blue, faded from washing, and the edges were frayed.

Sunlight filtered through the fabric, creating a blurred halo that fell on her face.

"There are reporters outside," she said.

Gu Xidong sat on the sofa. The sofa sank in, and he leaned back slightly.

Extend your left leg straight, with your heel against the coffee table leg.

"Twenty-four hours," he said.

She turned around.

Are you used to it?

He looked at her.

"I'm not used to it."

She sat down next to him. The sofa was too small; it would be cramped for two people to sit together. Her shoulder was pressed against his arm, and she could feel his body heat through his down jacket.

A pigeon landed on the opposite rooftop. It took two steps on the clothes rack, then flew away.

Ling Wuwen leaned back on the sofa.

"The first phase is over," she said.

"Um."

"What is the second stage?"

He stared at the ceiling.

There were water stains on the ceiling, and yellow stains spread from the corner to the center, resembling an island on a map.

"I don't know," he said.

7

8 PM.

The van downstairs has been replaced with a white Jinbei van.

The reporter shift changed; the new one was a young man wearing a military overcoat, sitting in the driver's seat playing on his phone. The light from the phone screen created a square bright spot on his face.

The living room lights were off.

Gu Xidong sat in the darkness, looking out the window. The curtains were drawn open a crack, so narrow that only one eye could peek through.

Ling Wuwen came out of the bathroom.

She washed her face; her hair was wet, and water droplets clung to her temples. She walked to the window, stood next to him, and looked outside as well.

Inside the van, the young reporter put down his phone and lit a cigarette. The cigarette butt flickered on and off in the darkness.

"He's cold," Ling Wuwen said.

Gu Xidong drew the curtains.

They returned to the sofa.

There were two bowls of instant noodles on the coffee table.

Braised beef flavor, served in a bucket. The hot water was boiled ten minutes ago, and the noodles were already softened.

Ling Wuwen lifted the lid.

Steam rose up, carrying the aroma of meat seasoned with artificial flavoring. She stirred it with a plastic fork, picked up a strand of noodles, blew on it to cool it, and put it in her mouth.

Gu Xidong didn't move.

He stared at the bowl of noodles. A layer of oil floated on the surface of the soup, the oil film reflecting the yellow light from the water seepage marks on the ceiling.

"Three years ago," he said, "I ate this after every game."

Ling Wuwen swallowed the noodles.

"Is it tasty?"

"It doesn't taste good."

She continued eating.

He picked up his bowl.

He picked up a noodle with his fork and put it in his mouth. The noodles were soft, the soup was salty, and the dehydrated vegetables tasted like paper. He swallowed.

The phone rang.

Unknown number.

He answered the call.

"Mr. Gu Xidong?"

"Yes."

"I'm a reporter from Xinhua News Agency. I'd like to schedule an interview about your retirement and your exposé of inside stories. Would that be convenient for you?"

He paused for two seconds.

"inconvenient."

hang up.

The phone rang again. Another number.

He turned off his phone.

Ling Wuwen put down his fork.

"Will it always be like this?" she asked.

He stared at the screen that had gone dark.

"have no idea."

Outside the window, the young reporter in the Jinbei van lit another cigarette. The embers flickered in the darkness.

It resembles some kind of signal.

No one received it.