Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

At 4:17 p.m., the ice rink lights went out for the third time.

It's not a malfunction.

It was a random interference program set up by Ling Wuwen—every six to ten minutes, all the lights would go out for three seconds to simulate extreme situations that might be encountered during the competition.

She calls it "interference tolerance training".

Gu Xidong had become accustomed to spinning in the dark.

But this time is different.

This time, he was going to catch someone.

"Twist twice, get ready." Ling Wuwen's voice rang out over the ice rink's loudspeaker, as calm as a surgeon in an operating room.

The two skated to the center of the ice rink, five meters apart.

Gu Xidong slightly bent his knees, lowered his center of gravity, and opened his arms to prepare to receive the person.

His left knee was still throbbing—a result of overexertion during yesterday's extra training, but he didn't say anything. Ling Wuwen had painkillers in his first-aid kit, but he didn't touch any of them.

He needs pain.

The body needs to remember this state of being on the verge of its limit.

"Three, two, one—"

Ling Wuwen sprang into action.

Her acceleration was astonishing; her ice skates left two straight white streaks on the ice, like the trajectories of bullets.

When she was still two meters away from Gu Xidong, she suddenly jumped up from the ice!

The body spins in the air.

A week.

Two weeks.

His posture was perfect, like a textbook model—legs together, toes pointed, arms tucked in front of his chest to reduce wind resistance.

This is a move she practiced for three years on "Ling Wufeng" ice skates, a move so deeply ingrained in her muscle memory.

Gu Xidong's eyes were fixed on the axis of her rotation.

Calculate the landing point.

Predict the trajectory.

Then--

His left leg suddenly spasmed.

It's not a mild cramp.

It was that kind of excruciating, tearing pain that seemed to explode deep within the quadriceps.

The pain instantly disrupted his balance, and his body tilted uncontrollably to the left by fifteen degrees.

Fifteen degrees.

On a fast-moving ice surface, everything could get out of control.

Ling Wuwen's body was falling at a speed of four meters per second.

According to the training plan, she should land right in the center of Gu Xidong's outstretched arms, have her weight caught by him, and then slide smoothly out of the buffer arc.

But the moment she landed, Gu Xidong's body had already tilted to one side.

Her right shoulder slammed heavily into his left chest.

The dull thud of the impact exploded in the air above the ice rink.

Gu Xidong felt as if the air in his chest had been squeezed out in an instant, and everything went black before his eyes.

But he didn't let go—instead, he used all his strength to tightly grip Ling Wuwen's downward trend with his arms, while using his waist to twist himself half a turn.

Face the ice with your back.

He held her protectively to his chest.

Then--

boom! ! !

The two of them landed on top of each other and crashed heavily onto the ice.

2

Physics doesn't lie.

Ling Wuwen weighs 52 kilograms. When he falls from a height of 1.5 meters, the kinetic energy at the moment of impact is equivalent to a static weight of 450 kilograms.

Seventy percent of this power was transmitted to the ice surface through Gu Xidong's back, while the remaining thirty percent was absorbed by his muscles and bones.

The impact sounded dull, like a sandbag hitting the ground.

The ice shards exploded into a cloud of white mist.

Gu Xidong's head slammed hard against the ice, and in that instant he heard a crisp sound, like shattering glass—

I don't know if the ice cracked or my own skull. A burst of colorful snowflakes exploded in my vision, my eardrums were ringing, and the whole world seemed to be spinning, distorting, and fading.

But he was still awake.

His arms were still tightly wrapped around Ling Wuwen.

"Cough..." Ling Wuwen coughed violently against his chest, each cough accompanied by a painful tremor.

Her left wrist was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly sprained.

His right knee grazed the ice, tearing a large hole in his training pants and revealing bleeding skin underneath.

The most striking feature is her lips.

His lower lip was chipped in the center by his own teeth, leaving a half-centimeter-long gash. Fresh blood was gushing out, dripping onto Gu Xidong's training uniform and spreading into dark red patches.

"You..." Gu Xidong's voice was hoarse beyond recognition, "Are you... alright?"

As he spoke, he felt warm liquid flowing down the back of his head and into his collar.

It should be blood.

But it's okay.

He was more concerned about the person in his arms.

3

Ling Wuwen was still coughing, and with each cough, more blood gushed from the wound on his lips.

The drops of blood on her chin congealed into dark red beads before falling and hitting Gu Xidong's face.

Warm.

It has a fishy, ​​sweet taste.

Gu Xidong's brain had not fully recovered from the impact, but his body had already taken action.

He raised his right hand—the hand that had just been desperately protecting the back of her head, now covered in ice shards and his own blood—

With his fairly clean thumb pad, he gently wiped Ling Wuwen's lower lip.

The movements were very gentle.

It's like polishing a fragile piece of porcelain.

I ran my fingertip across the wound, removing some of the blood, but the wound was too deep, and the blood quickly gushed out again.

He wiped it once, twice, a third time...

Then he stopped.

Because Ling Wuwen stopped coughing.

She was looking at him.

Those eyes, which were always cold, wary, and unfathomable, were now staring intently at him with a look that Gu Xidong had never seen before.

There was pain, shock, and a kind of... near-collapse-like chaos in his eyes.

Her lips trembled slightly beneath his fingertips.

Warm breath, mixed with the smell of blood, sprayed onto his fingertips.

The ice rink lights then came back on.

A stark white light, like a stage spotlight, shone on the two of them.

Gu Xidong saw himself reflected in her eyes—

His face was pale, and blood was flowing from his forehead, but his eyes were filled with anxiety, like a fool's.

He saw her pupils contract, saw her swallow, saw her blood-stained, slightly parted lips…

then.

She kissed him.

4

That wasn't a gentle kiss.

It was a raw, painful collision, tinged with blood, pain, and chaotic emotions.

Ling Wuwen suddenly raised his chin and his lips slammed into Gu Xidong's lips.

Her teeth hit his lower lip, drawing blood as well.

Their blood mingled, and the metallic taste exploded in their mouths.

Gu Xidong froze.

His mind went completely blank.

The only thing I could feel was the warm, moist, rough texture of my wounds on my lips.

It was Ling Wuwen's trembling breath, her fingers gripping his collar tightly, and her tightly closed eyes with frantically trembling eyelashes.

The kiss was very short.

three seconds.

Maybe four seconds.

Then, as if suddenly burned, Ling Wuwen jerked his head back and pushed him away.

Her face was deathly pale under the light, her lips were swollen and red, and her wound had reopened, with blood flowing down her chin.

Her chest heaved violently, and her eyes were filled with panic, like those of a thief caught red-handed.

"This is just..." Her voice trembled violently.

"Adrenaline. When a person is seriously injured or near death, they will experience...this physiological urge. Don't overthink it."

She was explaining.

Using the most detached medical theories to explain the most chaotic emotional outbursts.

Gu Xidong lay on the ice, blood still flowing from the back of his head, his left leg still throbbing, and the warmth and taste of her blood still lingering on his lips.

He looked into her panicked eyes.

Watching her desperately trying to stay calm, yet unable to even control her breathing.

then.

He smiled.

It's not mockery.

It was a very light, faint smile, tinged with a sense of relief and bitterness.

"Hmm," he said, "adrenaline."

His calm voice made Ling Wuwen even more flustered.

5

For the next fifteen minutes, the two treated the wounds in silence.

Ling Wuwen took out iodine and bandages from the first aid kit and first disinfected the wound on the back of Gu Xidong's head—the wound was not deep, but it was long and required three stitches.

Her movements were very professional, but her fingers were trembling slightly.

Gu Xidong sat cross-legged on the ice, letting her do as she pleased.

His gaze remained fixed on her face.

Looking at her lowered eyelashes, her tightly pursed lips, the bleeding that had just stopped, and the cold sweat seeping from her forehead.

As he looked at her, he suddenly reached out and gently touched the swollen area on her left wrist with his fingertips.

"You sprained it?" he asked.

"Hmm." Ling Wuwen quickly withdrew his hand. "It's not serious."

"Let me see."

"Need not."

"I'm your partner," Gu Xidong insisted, "I need to know the extent of my partner's injuries."

Ling Wuwen was silent for two seconds, but finally reached out his hand.

Gu Xidong grasped her wrist—it was very thin, with distinct bones and clear blue veins under the skin.

The swelling was on the outside of his wrist joint and had turned purple. He pressed it gently, and Ling Wuwen's body visibly tensed up, but he didn't make a sound.

"A ligament sprain," Gu Xidong judged. "At least three days of rest."

"Training will proceed as usual tomorrow." Ling Wuwen withdrew his hand and began packing the first-aid kit.

"Ling Wuwen".

"What?"

Watching her busy figure, Gu Xidong said softly, "You should also get your lip wound treated. It's prone to infection."

Ling Wuwen stopped moving.

She didn't turn around, but Gu Xidong saw the tips of her ears turn red at a visible speed.

"I know," she said curtly.

After packing up their things, the two left the ice rink one after the other.

As he reached the door, Gu Xidong suddenly stopped.

Ling Wuwen also stopped, but did not turn around.

"Ling Wuwen," he called her again.

"...What's wrong now?"

Gu Xidong looked at her back, at the fair and slender back of her neck that was outside the collar of her training uniform, and at the scar whose location and shape were questionable and was covered by the high collar.

He remained silent for a few seconds.

Then, in a voice only the two of them could hear, whisper:

"Next time you can just kiss."

"No need to make excuses."

After saying that, he pushed open the door and stepped into the night.

Ling Wuwen was left alone, frozen at the entrance of the ice rink.

Her fingers gripped the handle of the first-aid kit tightly, her knuckles turning white.

6

It's 11 p.m.

The only usable shower room in the abandoned factory was filled with the sound of rushing water.

Ling Wuwen stood in front of the broken mirror, wearing only a bath towel.

Hot water poured over her head, washing away the makeup on her face and revealing her pale, tired face with swollen red lips.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

He stared at the scabbed but still clearly visible wound on his lower lip.

They touched each other lightly with their fingertips.

Tingling.

But even clearer than the stinging pain is the lingering memory of the touch—

The warmth of Gu Xidong's lips, the smell of sweat and blood on his skin, and his brief, stiff three seconds that left her mind completely blank.

"Ling Wuwen," she whispered to herself in the mirror, "you've lost control."

The sound echoed in the small shower room, carrying with it the steamy mist.

She closed her eyes.

The scene from the afternoon automatically replayed in my mind—

The force with which Gu Xidong pulled her into his arms at the moment of impact; the anxious look in his eyes as he checked her injuries despite blood flowing from the back of his head; the sensation that sent shivers down her spine when his fingertips brushed against her lips…

And that kiss.

That chaotic kiss, which she couldn't explain at all and could only attribute to "adrenaline."

What is she thinking?

She came for revenge.

They came to use Gu Xidong to find out the truth and then personally destroy those murderers.

Not here...

It's not about coming here to hate someone, to generate this absurd, dangerous, and potentially destructive idea—

"Bang!"

She punched the mirror.

The mirror wasn't broken; it had been broken long ago, just held together with tape. But the back of her hand was cut and bleeding.

The pain brought her to a slightly more awake state.

She looked down at the bleeding back of her hand, then at the wound on her lips in the mirror.

Two wounds.

One came from an impact.

A kiss from…

It's all because of the same person.

Ling Wuwen slowly slid down onto the wet ground, with hot water continuing to pour over his head.

She hugged her knees, buried her face in her arms, and her shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

It's not crying.

It was a deeper tremor, a mixture of fear, anger, self-loathing, and a kind of palpitation she dared not admit.

She knew that Gu Xidong suspected her.

She knew he was investigating the bloodstains, comparing the scars, and gradually getting closer to the truth of her desperately hidden identity.

She also knew that the kiss that afternoon had not only failed to dispel his doubts, but might have actually made him more certain of something.

But she couldn't control herself.

At that moment, seeing his bleeding eyes yet only concerned about her injuries, seeing the almost tender touch of his fingertips as he brushed her lips…

Her three years of pretense, three years of hatred, three years of meticulous scheming—

Everything collapsed.

Suddenly, soft footsteps came from outside the bathroom door.

Ling Wuwen suddenly looked up, his whole body tensing up.

But the footsteps paused at the door for a few seconds before fading away.

It should be Gu Xidong.

He didn't come in.

He didn't say anything.

He only lingered at the door for a moment before leaving.

Ling Wuwen sat in the water curtain, listening to the footsteps completely disappear.

Then she slowly stood up and turned off the tap.

The bathroom fell silent instantly.

The only sound was the dripping of water from her hair, hitting the ground.

tick.

tick.

It looks like a countdown.

She walked to the mirror, wiped away the water vapor with a towel, and looked at herself in the mirror again.

The wound on my lip is still there.

The wound on the back of my hand is also there.

But her eyes had regained their usual coldness.

"Ling Wuwen," she said, looking in the mirror, word by word, "this is the last time."

"Out of control again—"

"You really are nothing."

She pulled off the bath towel and began to put on her clothes.

The movements were quick and efficient.

Like a machine that has been wound up again.

But halfway through putting it on, her fingers accidentally touched the back of her neck—

They touched the scar that Gu Xidong had touched with his fingertips, the location and shape of which were still uncertain.

Her movements stopped.

A few seconds later, she slowly walked to the mirror, turned around, turned her back to the mirror, and then tilted her head, trying to see the reflection of the back of her neck in the mirror.

The scar was blurry in the mirror.

But she could sense it.

I could feel something deeper beneath that skin, slowly awakening.

It was something she had barely managed to suppress after three years, through countless medications and surgeries…

the truth.