Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

Ling Wuwen sat in the command room of the medical ship. On the fourth day after the operation, she ignored the bleeding from her wound and Dr. Schmidt's advice and stared intently at the screen.

Gu Xidong has already infiltrated the "Golden Bird Flower," and what she is most worried about is the abandoned ice rink.

Of the three screens, the left screen displays thermal imaging of the gambling ship, the middle screen shows security for the medical ship, and the right screen is completely black with the red text "Signal Interrupted" flashing.

Three days ago, she left four miniature cameras and sensors here, but now they are all out of service.

Schmidt believed it was a device malfunction, but Ling Wuwen shook her head. She pulled up the last frame before the interruption:

At 4:52 p.m. yesterday, a blurry figure flashed past the east entrance of the ice rink. She recognized the pair of work shoes covered in oil stains and with a triangular patch on the right forefoot—it was Lao Zhao.

"What's he going back for?" Schmidt asked, puzzled.

"I don't know, but it's definitely not a good thing." Ling Wuwen entered the coordinates and brought up the latest satellite image. She turned the contrast to maximum and pointed to the ice rink roof: "The temperature is 0.8 degrees higher than the surrounding area."

"The lingering warmth of the evening?"

"Impossible." Ling Wuwen switched to thermal imaging mode, and the center of the roof clearly showed 31.2℃.

"This is heat conduction from an internal source. Something is burning inside the ice rink."

She immediately called Gu Xidong, but there was only static noise in the communicator.

Just then, the right screen suddenly lit up, not with the monitoring resuming, but with three glaring red alert pop-ups:

[Motion sensor triggered - Coordinates A-3 (main entrance of the ice rink)]

[Temperature sensor malfunction - Coordinate B-2 (ice rink interior) - Current temperature: 127℃ and continuing to rise]

[Air quality sensor malfunction - Carbon monoxide concentration: 780 ppm (lethal concentration)]

Ling Wuwen lunged at the control panel, her abdominal wound throbbing with excruciating pain, but she ignored it all and immediately activated the backup remote camera hidden on a high-voltage power tower 300 meters away.

The thermal imaging image popped up, and the entire ice rink building turned into a blinding bright white on the screen.

The temperature readings jumped wildly: 150℃, 180℃, 210℃... The building's outline began to distort, and the first flames burst forth from the broken windows on the east side.

2

"Wuwen? What happened?" Gu Xidong's low voice came through the communicator, with the indistinct sounds of clinking glasses and piano music in the background.

Ling Wuwen stared intently at the screen, watching the flames leap out of the window and the thick smoke billowing from the roof vents.

The ice rink, the culmination of three years of hard work by Gu Xidong and all their sweat, struggles, and memories, is now burning brightly.

"The ice rink... has been set on fire." Her voice was hoarse.

There was silence on the other end of the communicator.

"You can't get distracted right now," Ling Wuwen forced himself to calm down.

"You're on the gambling ship, your mission is more important. The ice rink... it's beyond saving."

Before the words were even finished, a muffled, loud bang came from the screen. The center of the ice rink roof collapsed with a roar, flames shot into the sky, mixed with sparks from exploding oxygen cylinders or batteries.

The thermal imaging temperature instantly soared to over 400°C, causing the image to become overexposed and appear completely white.

Three years ago, she returned from Germany and personally cleared away the rubble, repaired the refrigeration unit, and re-poured the ice surface. Here, she installed a holographic projection and watched the green and purple light ribbons flow overhead.

Over the course of three years, she watched Gu Xidong transform from a hopeless drunkard into someone who could stand firm again, glide back on his feet, and become a warrior once more.

The container of all memories is now turning to ashes in the fire.

"Who did this?" Gu Xidong's voice was filled with suppressed anger.

"I don't know." Ling Wuwen retrieved the satellite records.

"Eighteen minutes before the fire, a Dongfeng heavy truck with its license plate obscured drove in. Two people got out of the truck. Judging from their build and gait, one was Lao Zhao, and the other had a slight limp in his right leg. He was probably one of the six people who chased us at the dock."

Are they still at the scene?

"The truck has left, but a black sedan with its lights off and engine still running is parked outside the west wall."

Ling Wuwen stared at the screen. "They're waiting for confirmation, waiting for the evidence to be destroyed."

She had a thought: call the police. But that would reveal that she was still alive and expose the hospital ship's coordinates. Not worth it.

3

The fire grew larger and larger, and the main structure of the ice rink began to collapse.

Ling Wuwen stared at the black sedan.

Thermal imaging showed two people sitting in the car, with the passenger occasionally glancing at his watch or walkie-talkie.

What are they waiting for? The fire department? No, they're enjoying the destruction.

Just then, the car door opened.

The man in the passenger seat got out. He wore a dark gray trench coat and a baseball cap, the brim pulled low.

He leisurely admired the distant fire from behind the barbed wire fence.

Ling Wuwen immediately zoomed in on the image. The camera resolution was insufficient to clearly see faces, but she noticed a detail:

As the man raised his left hand to check his watch, a thin, horizontal scar gleamed faintly in the night at the junction of his hand and wrist.

Her brain frantically searched for memories.

Three years ago, in the backstage corridor.

As Ling Wufeng grabbed her wrist and spoke, a man in a referee's suit hurried past.

He raised his hand to straighten his tie, revealing a scar on the back of his hand.

It looks like a surgical scalpel mark.

"Zhou Wentao," Ling Wuwen said in a low voice.

"Are you sure?" Gu Xidong's breath hitched.

"The scar on the back of my hand." Ling Wuwen stared intently at the screen.

"I saw him three years ago. That's a spot reserved for people who use scalpels extensively. He went to medical school."

In the footage, Zhou Wentao observes the fire for a few minutes before taking out his phone to make a call.

Ling Wuwen started audio recording, but the distance was too far, and he could only capture fragmented sentences:

"...It's all cleaned up..."

"...Make sure there are no backups..."

"...Keep an eye on Nightingale..."

"...Gu Xidong is on the ship...as planned..."

The call lasted less than a minute. Zhou Wentao hung up and turned to get back to his car.

But he suddenly stopped, looked up, and looked in the direction of the camera—or more precisely, in the direction of the high-voltage power tower.

Then, he made a gesture.

He raised his right hand, making the shape of a "gun," with his index finger pointing towards the top of the tower, and his lips moved silently.

Ling Wuwen understood the lip reading.

"Bang."

He's provoking us.

He knew someone was watching, knew the ice rink had surveillance cameras. This fire wasn't just about destroying evidence, it was also a message:

I see you.

I know where you are.

You're next.

Zhou Wentao smiled, turned around and got into the car. The black sedan started and drove into the night.

4

The command center was deathly silent, save for the low hum of the server fans and the crackling sounds of the last embers of the fire coming from the audio sensors.

Ling Wuwen sat in his wheelchair, staring at the empty road scene.

The throbbing pain in her abdominal wound reminded her that this body was borrowed and that her time was running out.

Dr. Schmidt pushed open the door, holding a newly printed copy of satellite data: "The fire department will be here in twelve minutes, but the ice rink... is gone."

"I know." Ling Wuwen didn't even look at the report.

"Zhou Wentao's gesture was aimed at you," the doctor said seriously. "He knows you're still alive, knows Gu Xidong is still alive, and knows you're fighting back. This means the safe house has been exposed. The location of the medical ship... they'll find it in three days at most."

"So we have to move," Dr. Schmidt said.

"We've arranged for a private hospital in Germany. You'll need at least two months to recover; you can't—"

"No," Ling Wuwen interrupted him.

"No questions asked—"

"Gu Xidong is still on the gambling ship." She looked up, her eyes like two burning embers in the cold light of the screen.

"His mission is not yet complete. If we move now, he will have no backup and no escape route."

"He shouldn't have gone in the first place!" Schmidt raised his voice for the first time. "The success rate was less than thirty percent! You forced him to go!"

"He chose it himself," Ling Wuwen said calmly.

"I gave him a choice. He could either continue to rot in the ruins, or he could rise up and seek revenge. He chose the latter."

"And then you send him into even more dangerous ruins! Wuwen, look at yourself! This life was given to you by your sister! Don't you cherish it?"

Ling Wuwen fell silent.

She looked down at the IV needle on the back of her hand, watching the blood of another person flowing beneath her skin.

"Doctor," she began slowly.

"Three years ago, you told me that there was only a five percent chance of survival. I asked you what I could do if I survived. You said that maybe I could try to walk again and live like a normal person."

She looked up at the doctor.

"But I'm asking you, can I go back to skating?"

Dr. Schmidt avoided her gaze.

"You didn't answer," Ling Wuwen continued.

"Because you know the answer. This body will never return to the ice. Ligament strength is 60%, cardiopulmonary function is 70%, and nerve reaction time is 15%. I can't do a quadruple jump anymore."

Her fingers gripped the armrests of the wheelchair tightly.

"So, if I can't skate, what's the point of me living?"

"For revenge," the doctor said in a low voice.

"Yes." Ling Wuwen nodded.

"To drag those who took everything from me into hell, I'm willing to become a monster."

She looked at the ice rink, now a ruin, on the screen.

"But now, they've burned my battlefield."

"They thought that would be enough to win."

"They are wrong."

She pushed her wheelchair to the control panel and entered a new set of coordinates.

The screen switched, and instead of showing the fire scene, it displayed a 3D structural diagram of a building's basement.

"Where is this?"

"The National Sports Center Figure Skating Rink." Ling Wuwen pointed to a corner of the basement.

"The equipment room contains the main circuit control panel, the lighting control system backend, and a paper backup."

"What backup?"

"All the equipment operation logs from that competition three years ago." Ling Wuwen's eyes shone frighteningly bright in the screen light.

"The electronic version was deleted, but the old engineer who maintained it had a habit of printing out paper copies. He retired last year, and the safe's combination is very likely his granddaughter's birthday."

How did you know it was his granddaughter's birthday?

"I've been investigating him for three years." Ling Wuwen pulled up the personnel file. "His granddaughter is seven years old this year, her birthday is May 12th. The password is most likely 0512."

Which journal are you going to pick up?

"No," Ling Wuwen shook his head, "I want Gu Xidong to get it."

"He's on a gambling ship now!"

"The gambling ship mission will end in two hours at most." Ling Wuwen pulled up the timetable.

"Whether he succeeds or fails, he will withdraw according to plan. Both rendezvous points are no more than 15 kilometers from the sports center. He can pick them up along the way."

"That's too risky! The sports center definitely has surveillance cameras; Zhou Wentao just committed arson, they'll definitely be on high alert!"

"So we need to be quick," Ling Wuwen said.

"We need to create a time gap before they realize what's happening."

She turned on her communicator.

"Gu Xidong, can you hear me?"

After a brief static noise, Gu Xidong's voice came through: "Yes. I'm in the corridor outside the banquet hall; I can hide for at most three more minutes."

"Listen, the plan has changed." Ling Wuwen spoke rapidly.

"Abandon your original in-depth mission. Your new objective: Obtain the sign-in sheet for the 'Heart of the Abyss' gathering, located at the entrance reception desk. Once you have it, leave immediately and do not attempt to obtain any other evidence."

Why?

"The ice rink was burned down, and Zhou Wentao knows we're retaliating. Security on the gambling ship may have been upgraded; every second you stay increases the danger."

Ling Wuwen paused, then said, "Moreover, we need you to do something else."

"What is it?"

Ling Wuwen sent over the coordinates of the equipment room in the sports center and the safe's password.

"The lighting control log from that game three years ago, a paper copy. I need you to get it."

There was silence on the other end of the communicator.

A few seconds later, Gu Xidong's voice was filled with disbelief: "You want me to go to the sports center now? Right after Zhou Wentao set the fire?"

"It's precisely because he dared to commit arson," Ling Wuwen said.

"He's probably dealing with the aftermath now, or waiting for news about the gambling ship; this is when his guard is at its lowest. And—"

She looked at the still-burning fire on the screen.

"He burned our past."

"We'll dig into his past."

Gu Xidong's deep breathing could be heard through the communicator.

"Okay," he said. "Sign in, then leave, then head to the sports center."

"Be careful," Ling Wuwen whispered.

"You too." Gu Xidong paused, "The ice rink...and the equipment..."

"It's not important anymore," Ling Wuwen interrupted him.

"We can buy more equipment, and we can pour more ice. As long as we're still here, we can keep dancing."

Footsteps and voices came through the communicator—someone was coming.

"I have to hang up now," Gu Xidong said. "Contact me in two hours."

Communication is interrupted.

Ling Wuwen leaned back in his wheelchair and closed his eyes.

The command room fell silent again, with only the low hum of the server fans and the faint crackling of the fire burning in the distance.

Dr. Schmidt came over and covered her legs with a blanket.

"You need to rest now."

"I know." Ling Wuwen opened his eyes and looked at the ice rink reduced to ruins on the screen.

"But when I close my eyes, I see that fire."

"That's in the past. Let it burn."

"No," Ling Wuwen shook his head, "That's not the past."

She pointed to the ruins on the screen.

"That's fuel."

"Fuel for hatred."

"Now, the fire is burning even brighter."

Outside the window, the night was deep.

On the sea, the lights of the gambling ships still shone brightly.

On land, the ashes of the ice rink are cooling.

This revenge, which began three years ago, has only just begun to truly ignite.