Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

The red string attached to the grenade trembled slightly in the morning breeze.

Zheng Guoquan's fingers gripped the pull ring, his knuckles white. His face was like weathered rock, every wrinkle etched with determination.

Zhou Wentao stared at the military green grenade, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Two men in black behind him held guns, their fingers on the triggers.

"Coach Zheng," Zhou Wentao said in a very flat voice, "you've been playing the fool for so many years, just for this day?"

"For today." A sharp glint flashed in Zheng Guoquan's cloudy eyes.

"It's also for the day you forced me to retire three years ago. And even more so for the day you 'invited' me out of the army twenty years ago."

Gu Xidong's left knee was burning. It wasn't pain, but a throbbing sensation like something waking up from a foreign object.

"What's in the memory?" Zhou Wentao asked, looking at Gu Xidong's legs.

"Guess," Zheng Guoquan said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Ling Wufeng's last words. The video of Chen Guodong receiving money. The 'Black Swan' membership list, real names, positions, and transfer records. And..." His smile turned cold, "your son's school admission certificate and 'allowance' records in Switzerland."

Zhou Wentao's face turned pale instantly.

"You think you've hidden it well?" Zheng Guoquan chuckled.

"The head of security at that school in Switzerland was a soldier I once led."

The alley was deathly silent. The distant hustle and bustle of the morning market sounded like background noise from another world.

"What do you want?" Zhou Wentao asked hoarsely.

"Let Gu Xidong and Ling Wuwen go. Let them leave forever."

"And then you'll hand over the memory?"

"Once they are safe, the memory chip will be sent to the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection," Zheng Guoquan said. "I'm old, I've lived enough."

Zhou Wentao remained silent, his gaze shifting and calculating among the three people.

Gu Xidong looked at the coach's hunched back. This old man who had taught him to skate had been protecting him in the shadows all along.

Why should I believe you?

"You only need to choose. Let them go, or we'll die together."

Three more men in black appeared at the entrance of the alley, blocking their escape route.

"Coach Zheng," Gu Xidong suddenly spoke, "the memory chip is inside my leg, how do we retrieve it?"

"We'll do another surgery to remove it when we replace the stent." Zheng Guoquan didn't turn around. "I've contacted someone reliable."

Zhou Wentao scoffed, "His leg is already ruined. If he has another operation, he can forget about ever getting on ice again."

"I can." Gu Xidong said calmly and firmly. "It's my leg, and I'm in charge of it. You have no right to decide for me."

Zhou Wentao's smile vanished. He realized that the man before him was no longer the young athlete he could manipulate at will three years ago.

"Okay," Zhou Wentao nodded, "You can leave. But Coach Zheng has to stay."

"No," Gu Xidong and Ling Wuwen said at the same time.

Zheng Guoquan laughed: "Silly child, I never intended to leave." He looked at Zhou Wentao:

"Let them go. Then I'll talk to you about a deal alone—a deal that's more important than storage."

2

After a ten-second standoff, Zhou Wentao waved to make way.

Ling Wuwen grabbed Gu Xidong's arm: "Let's go."

Gu Xidong remained motionless: "Coach..."

"Go!" Zheng Guoquan shouted sharply. "That's an order!"

Ling Wuwen practically dragged him through the passage.

Gu Xidong glanced back one last time—Zheng Guoquan stood upright in the morning light, his hunched back hunched, the red rope of the grenade fluttering like a ceremonial flag.

They wandered through the alleys and arrived at a deserted street ten minutes later.

"We're safe now." Ling Wuwen leaned against the wall, panting.

Gu Xidong was in excruciating pain in his left knee and his back was soaked in cold sweat.

"Wait," Ling Wuwen said, "the coach said he would contact us."

My phone vibrated. An encrypted text message: "10 PM tonight, Warehouse No. 3 at the abandoned cement plant in the eastern suburbs. Come alone."

Virtual number, cannot be traced.

"It might be a trap," Ling Wu asked.

"It might be the only chance. I'll go."

Ling Wuwen's eyes were filled with complex emotions: "Your leg..."

"I can still walk." Gu Xidong stood up, his expression unchanged.

They booked a room by the hour using fake IDs. Gu Xidong couldn't sleep.

At 5 p.m., Ling Wuwen brought back a black medical kit and a pale yellow injection.

"A strong painkiller that can last for eight hours. Side effects may include nerve damage."

Gu Xidong injected the medicine into his knee.

The icy, numbing sensation spreads, the pain subsides, and a dangerous lightness is brought on.

At nine o'clock in the evening, they rode an old, unlicensed motorcycle toward the eastern suburbs.

The abandoned cement plant resembled a colossal beast crawling in the darkness. The corrugated iron walls of Warehouse No. 3 groaned in the wind.

Ling Wuwen hid the car: "I'll wait here. If there's danger, fire a signal, and I'll rush in within three minutes."

"If I don't come out in three minutes, you can leave."

Ling Wuwen gripped his wrist tightly.

Gu Xidong limped toward the warehouse. The painkillers made his steps strange.

The warehouse door was ajar, letting in a faint glow from a flashlight.

3

Zheng Guoquan sat on an overturned iron bucket, with three items laid out on a plastic sheet in front of him:

First item: Ice skate mold, dark brown wood, with worn edges. There is a very fine, unprocessed indentation in the heel slot—the original mold for Gu Xidong's custom-made ice skates.

The second item: a yellowed paper document, "Original Physical Fitness Test Data Report," dated three years ago, three days before the competition. Under Gu Xidong's name, circled in red pen: "Benzodiazepines test positive, concentration 0.28 mg/L." A handwritten note: "The official report has been revised to negative."

The third item: a photograph. The night before the competition, backstage at the stadium, Chen Guodong and his senior, Chen Rui, were talking in a corner. Chen Rui handed over a manila envelope. The edge of the photograph captured a crack in the locker room door—a pair of hands changing ice skates.

Gu Xidong's hands trembled.

"Sit down," Zheng Guoquan said in a hoarse voice.

Gu Xidong sat down, forcing himself to concentrate.

"I've kept these three things hidden for three years," Zheng Guoquan said, stroking the mold.

"The mold was stolen from a pile of scrap materials that was ordered to be destroyed. The data report was secretly copied to me by the team doctor, who was feeling guilty. The photos were taken by me that night while I was disguised as a cleaner."

Gu Xidong looked at the photo. Chen Rui, the senior who cried in front of the media after his incident and accused him of "using any means to win," was actually one of them all along.

"Why are you only giving it to me now?"

"Because you're ready now." Zheng Guoquan looked at him. "If I had given it to you three years ago, you would have fought desperately and died. Now you've learned patience, planning, and cooperation."

He pointed to Gu Xidong's left leg: "The contents of the memory are more deadly, but they need to be combined with these physical evidences to form a complete chain of evidence. The mold proves the equipment was tampered with, the report proves it was drugged, and the photos prove collusion. Add to that the recordings and lists in the memory—"

"That could overturn the entire system."

Zheng Guoquan nodded, took out a small black box from under the plastic sheet, and opened it.

Inside is a silver metal sheet about the size of a button, with circuit patterns on its surface.

"This is the memory. It has a titanium alloy casing and a biocompatible coating, and can be stored in the human body for ten years."

He pushed the box to Gu Xidong, "The surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday. After it's removed, the data will be automatically uploaded to seven secure servers and sent."

Gu Xidong took the cold metal sheet.

"And what about you? What deal did you discuss with Zhou Wentao?"

Zheng Guoquan remained silent for a long time. The night wind seemed to whistle through the tin canopy.

"I told him that the storage device contained encrypted files that required my biometrics to unlock—fingerprint, iris scan, and voiceprint. If any one of them was missing, the files would self-destruct. So he wouldn't kill me for the time being."

"But that was a lie."

"Yes." Zheng Guoquan smiled. "To buy time so you can safely complete the surgery and get the data."

Gu Xidong's heart sank: "Then what are you going to do?"

"I'm old, my child. Sixty-five years old, late-stage lung cancer, at most three months. Rather than chemotherapy, I'd rather do something meaningful."

He walked to the window and gazed at the night sky:

"Twenty years ago, when I entered the sports system, I thought sports were purely glorious. Later, I discovered that where there is light, there is shadow. Some people treat athletes as tools, commodities, and bargaining chips. I have seen too many promising talents ruined and too many dreams put on a price tag."

He turned to look at Gu Xidong:

"I reported and protested, and was eventually 'retired early.' After that, I pretended to be crazy and worked as a shoemaker, collecting evidence and waiting for an opportunity. Waiting for someone who can overturn all of this—you are that person. I want you to live, to skate, to jump higher and earn faster. Let those people see that they can't destroy those who truly love this ice."

Gu Xidong's vision blurred.

4

Zheng Guoquan took out his old pocket watch and opened it. Inside the watch cover was a small photo—a young man in military uniform holding a baby with his wife.

"My son. If he were still alive, he would be about your age," he said softly.

"He died of leukemia twenty years ago... My wife blamed me for being too career-oriented, and she left and never came back."

He closed his pocket watch and glanced back at the east and west hands:

"Here you go. Keep it as a memento."

Gu Xidong held the pocket watch, which still felt warm from his body.

"Let's go." Zheng Guoquan turned his back to him. "Go out the back door. Ling Wuwen is waiting. Remember, don't be late for the surgery next Wednesday."

Gu Xidong stood up, each step feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds. He turned back at the back door.

Zheng Guoquan sat on an iron bucket, head down, wiping the ice skate molds with focused and gentle movements. The beam of his flashlight enveloped his hunched figure, casting a large, solitary shadow on the wall.

Gu Xidong pushed open the door and let in the night wind. He limped towards the place where the cars were hidden.

Ling Wuwen stepped out of the shadows: "Got it?"

Gu Xidong nodded and handed over the small black box and pocket watch. Ling Wuwen checked them and then put them into his inner pocket.

"Where is he?"

"I'm not leaving."

Ling Wuwen was silent for a few seconds: "Get in the car."

The motorcycle drove away. Gu Xidong looked back; the flashlight beam was still shining through the warehouse window, like a stubborn, unyielding star.

Two kilometers later, an explosion was heard.

A dull, loud bang was followed by a burst of flames that illuminated the night sky.

The motorcycle braked sharply. Gu Xidong rushed up the slope and saw that Warehouse No. 3 was engulfed in flames. Several black cars were speeding away—Zhou Wentao's men.

Zheng Guoquan deceived them. He used fake encryption to buy time, waiting for Gu Xidong to leave safely, and then—

Gu Xidong knelt down, slamming his fists into the ground. His knuckles were broken and bleeding, but he felt no pain.

Ling Wuwen gently placed his hand on his trembling shoulder.

The flames danced in Gu Xidong's pupils, burning away the warehouse, the evidence, the old man's last moments, and also burning away something tender.

When he stood up again, there were no tears, anger, or sorrow in his eyes.

There was only a cold, bottomless darkness.

"Let's go," he said in a chillingly calm voice, "Next Wednesday, surgery."

The motorcycle sped into the night.

Gu Xidong gripped his pocket watch tightly. The watch cover popped open with a vibration, revealing a photograph of a young family of three, radiant and eternal in the firelight.

He closed the watch, stuffed it into the pocket closest to his heart, and closed his eyes.

In my mind, the ice surface stretched out endlessly, and the trajectory of the ice blades resembled streaks of light about to be drawn from their sheaths.