Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

Zhou Wentao hung up the phone, and the busy tone rang for ten seconds in the carriage.

Gu Xidong stared at the unfamiliar number.

Sunlight streamed through the car window onto his face, but it couldn't dispel the chill that ran deep in his bones.

"What did he say?" Ling Wu asked.

"The list is missing one of the most important names. A name we would never have imagined."

Old Gun glanced at them in the rearview mirror and slowed down.

The mouse attempts to track the incoming call: "Transferred from detention center, final signal source is overseas."

"Zhou Wentao still has this ability inside?" Ling Wuwen frowned.

"Or it could be a trap." Gu Xidong gripped his phone tightly. "He wants to throw us into chaos."

The car drove into the old residential area in the east of the city and stopped in front of a six-story slab building.

"Safe house, 302." Old Gun shut down.

The hallway smelled of stew.

The television news announced: "The 'Black Swan' event investigation committee was established today..."

Room 302 is a clean and simply furnished two-bedroom apartment. A device is set up with a mouse, and a monitoring screen appears.

Gu Xidong sat down, a sharp pain shooting through his left knee. He closed his eyes, the list replaying in his mind.

Forty-seven names. Who else?

Ling Wuwen sat down beside him:

"The list was compiled by Ling Wufeng. If someone is missing, either the other party is hiding their identity too well, or they deliberately didn't include them."

Why?

"To protect that person? Or because... that person is too dangerous."

The sound of children's laughter came from outside the window.

Looking eastward, Gu Xidong saw several elementary school students chasing and running past.

The normal world. Their world remains in the shadows.

The mouse suddenly spoke: "Found something."

On the screen was an old file: "Explanation Regarding the 2005-2008 Youth Figure Skating Selection Process." At the end was a signature: Wang Zhenhua.

"Not on the list," the mouse said.

"But it appears in many related documents." He pulled up more files, all of which had Wang Zhenhua's signature or instructions.

"Chief referee of the 2005 Junior Championships, member of the selection committee in 2007, deputy team leader of the 2009 World Junior Championships... The position may not be high, but it is always in a key position."

"The timing coincides with the club's active period," Ling Wuwen said.

Where is Wang Zhenhua now?

After searching, the mouse shook its head: "Retired due to illness in 2012, disappeared since. Old address, phone number not in service."

"Retirement due to illness?" Ling Wuwen sneered. "2012 was the year the first 'accidental' death occurred."

Gu Xidong stared at that name.

Too ordinary, attracting no attention at all.

"What if he's one of the club's founders?" Ling Wuwen asked slowly.

"He operates behind the scenes, manipulating everything from an inconspicuous position. Zhou Wentao and others are merely executors he promoted."

Why doesn't Ling Wufeng write about him?

"Perhaps they don't know, perhaps there's no evidence, or perhaps..." Ling Wuwen paused.

Perhaps I dare not write it.

2

The sky was getting dark.

Old Gun ordered takeout. News flashback: Chen Guodong arrested; Zhou Wentao's investigation intensifies.

The surface storm continues. The real storm is yet to come.

At 8 p.m., Wu Rui sent an encrypted file: an analysis of 27 abnormal incidents involving athletes over the past ten years, compiled by the Ice Chips Organization.

Gu Xidong flipped through it.

In 2008, a gymnast suffered a mechanical malfunction that left him paralyzed.

In 2010, the swimmer suffered a sudden epileptic seizure, resulting in intellectual impairment.

In 2012, a short track speed skater died suddenly.

In 2014, a figure skater suffered food poisoning and missed the Olympic trials.

……

Each case raises suspicions: reports were lost, records were altered, and investigations were hasty.

When these incidents occurred, Wang Zhenhua was always within the relevant system.

Ling Wuwen points to the events of 2014:

"The victim's competitor at the time later qualified for the Olympics and won a medal. His coach was Chen Guodong."

"Manipulate the outcome, eliminate the threat."

The mouse brought up the financial records: "After each incident, funds flowed into the country from overseas accounts. The total amount was considerable."

"Investigate Wang Zhenhua's financial situation."

After searching, the mouse frowned:

"He retired due to illness in 2012 and only received a pension. However, his son enrolled in an expensive private school in Switzerland in 2013, and his wife underwent targeted therapy entirely out of pocket that same year, costing millions."

The transaction records show that Wang Zhenhua's wife's account received more than 20 million yuan in remittances from overseas every year.

The remitter was an offshore company called "Bingmian International".

"A subsidiary of the club," the mouse judged.

Ling Wuwen stared at the numbers: "He didn't retire; he went underground to continue manipulating things."

Why did they disappear?

"Perhaps they are hiding, perhaps they are waiting," Gu Xidong said.

Waiting for the storm to pass, waiting for the new order.

3

At nine o'clock, the clock chimed softly.

Gu Xidong got up and walked to the window. His knees were still hurting, but he forced himself to stand.

An elderly man downstairs was walking his dog, his steps leisurely.

An ordinary life. He once had the chance to have one.

The phone rang again. Wu Rui's voice was urgent:

"The ice shard safe house has been raided; three people injured and one arrested. The encrypted channel may have been monitored. Your location may have been compromised; immediate relocation is recommended."

Old Gun got up and tidied up. He quickly shut down the device with the mouse.

"Where to?"

"The backup location is known to only three people. It requires walking; cars cannot be driven there."

They quickly organized the items.

After Old Gun scouted the stairwell, he waved, and the four of them quickly went downstairs, avoiding the elevator.

In the narrow alley, a stray cat darted away in fright. Old Gun led the way through the maze-like alleyways, finally arriving at an old tenement building.

The innermost room on the fourth floor, formerly the archives room, has no windows, only ventilation ducts.

It has good sound insulation, but if it's blocked off, it's hard to get out.

Reset the device with the mouse. Ling Wuwen checks the environment.

Gu Xidong sat on the bed to examine his left knee: the gauze was bleeding, and it was red, swollen, and hot. He changed the dressing and bandaged it, his movements mechanical.

"Where is Wang Zhenhua?" Ling Wuwen suddenly asked.

"If it were me, I would choose the safest place in the storm."

"where?"

"Prison. Or mental hospital," Gu Xidong said, "a place legally isolated from the outside world."

The hand that had been typing on the keyboard paused: "Mental hospital..."

He pulled up a scanned copy of an old news article from 2013: "Former sports system cadre Wang was admitted to the Municipal Mental Health Center due to 'stress-induced mental disorder'."

The accompanying image is blurry, but the silhouette of a man in a hospital gown is visible.

"Wang Zhenhua moved in in January 2013, exactly six months after his 'retirement'."

Ling Wuwen examined it closely: "A perfect hiding place. Legal isolation, information blockade. He can remotely control the outside world, yet he himself remains 'indifferent to worldly affairs'."

Which campus?

"The old campus of the Municipal Mental Health Center is located in the mountains north of the city. It is remote, surrounded by high walls, and heavily guarded."

"Zhou Wentao is probably referring to Wang Zhenhua." Gu Xidong stood up. "But why 'never thought of it'? We have already thought of it."

Ling Wuwen remained silent for a moment.

"Perhaps we're going in the wrong direction. What's important isn't the name, but the relationship behind it."

"What do you mean?"

Ling Wuwen looked at him: "Why were you and Ling Wufeng chosen? Why did the club go to such lengths to eliminate you in the finals three years ago?"

Gu Xidong was taken aback.

He initially thought it was because they were too powerful and threatened to manipulate the outcome. But upon reflection, the reason seemed weak.

If the goal is simply to manipulate the match, bribing the referee is sufficient; there's no need to drug the victim or switch weapons to kill them.

"Unless..." Ling Wuwen said softly, "you're not threatening the game, you're threatening the very foundation of the club."

"Wang Zhenhua is the key. We must find him."

The mouse brings up the floor plan: "Ward 3 of the old hospital area, Wang Zhenhua should be in Zone C, which is under strict lockdown and requires special permission for visits."

"How do I get in?"

"Don't go through the main entrance." Gu Xidong looked at the ventilation system diagram. "The boiler room has a maintenance access route that connects to the main ventilation duct. Theoretically, it's possible to go in."

"Go now? They've just arrived at the safe house, or they think we're hiding."

"Then we'll jump into the trap," Gu Xidong said. "There's no turning back."

They set off at one o'clock in the morning.

4

The car drove towards the mountainous area north of the city. Streetlights were sparse, and large stretches of darkness stretched out. Gu Xidong looked out the window; the mountain shadows resembled giant beasts.

Turning into a narrow road, a road sign points to the Mental Health Center.

We got off the bus early and walked. The mountain path was steep, and Gu Xidong struggled to walk, leaning on his hiking stick.

The hospital grounds were visible: high walls, barbed wire, and slowly rotating searchlights. The buildings were scattered, mostly dark, with only the guardhouse lit up.

The boiler room is on the west side, a single-story red brick building with steam billowing from its chimney.

There was a breach in the barbed wire fence. Old Gun jumped over first, followed by the others.

The boiler room door and windows were rusty, so Lao Qiang pried open the window and got in.

The interior was stuffy and hot, the boiler hummed, and coal ash filled the air.

The entrance to the underground passage is behind the boiler; the iron railing can be lifted. The steps are steep, and the walls are damp and covered in moss.

The passage is narrow, requiring one to bend over to move forward.

The ventilation ducts roared overhead. At the fork in the road, the mouse pointed left according to the map: "Towards Zone C."

The passageway gradually lowered, eventually requiring him to crawl. Gu Xidong's left knee scraped against the ground, tearing the gauze and causing it to bleed. He gritted his teeth and silently pressed on.

Light appeared ahead; beneath the ventilation grille was a private ward. Old Gun moved the grille to investigate, then jumped down. The others followed.

The person on the bed is lying with their back to the other, seemingly asleep. The door is tightly closed, but there is an observation window.

Gu Xidong approached. The old man had thinning white hair and was lying on his side, breathing steadily. He walked around to the other side and saw his face clearly.

Wang Zhenhua. He looks twenty years older than in the photo, with deep wrinkles, but his sleeping posture is peaceful.

I touched her shoulder lightly; she was still unconscious.

Ling Wu checked the medicine bottle by the bedside: "Clonzapine, a strong sedative. He's under the influence of medication."

Gu Xidong exerted a little force, and the old man opened his eyes. His eyes were cloudy and confused, and he looked at Gu Xidong for a few seconds without focusing.

"Wang Zhenhua," Gu Xidong said.

The old man's lips moved: "...Who?"

"Gu Xidong".

No response.

Do you remember Lin Wufeng?

His eyes remained vacant. Wang Zhenhua slowly sat up, his movements stiff. He looked at the four people in the room, showing no fear, only numbness.

"You...doctors?"

"No. We want to know about the 'Black Swan' club."

Wang Zhenhua tilted his head: "A black...swan?"

"The Under-Ice Club. Zhou Wentao, Chen Guodong. Remember them?"

The old man pondered for a long time, then shook his head.

List of exhibitors for Ling Wuwen Exhibition.

Wang Zhenhua squinted and tremblingly traced the names with his finger, then suddenly stopped at one spot.

Gu Xidong looked at the list—small print in the corner listed a medical expert with the note: "Participated in Gu Xidong's psychological assessment three years after the accident."

Wang Zhenhua's fingers trembled.

He looked up at Gu Xidong, his eyes flashing with fear, pity, and guilt.

The voice was as soft as a sigh:

He is not a doctor.

"He is my son."

Gu Xidong's breath hitched.

Wang Zhenhua continued, each word like an ice pick:

"He wasn't doing a psychological evaluation."

"He's checking...whether your 'brainwashing program' has failed."