Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

Cheers, filtered through the walls, echoed from the depths of the passage, muffled like the distant sound of ocean waves.

Gu Xidong leaned against the wall, his left hand on his knee and his right hand gripping the rope of his ice skate bag.

The cold, white fluorescent light elongated and blurred his shadow.

At 7 o'clock sharp, the ice rink's blinding cold blue light shone through the cracks in the soundproof door.

Outside the door was a stadium with 20,000 people and live broadcast cameras, a world he had left seven years ago.

Raven lowered its voice in the headphones:

"The list has been updated, and you're at the bottom, labeled 'Former World Champion.' You're also in the top five of social media trends."

Gu Xidong silently took out his ice skates.

The shoes are black with gleaming blades and the word "GXD" embroidered on the inside. They're seven years old, and the soles bear the scratches from their escape three years ago.

The left knee makes a scraping sound like shattered ice when it bends.

He gritted his teeth, shoved his foot into the shoe, and tightened the laces—precisely controlling the force of each movement.

The moment his left ankle was strapped on, excruciating pain exploded, shooting up his spine and into his skull. He closed his eyes and waited for the white noise to subside.

"Ling Wuwen has entered the control room. Ye Shen has changed your opening music to the electronic version of 'Requiem for a Dream,' trying to stimulate you with a strong rhythm."

"Can I exchange it back?"

"Ling Wuwen implanted interference code, forcibly switching back to the original song for thirty seconds at the second minute."

That's enough.

Gu Xidong stood up, his skate lightly touching the ground. He took a test skate, his left knee trembling but he steadied himself.

It can still skate. It can still jump.

The passageway door opened, and a man in uniform walked in, holding a tablet.

"Mr. Gu? Enter in five minutes." His tone was calm, but Gu Xidong could smell the faint gunpowder under the cologne.

The man's right hand was always in his pocket.

Gu Xidong followed half a step slower, his gaze falling on the rectangular outline of the slight bulge in his coat at the lower back.

gun.

"Did Ye Shen send you?" Gu Xidong suddenly asked.

The man's shoulders stiffened.

"He's carrying a Glock 19 with a silencer. The organizing committee doesn't require firearms. Is Ye Shen worried I'll back out at the last minute?"

The man turned around, drew his gun with his right hand, and held it at his side.

"Mr. Ye just hopes everything goes smoothly. You perform, and we'll hand over the painting."

What if I refuse?

"You have no right." The man pressed a button on his earpiece.

"Your wife is in the control room, and your daughter is in the safe house. Security is dynamic."

Gu Xidong stared at the gun.

This distance was potentially lethal, but he was more concerned about the man's earpiece—if he made a move now, the plan would be exposed prematurely.

"Lead the way," he said.

The man turned and walked away, his finger still on the trigger guard.

As they approached the preparation area, the man's headphones flickered slightly.

He turned around again, raising the gun slightly: "Mr. Ye requires you to receive this injection before going on stage."

He pulled out a metal syringe, the needle gleaming coldly, filled with a pale blue fluorescent liquid.

"A nerve stimulant containing trace amounts of hallucinogenic components. It won't affect movement, it will only amplify the senses. Mr. Ye wants to see your most authentic state."

"I refuse?"

"That could be due to an athlete getting injured unexpectedly, or a popping sound in the control room headset—your wife's monitoring volume is already turned up to the maximum."

Gu Xidong was cold-blooded.

He took the syringe, rolled up his left sleeve, and aimed the needle at a vein in his forearm.

pause.

"Hurry up," the man urged.

Gu Xidong glanced at the ceiling sprinkler heads—there were Raven's miniature cameras there.

The needle was inserted, and blue liquid was pushed into the vein.

A chilling sensation spread instantly.

The knee pain intensified like an ice pick being hammered, the lights blurred, the breathing sounded like bellows, and the heartbeat was like a drumbeat; the world was distorted and deformed by the drugs.

He threw down the empty syringe, the sound of shattering glass exploding in his ears.

"Please enter." The man holstered his gun. "Mr. Ye is watching."

The door opened, and the light from the ice rink engulfed the passageway.

2

Cheers, applause, and shouts from the commentator.

Under the spotlight, Gu Xidong stood at the entrance, the light and shadows slowly swaying before his eyes—the drugs had delayed his vision.

Audience members held up signs and screamed, "Welcome back, Gu!"

They were unaware that it was a trap, unaware that there was an ultrasonic transmitter under the ice, and unaware that the man in the private room intended to collect experimental samples.

Gu Xidong skated toward the center of the ice rink.

With each step, a false cracking sensation came from my left knee; erroneous nerve signals caused my movements to stiffen.

He nearly fell at the turn, and the audience gasped.

Inside the private room, Ye Shen observed through binoculars, a smile playing on his lips.

"The nerve stimulant has taken effect, and the pain sensation has been reduced by approximately 300%. Record all data."

"The EEG showed abnormal activity in the prefrontal cortex and suppression of the amygdala—he was using reason to suppress pain and fear."

"How long can it be compressed?"

"At most fifteen minutes. After that, it will either crash or jump."

Ye Shen smiled, his gaze sweeping over Ling Wuwen's profile through the control room window.

"Cut it off immediately when she triggers the interference code. I want Gu Xidong to struggle amidst the out-of-control music."

On the ice, Gu Xidong finished warming up and took a deep breath while leaning on the railing.

On the coach's bench, Ye Shen gestured: Jump according to plan.

He looked up at the control room window; that blurry outline was his hope—

A 30-second breathing window is used to complete the final jump and detonate the explosives in the compartment.

The announcement, made in multiple languages, came over the loudspeaker: "Next up is special wildcard entrant Gu Xidong! The world champion from seven years ago, returning to the ice tonight!"

Cheers erupted again.

Gu Xidong glided to the center and assumed the starting position.

The entire audience held their breath.

Ye Shen leaned forward.

Ling Wuwen's finger hovered over the button.

3

Music started playing—but it was the broken electronic sound of "Requiem for a Dream." Ye Shen changed the song.

The very first note put Gu Xidong on edge. But he had to glide.

The first jump: a triple axel followed by a triple toe loop. As he took off, time seemed to stretch out. The moment he landed, the impact on his left knee sent shivers down his spine, his vision blurred, and his ears rang sharply. He staggered, leaving a white mark on the ice, but then smoothly transitioned into a spin.

As he spun, he scanned the audience:

The third row features reflective silver buttons, a killer camera lens in the media area, a group of reporters taking notes with their heads down, and several men in dark civilian clothes in the back row, with postures like soldiers—Interpol officers.

The music moves into the second section, with the drumbeats becoming more frequent.

After completing the spin, Gu Xidong transitioned into a footwork sequence, mimicking the dying struggle of a black swan.

Each step intensified the pain, and consciousness began to layer: one part controlled the body, another part floated and observed, and the deepest part gripped three words: alive, back, home.

Nearly two minutes later, Ling Wuwen in the control room stared intently at the audio graph. A raven's voice came through: "Ye Shen's men are tracking you in reverse. You only have one chance."

"He needs the original rhythm before his final jump."

"But his heart rate was close to the shock threshold."

"He can hold on."

At exactly two minutes past the hour, Ling Wuwen pressed the button.

The audio jittered, and the music suddenly switched back to the classical remix of "Black Swan," with the cello playing softly.

Ye Shen suddenly stood up in the private room: "What's going on?!"

"The audio wiring in the control room has been tampered with; physical isolation is required, which will take thirty seconds to clear!"

Thirty seconds.

Gu Xidong sensed the change in the music, and his confusion lessened slightly. He quickened his pace, preparing for a quadruple jump—

The action was originally scheduled to be done last, but he needed to make use of these thirty seconds.

Take-off, spin, landing.

The impact on his left knee was surprisingly reduced—the medication and music temporarily masked some of the pain. He stood firmly, and thunderous applause erupted.

Ye Shen stared at the data screen: Gu Xidong's heart rate peak was abnormal upon landing, and the electroencephalogram showed synchronized signals from the prefrontal cortex and amygdala. "Leap initiation."

"Record the data. Activate the ultrasonic transmitter immediately after the music resumes."

Gu Xidong transitioned to a follow-up step, the movement fluid yet like a fleeting miracle achieved through burning his nerves.

My left leg is numb from the knee up, as if it's being submerged by a tide.

He must complete the plan before it gets out of control.

Music at minute three. Fifteen seconds until audio repair, thirty seconds until detonation, forty-five seconds until the scheduled fall.

He sped towards the other end of the ice rink, near the emergency exit under the referee's table.

But just before he jumped, he saw an eye behind the crack in the passageway door—the eye of the man who injected the needle.

The plan was leaked.

As he spun in the air, he thought rapidly: if he fell as planned, he would be captured; if he changed the plan, he would disrupt the timing of the explosion; if he didn't move, he would die.

After completing the third rotation, he decided to land on both feet – a serious mistake, but it would reduce pressure on his knees.

He stumbled and came to a stop, five meters off course from the intended position and even further from the passageway.

The music resumes now, and the electronic drumbeats roar back to life.

The ultrasonic transmitter is activated, and the high-frequency vibrations directly target the nerves inside the knee.

He knelt down, genuinely, not pretending.

My left leg was completely numb, and ice shards splashed onto my cheek.

A dead silence.

Ye Shen smiled.

Ling Wuwen's finger remained pressed on the detonator without moving—Gu Xidong had not yet reached the designated position.

A man carrying a gun rushed out of the emergency exit door.

A silver button in the audience stands up, an assassin raises his camera, a reporter presses the shutter, and an Interpol officer reaches for his waist.

Time stood still.

Then it was shattered by gunfire from multiple directions.

Screams erupted as the crowd surged toward the exit.

Gu Xidong saw the man in the aisle fall down with a bullet in his chest, and a firefight broke out in the audience as Interpol officers rushed into the VIP boxes.

The plans are all in disarray, but an opportunity arises.

He tried to stand up, but his left leg was numb, so he could only drag himself toward the railing.

A hand reached out—Ling Wuwen jumped off the railing and landed beside him, his face a mixture of sweat and blood. "Can you walk?"

"It can climb."

She lifted him up and dragged him toward the athletes' tunnel.

Gunfire continued behind them, and smoke from an explosion in a certain stand obscured their figures.

The passage was dark and silent, with only the distant sound of an alarm.

Ling Wuwen pressed him against the wall to examine his knees—his trouser legs were soaked in blood, and the blood vessels inside the joints had ruptured under the impact of ultrasound waves.

"Leave first," Gu Xidong gasped, "Ye Shen's men will come to search."

"Where's the painting?"

Silence. The painting was left in Ye Shen's private room.

Ling Wuwen looked into his eyes: "Next time. As long as you're alive, there will be a next time."

There is light at the end of the passage.

They rushed toward the light, and they rushed toward the unknown.