Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

The sound of ice skate blades cutting into the ice was drowned out by cheers.

Gu Xidong stopped in the center of the ice rink, and a spotlight shone down vertically from above, casting a sharp-edged circle of light at his feet.

Outside the aperture, the 20,000-seat stadium was plunged into darkness, with only a few scattered cell phone screens as light points, like buoys drifting on the sea at night.

The black performance costume clung to her skin, and the silver feathers on her shoulders reflected a faint, cold light under the lights.

These feathers were sewn on by Ling Wuwen. Three nights ago, in the basement of the safe house, she held a needle and thread and stitched the feathers onto his shoulder.

"Black swan feathers are not for decoration," she said at the time.

"It's a weapon. When it takes flight, every feather should slice through the air like a blade."

The feathers now weighed on his shoulders, light yet heavy enough to make it hard for him to breathe.

The deep pain in my left knee has evolved into a continuous low-frequency vibration, as if a miniature engine is spinning idly inside the joint.

The painkiller was only half an hour away from taking effect, and the internal bleeding caused by the ultrasound damage was worsening.

He could feel the blood pooling in his joint cavity, and with each step he took, it felt like stepping on a gradually expanding water balloon.

But he stood very straight.

Right hand hanging at your side, left hand lightly pressed against your chest – starting position.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The cold air from the ice rink filled my lungs, carrying a mixed smell of disinfectant and ice chips.

The sound of a raven cuts in through the headphones:

"Ye Shen stood up in the private room. He stared at you, his right hand gripping a wine glass, his knuckles white. Besides him, there were four other people in the room: two standing by the door, and two at the control panel. The control panel screen displayed audio waveforms; they were checking music files."

"Where is Ling Wuwen?" Gu Xidong asked through his throat microphone, his voice extremely low.

"Control room. She was wearing listening headphones, her fingers on the keyboard. Ye Shen's men hadn't spotted her; they assumed she was a substitute audio engineer." Raven paused.

"Remember, the music is in the third second. The first insertion is only 0.7 seconds long, enough to disrupt the rhythm, but not enough to change the melody. You need to react in those 0.7 seconds—not pause, but adapt."

"clear."

"Third row in the audience, the man with the silver button is in position. Seventh camera in the media area, the Black Swan killer disguised as a photographer. Next to the east exit, the press corps' equipment lights are on. And—" Raven's voice suddenly tightened,

"Behind the referee's stand, in the second row, there were two men in gray suits. They weren't carrying any filming equipment, and their hands were on their knees, their posture as standard as soldiers. New faces, not recorded in the database."

Interpol.

Or something else.

Gu Xidong opened his eyes and glanced at the referee's table.

The two men in gray suits were looking at him, their eyes calm and measured, as if they were examining a work of art about to be auctioned.

He looked away.

The electronic screens around the ice rink began a countdown:

Ten, nine, eight—

The cheers faded, and the audience held their breath.

7, 6, 5 —

Inside the private room, Ye Shen put down his wine glass and leaned forward.

Four, three—

In the control room, Ling Wuwen's finger hovered above the Enter key.

two--

Gu Xidong moved his left skate back and tapped it.

One.

The music is ringing.

2

The first note of the piano is clean, cold, and precise.

An excerpt from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, adapted into a solo version, features notes that fall from a height like water droplets, shattering into smaller echoes in the reflection on the ice.

This was a melody Gu Xidong was familiar with, a rhythm he had practiced 374 times, the position of every rest etched into his muscle memory.

He slipped.

The black swan pushes off the ice with its left foot, leans forward, extends its right arm, and retracts its left arm—its first wing-spreading motion.

Silver feathers traced arcs of light in the air.

In the second measure, the strings join in.

The cello's bass notes rise like a tide from beneath the ice, supporting the piano's high notes.

Gu Xidong executed his first spin, his ice skate cutting a semicircle across the ice, sending shards of ice flying that shimmered like stardust under the spotlight.

The third note should have been C-sharp on the piano.

But the sound that came out was—

A piercing electronic noise.

High frequency, sharp, lasting 0.7 seconds, like someone scratching a blackboard with their fingernail, or like the white noise of an old television set when it loses signal.

It tears apart the texture of classical music, carving a rough hole in the harmonious layers of strings.

A collective gasp of astonishment rose from the audience.

Inside the private room, Ye Shen suddenly stood up, his wine glass slipped from his hand and smashed onto the carpet, splashing champagne onto his trouser leg.

"What's going on?!" he growled into his headset. "Who changed the music?"

The technician's fingers flew across the keyboard in front of the control panel:

"It wasn't one of our people! The audio file was tampered with; a distractor segment was inserted at the third second!"

"Fix it immediately!"

"Attempting—the file has a self-destruct lock; forced repair will trigger it—"

"I don't care!" Ye Shen stared at the ice.

"I want the music to work normally! Now!"

On the ice rink, Gu Xidong paused for half a second.

It wasn't a pause in the plan, but a primal bodily reaction—the noise was like a needle piercing his already oversensitive auditory nerves.

The pain exploded deep within my ear canal, instantly spreading throughout my entire skull. White specks appeared at the edges of my vision.

But he didn't stop.

During the 0.5-second pause, the left skate blade underwent a minor adjustment, changing from the intended back outside edge to the front inside edge.

This tiny change altered his subsequent gliding trajectory, causing him to avoid the intended first jump takeoff point.

He continued gliding.

The noise subsided, and the piano melody returned.

But the rhythm had changed. Not by the performer, but by the listener's mental clock being disrupted by that 0.7-second noise.

The continuity of the melody is broken.

Gu Xidong could sense that the audience's attention was starting to wander, and he could hear whispers coming from the stands.

He sped up.

The second turn is followed by a back step, and the skate blade scrapes a continuous S-shaped curve on the ice.

The pain spread from my left knee to my left hip, and then to my lumbar spine.

He knew that the bleeding inside the joint cavity was worsening, and the blood was compressing the nerves, making the sensation in his left leg dull and distorted.

But he can still control it.

In the control room, Ling Wuwen stared at the audio waveform on the main screen.

The noise peak at the third second has disappeared, and the waveform has returned to smooth.

But her implanted code was still running in the background—it wasn't a single interference, but a chain of triggers.

The first noise is the key. Then, every minute and thirty seconds, the music will insert another interference segment, each time increasing in duration by 0.2 seconds, with the interference type being random.

The sound of a raven came through her headphones:

"Ye Shen's technicians are tracking the source of the implant. They've bypassed three virtual springboards and two layers of protection."

"How long do you expect it to take to find the real IP address?"

"Six minutes. Your code can trigger the interference three more times; it will be exposed on the fourth."

"That's enough."

Ling Wuwen switched screens and brought up multi-angle monitoring footage of the ice rink.

Gu Xidong is preparing for his first jump—a triple axel.

His gliding speed was slower than during training, and his takeoff arc was higher, which indicated that his knees were not generating enough power.

But she noticed a detail.

Gu Xidong's gaze would sweep towards the back of the referee's table every two seconds.

The two men in gray suits.

They are taking notes.

Instead of using a mobile phone, a miniature device is hidden in the cuff, with the fingertips lightly tapping the inside of the wrist, as if entering a password.

On the ring finger of one of them was a silver ring, but instead of a gemstone, the ring face was set with a tiny lens.

Video recording equipment.

Or a scanner.

Ling Wuwen zoomed in on the image, trying to see the details of the ring face clearly. But the distance was too far, and the resolution was limited.

She switched to another angle—the media area's camera positions, one of which was pointing directly at the referee's table.

She hacked into the control system of that camera position and remotely adjusted the focus.

The camera zooms in.

The lens of the ring reflects the light from the ice surface, as well as the trajectory of some extremely fine suspended particles in the air above the ice.

The particles are almost invisible under the spotlight, but with high magnification and color enhancement, they can be identified as pale blue, forming a slowly rotating vortex centered on Gu Xidong.

Ling Wuwen's breath hitched for a second.

She knew what it was.

Ye Shen's "observation methods" -

Nanoscale sensors, suspended in the air, enter the human body through respiration and skin contact to monitor physiological data in real time.

They should have been colorless and odorless, but Ye Shen deliberately dyed them light blue so that the monitors could visually confirm their distribution range.

He was telling Gu Xidong in the most direct way: You are surrounded.

It's also telling her: I know you're watching.

Ling Wuwen's fingers tightened.

Raven's voice came through the earpiece: "New signal source detected. Below the ice rink, on the second basement level, a high-power electromagnetic transmitter has just been activated. The frequency range... is interference waves targeting the nervous system. Ye Shen is remotely stimulating Gu Xidong's injured knee."

"Can you block it?"

"Our equipment doesn't have enough power. But if you trigger a second stage of interference now, I can mix in the interference wave and create a 0.3-second shielding window."

"When will it be triggered?"

"The moment of landing on the ice after the next jump. The neural interference wave will reach its peak at that time, and Gu Xidong needs that 0.3 seconds to stabilize."

Ling Wuwen switched back to the audio control interface.

The code backend shows that there are still 47 seconds until the second automatic trigger. But she can manually bring it forward.

She stared at Gu Xidong on the ice.

He is entering the final acceleration before the jump.

When he pushes off the ice with his left leg, the angle of his entire body tilts abnormally—he is using his right leg to bear more of the force and protect his left knee.

However, such an imbalance can affect the axis of rotation, increasing the risk of falling.

Thirty meters.

Twenty meters.

Take-off point.

Ling Wuwen pressed the manual trigger button.

3

The music stopped for the second time.

This time it wasn't a jarring noise, but a sudden silence—all the instruments stopped simultaneously for 0.9 seconds.

Absolute silence enveloped the stadium; even the breathing of the spectators could be clearly heard.

Gu Xidong jumped in the silence.

Three and a half weeks.

My body was lifted into the air and spun around. In my field of vision, the lights on the ice rink's roof formed a blurry band of light.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my left knee as I rotated, but it was milder than I expected.

The raven's shielding window worked; for those 0.3 seconds, the neural interference wave disappeared.

He fell onto the ice.

The right foot's fangs touch the ice first, followed by the left leg, and both feet land on the ice.

Not perfect, but stable enough. The pain in his knee returned the moment he landed, doubling in intensity, but he used his core strength to firmly stabilize his body and avoid falling.

Applause broke out, hesitant—the audience hadn't yet recovered from the interruption of the music.

Gu Xidong skated out of the landing arc and transitioned into a step sequence.

His gaze swept back towards the referee's table.

The two men in gray suits stood up at that moment.

They didn't clap, they didn't show any expression, they just walked side by side towards the exit. The one wearing the ring turned and glanced at him before leaving.

His eyes held an assessment, a record, and a hint of something else...

mercy?

Gu Xidong didn't have time to investigate further. The music had resumed, and the second movement had begun.

The volume of the strings increased, the tempo quickened, and the piano melody became urgent and restless.

This is the Black Swan's solo dance segment, depicting the transformation from temptation and struggle to eventual descent into darkness.

He needs to complete three consecutive jumps, each with only four beats between them.

The first one is a triple toe loop.

He accelerated and jumped off the ice.

As I rotated, the numbness in my left leg spread to my groin, as if my entire leg was sinking into ice water.

He gritted his teeth, completed the spin, and landed on the ice.

The second one is a three-turn hook.

Before he jumped, he saw Ye Shen making a phone call behind the floor-to-ceiling glass of the private room.

The expression was angry, and the gestures were aggressive. The person on the call could be the technical team, subordinates, or—

The music stopped for the third time.

This lasted for one second.

The interruption type is sound reversal—the piano notes are played in reverse, and the string melody is distorted into a strange groan.

An even bigger commotion erupted in the audience; some people stood up, and others pointed in the direction of the speakers.

Gu Xidong completed a triple Lutz jump while the music was playing in reverse.

When I landed on the ice, my left knee finally gave way.

When the blood accumulated in the joint cavity reaches a critical point, it compresses the nerves, causing a momentary blockage in nerve conduction.

His left leg was completely numb, and his body tilted to the right. He reached out to brace himself on the ice, his right glove scraping against the ice shards, leaving three white streaks on the ice.

But he didn't fall.

He slid out on his right leg, leaving his left leg trailing behind like a heavy object that didn't belong to him.

The applause turned into gasps of surprise.

Inside the private room, Ye Shen put down the phone, staring at the ice with a cold gaze.

"The implant source has been found," the technician reported.

"In the control room, at workstation number three. The operator's identity is unknown, but access permissions come from—an ISU temporary authorization code."

"The International Skating Union?" Ye Shen frowned. "Who gave them the authorization?"

"The code signature indicates... Interpol Special Investigations Unit."

Ye Shen's expression froze.

He turned to look towards the referee's table, but the two men in gray suits were gone.

He switched to the venue's surveillance footage and saw them walking through the corridor toward the VIP entrance, showing their credentials, and the security personnel standing at attention and saluting.

Interpol.

They're not here to watch the game.

They're here to enforce the law.

"How much did they find?" Ye Shen asked in a low voice.

"It's uncertain. But the encryption protocol used for the audio implantation is unique to Interpol's internal system. They might be investigating us, or they might be investigating Gu Xidong."

"Or both," Ye Shen said.

He walked back to the floor-to-ceiling glass and looked at Gu Xidong on the ice.

The performance continued, but the rhythm had completely spiraled out of control. The music stopped, the audience became agitated, and the contestants persevered despite their injuries—this "experiment" was sliding towards the brink of chaos.

But he cannot stop.

With Interpol present, any unusual behavior could become evidence. He had to bring the performance to a normal end and maintain the facade of a "sponsor," "VIP," and "philanthropist."

At least on the surface.

Ye Shen pressed a hidden button.

The wall inside the box slid open, revealing another control panel. This control panel wasn't connected to the venue's system; it was only connected to his private network.

The screen displays the status of the ultrasonic transmitter beneath the ice rink, as well as—the startup interface for another device.

Device Name: "Consciousness Mapping Protocol - Alpha Version"

Description: "Through pain and stress stimulation, subjects were induced to undergo a shift in consciousness, and full-spectrum data of brain neural activity were recorded in real time."

Progress bar shows: 78%

There are three minutes and twenty seconds left until it is fully activated.

Ye Shen entered the password and confirmed the start.

Then he picked up another communicator and connected it to a frequency.

"The plan has changed," he said.

"The planned capture is cancelled. Gu Xidong will be eliminated immediately after the performance. Use an accident—ice malfunction, equipment failure, anything will do. Interpol is investigating; we can't let them get a live sample."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the communicator before a reply came through: "Understood. Where's Ling Wuwen?"

"She's still in the control room. Once Gu Xidong 'gets into trouble,' her location will be revealed. Then we'll arrest her." Ye Shen paused. "Note: she's pregnant. The fetus must be intact."

"clear."

Communication was cut off.

Ye Shen looked towards the ice rink.

Gu Xidong is preparing for his final jump—a quadruple jump.

His gliding speed was very slow, his left leg could barely generate any power, and he relied on the swing of his right leg and arms to maintain momentum. In this state, it was impossible for him to complete a quadruple jump, and he could barely manage a triple.

But he didn't stop.

He was speeding up, pressing down on his steps, and adjusting his breathing.

His gaze was focused, clear, and without fear.

Ye Shen suddenly realized something.

Gu Xidong knew.

They knew that Ling Wuwen had interrupted the music, that various factions were in the audience, that Interpol was investigating, and that there would be danger after the performance.

But he kept dancing.

It wasn't for an experiment, it wasn't for a transaction, it wasn't even for that painting.

It was to complete this program.

It's to tell someone who's watching: I'm still here.

Ye Shen's hand rested on the control panel, his fingertips cold.

The progress bar has reached 92%.

On the ice rink, Gu Xidong jumps.