Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

Five years later, in late autumn.

Gu Xidong stood in front of the iron gate of the abandoned factory, watching the wild grass sprout golden spikes from the cracks.

The bulldozers have left, and the newly built glass dome reflects the setting sun.

"Coach Gu, shall we go in and take a look?" The young architect accompanying them handed over a hard hat.

"The construction is two months ahead of schedule, and it will officially open next month."

Gu Xidong didn't take the helmet and walked straight to the gate.

The automatic glass doors slid open to both sides, and a rush of cold air hit us—not the cold of the refrigeration equipment, but the cold of the ice surface.

A standard ice rink of 3,000 square meters stretched out before me, dazzlingly white.

The steel structure of the dome allows sunlight to filter through frosted glass, creating soft, diffused light that falls on the ice surface, making it appear as if it's covered with a thin layer of gold.

He took off his shoes and stepped barefoot onto the edge of the ice.

A chill crept up from the soles of my feet, creeping along the seventeen-centimeter scar on my left knee and into my bone marrow.

The surgery was successful. He can walk normally, jog, and do all his daily activities.

But the jump—that impact of soaring through the air, spinning, and landing—is gone forever.

"Has the ice surface flatness test met the standards?"

"All standards met." The architect flipped through his tablet.

"As you requested, we've adopted the ice-making process standard used in the Winter Olympics. However, I still don't understand why a free, non-profit ice rink for children would use such high-standard equipment—"

"Because ice doesn't lie."

Gu Xidong squatted down and placed his palm on the ice.

A slight stinging sensation came from my palm; it was the suction force generated by the ice surface as it melted and then froze again.

He closed his eyes and heard a faint cracking sound deep within the ice, the sound of the ice layer adjusting itself under temperature changes.

five years.

He stood up and walked to the center of the ice rink.

Barefoot feet leave shallow, damp marks on the ice, which quickly freeze into misty white traces.

At the end of the ice rink, there are words engraved on a wall:

"New Life Charity Ice Rink - Dedicated to everyone who finds themselves on the ice"

The signature is "Ice Blade Foundation".

He stopped, turned around, and looked around.

The stands were empty, the protective mats were brand new, and the "GG" sign hadn't been hung up yet.

A month later, this place will be packed with children, their screams, falls, and the hissing of ice skates scraping the ice filling the white expanse.

But now, he's all alone.

The setting sun slanted in from the west side of the dome, casting a long shadow on the ice.

2

"Coach Gu, lift your left leg a little higher—yes, like that—don't exert any force, let the skate move on its own—"

Gu Xidong stood in the center of the ice rink and addressed the twenty-odd children.

The youngest was six years old and the oldest was fourteen. They wore colorful training uniforms and skating crookedly on the ice.

A month later, the ice rink officially opened.

Every Wednesday afternoon is his free volunteer class time, where he teaches any child who wants to learn to ice skate.

Starting with the most basic standing, then moving on to forward gliding, backward gliding, turning, and braking.

A little girl fell down, lay on the ice without crying, and looked up at him.

"Coach Gu, did you fall down when you were a kid?"

"I've fallen." He slid over, squatted down, and said, "I've probably fallen over three thousand times."

"Over three thousand times?" The girl's eyes widened. "Then why did you still skate?"

He thought for a moment, then reached out and pulled her up.

"Because ice skates are not weapons, they are paintbrushes. The ice surface is not a battlefield, it is a canvas."

He helped her stand up. "Falling down isn't failure; it's like sketching on a canvas."

The girl seemed to understand, but not quite, and then slid away unsteadily.

Another boy skated over, about fourteen or fifteen years old, and his skating posture was already quite good.

He stopped in front of Gu Xidong, panting, and asked:

"Coach Gu, will you still be competing?"

Gu Xidong looked into the boy's eyes.

There was something familiar in those eyes—longing, resentment, and the urge to prove oneself.

Five years ago, he saw the same look in the mirror.

He smiled.

"My match is over. Now, it's your turn."

The boy paused for a moment, said nothing, and then slid away.

Gu Xidong turned around, preparing to correct another child's actions. Just then, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye—

In a corner of the ice rink, near the exit, there was a wheelchair parked.

A person is sitting in a wheelchair.

Their faces were obscured by the distance of the entire ice rink.

All that could be seen was the outline of a wide-brimmed hat, the reflection of sunglasses, and half a face covered by a scarf.

The late autumn sunset shone through the floor-to-ceiling window behind her, gilding her entire figure like a sculpture.

Gu Xidong didn't move.

Something crawled up from the base of my spine, along each vertebra, and into the back of my head.

The sounds from the ice rink suddenly seemed to fade into the distance—the children's screams, the hissing of the skates, the background music on the radio—all receding like the tide.

All that's left is a heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He saw the hand—a hand resting on the armrest of the wheelchair.

Her fingers were long and slender with distinct knuckles, and her skin was so pale it was almost transparent.

The hand didn't move, but the tips of the fingers tapped lightly on the armrest.

One segment. One long. One short. One long. One short.

Reverse Morse code.

S.O.S.

No. Upside down—

H.O.W.

How.

He taught her this password.

On those nights of hiding, when they couldn't communicate with their voices, they tapped each other's skin with their fingertips.

Later, she changed it to reverse encoding, making the password even harder to crack.

How.

What?

The fingers continued tapping.

Long. Short. Short. Short. Long. Short. Long. Short.

A. R. E.

Y. O. U.

Are you?

Gu Xidong stopped breathing.

He saw the hand stop, hovering above the armrest, as if waiting for his response.

He slowly raised his right hand and tapped the back of his right hand with his left index finger.

Short. Long. Long. Short. Long. Short. Long. Long. Long. Short. Short.

I. A. M. H. E. R. E.

I am here.

The hand returned to the armrest.

3

Gu Xidong had no idea how he managed to skate across that thirty-meter stretch of ice.

All he knew was that with each step he took, the ice skates made a different sound as they cut through the ice.

The sound was like the rain on that stormy night five years ago, like the wind outside the window of the hospital room on a snowy night, like the sound of ice cracking under the aurora.

He stopped three steps in front of the wheelchair.

He tilted his wide-brimmed hat up slightly, and the eyes behind his sunglasses were looking at him.

The scarf covered the lower half of her face, revealing only the outline of her nose.

His nose was thinner than before, and the lines of his cheekbones bulged out from under his skin like rocks under ice.

He slowly squatted down.

As he bent his knee, a familiar ache came from his left knee. He squatted down, bracing himself with his hands on the ice, looking straight ahead at the wheelchair.

"This dance," he heard his own voice, very soft, as if afraid of startling something, "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

The woman in the wheelchair did not move.

But behind the sunglasses, liquid reflected the light of the setting sun in the eye sockets.

She raised her hand and slowly took off her sunglasses.

Gu Xidong's breathing stopped again.

It was an old face.

It's not five years of aging, it's fifteen years of aging.

His skin had lost its luster, was covered in fine lines, his cheekbones were high, and his eyes were sunken. His hair was gray from the roots. Only his eyes—

Those eyes hadn't changed; they were still the same color they had been under the aurora five years ago, as clear as lake water deep within the ice.

Her lips moved, and a voice squeezed out from her throat, hoarse and broken, like a hiss before ice breaks.

"I'm back."

She paused.

"It took me five years... to learn to walk again."

Gu Xidong remained silent.

He reached out and took her hand, which was resting on the armrest.

That hand was icy cold, its knuckles were sharp, and it was so thin that you could feel every single metacarpal bone.

He turned the hand over, palm up, and pressed it against his face.

The moment their skin touched, he felt her hand trembling.

He closed his eyes.

Five years of waiting, five years of aurora viewing, five years of anonymous packages, five years of raven calls, five years of Ice Blade Fund, five years of new ice skates, five years of solitary skating—all melted away in the warmth of this skin.

Welcome home.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Her lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto her scarf.

He raised his other hand and gently removed her wide-brimmed hat.

Her gray hair fell loose, shimmering with a pale golden light in the setting sun.

"Your hair has turned white," he said.

"You're getting old too." She stared at his face, her voice still hoarse. "There are wrinkles around your eyes."

Five years.

"Five years and three months," she corrected.

He smiled. She smiled too.

A smile bloomed on her aged face, like the first crack in ice in spring.

4

The sun continued to sink in the west.

The children on the ice rink were picked up by their parents one by one.

As the last little girl to leave glided past them, she stopped curiously and looked at Gu Xidong, who was squatting in front of the wheelchair.

"Coach Gu, who is this grandma?"

Gu Xidong did not turn around.

"He's a friend."

The little girl tilted her head and looked at it for a while, then slid away.

The ice rink gates closed behind her, and the whole world suddenly fell silent.

All that remained was the sound of the ice reflecting light and the breathing of the two people.

Ling Wuwen lowered her head and looked at Gu Xidong's face, which was still pressed against the back of her hand.

Aren't you going to ask?

"What do you want to ask?"

"How I escaped. How I received treatment."

How did I find this place? Why did it take five years? Why didn't I contact you? Why—"

"I won't ask."

She stopped.

Women's eyesight.

"You'll talk when you want to. And if you don't want to, asking won't change anything." He squeezed her hand. "The important thing is that you're back."

She remained silent for a long time.

The last rays of the setting sun on the ice were narrowing, turning from gold to orange-red, and then to dark red.

The light slowly retreated from them, like the receding tide.

"I sat there and watched for an hour," she suddenly said. "Watching you teach those kids. Watching them fall and get back up. Watching you say, 'Ice skates aren't weapons, they're paintbrushes.'"

"Did you hear that?"

"You're shouting so loudly, even a deaf person could hear you."

He laughed out loud.

She laughed, but as she laughed, tears started flowing again.

"I owe you a dance," she said, her voice breaking. "Five years ago, under the aurora borealis, I couldn't dance with you until the end."

"You jumped." He looked into her eyes. "In the light."

She paused for a moment, then realized what he meant.

An anonymous package. New ice skates. Aurora borealis night.

"You knew it was me?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, "but I know it's you."

She didn't speak, but slowly released his hand, braced herself against the wheelchair armrests, and tried to stand up.

He reached out to help her, but she stopped him.

"I'll do it myself."

She gritted her teeth, her arms trembled, her knees trembled, and her whole body trembled.

He stood up three inches from his wheelchair, then slumped back down. He tried again, and slumped back down once more.

The third time, she stood up.

Holding onto the wheelchair, his legs trembling, he stood on the ice.

He didn't help her up; he just squatted down beside her, ready to catch her at any moment.

She released her wheelchair and took a step forward.

When her left leg landed, her knee buckled, and she fell forward. He reached out and caught her, and the two of them slammed onto the ice.

The ice was icy cold, seeping into my bones through my clothes.

She lay on his chest, panting, and suddenly laughed.

"I'm fucking mad," she laughed through her tears, "I can't even stand up straight."

He put his arm around her and smiled.

"It's okay, I'll fall with you."

They lay on the ice, looking at the sky beyond the dome.

As the last rays of the setting sun sank below the horizon, the sky changed from orange-red to deep blue, and the first star lit up.

The ice beneath me creaked and groaned.

She turned her head to look at him.

"Gu Xidong".

"Um?"

"My body is broken," she said softly. "Rejection, medication side effects, nerve damage. The doctor said I might never be able to stand again."

He didn't say anything, he just waited.

"But I still want to dance."

She stared into his eyes, her eyes shining.

"Not in a competition. Not in a performance. It's just—I just want to stand on the ice with you and skate a few steps."

He sat up, pulled her up with him, and let her lean against him.

"Then jump."

"How do you jump?"

He thought for a moment, then stood up and helped her up as well. Her legs were trembling, and she leaned against him. He had one arm around her waist and the other holding her hand.

"so."

He carried her, moving slowly across the ice.

It wasn't gliding, it was brushing against something.

The ice skates barely left the ice surface, slowly inching forward.

Her left leg was dragging behind her and couldn't exert any force, so he used his leg to brace against her leg to help her maintain her balance.

One lap. Two laps. Three laps.

The lights in the center of the ice rink turned on automatically, casting a white glow on the ice like moonlight.

She leaned on his shoulder, her eyes closed.

"Do you remember," she said softly, "the first time we went ice skating together?"

"I remember. You threw me to the ground and then slid away."

"You did that on purpose."

"You did it on purpose."

She laughed out loud and opened her eyes.

Under the lights, only their shadows were visible on the ice, intertwined and moving slowly, like a slow-motion dance.

"Gu Xidong".

"Um?"

"What's the name of this dance?"

He thought about it.

"Eternal rebirth".

She paused for a moment, then understood.

It is not an eternal rebirth.

It is eternal, a cycle of rebirth. Every moment is a death, every moment a new beginning. Like ice, melting every second, freezing every second.

Just like them.

She stopped and looked up at him.

The light shone down from above, reflecting two small points of light in his eyes.

He's aged; wrinkles line the corners of his eyes, stubble grows on his chin, and a few gray hairs have appeared in his hair. But his eyes haven't changed; they're still the same eyes he had five years ago under the aurora borealis.

She raised her hand and touched his face.

"Thank you for waiting for me."

He took her hand and pressed it against his face.

Thank you for coming back.

They stood motionless in the center of the ice rink.

The ice surface kept cracking and freezing underfoot, making a soft, crackling sound.

Outside the dome, the city lights gradually illuminated the night sky, like another starry sky.

In the distance, the last little girl to leave peered through the glass door and waved to them.

Gu Xidong didn't see it.

Ling Wuwen didn't see it.

They only saw the light in each other's eyes.

In that light, there is a kiss on a stormy night, a dance in a snowy icehouse, a duel in an abandoned factory, a gaze under the aurora, a five-year wait, and this reunion.

All the blood and fire, the intrigue and sacrifice, the pain and tears, have been frozen by time into cracks deep within amber.

In the center of the amber, two people remain still in the light.

He stood, she leaned against him, their hands clasped together.

It seems eternal.