Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

The raven's encrypted message arrived at 3 a.m.

When Gu Xidong was startled awake by his phone vibrating, Ling Wuwen was already lying in his wheelchair with his eyes open.

She is a light sleeper, or rather, she hardly sleeps at all.

"It was from Raven." He handed her the phone. "It's about your brother."

She took it, the light from the screen reflecting on her face, highlighting the lines that had instantly tightened.

The message was lengthy, filled with dense data, scanned documents, and comparative charts. The core content, however, consisted of only one paragraph:

"Five years ago, a body was found at the scene of the explosion. The DNA matched Ling Wufeng—but the matching sample came from a blood sample he left five years ago, and that sample may have been switched."

"Suspicion 1: The corpse's height is 178cm, while Ling Wufeng's file states his height as 182cm. There is a difference of 4 centimeters."

"Second point of doubt: The body weighed 68kg, while Ling Wufeng's weight during the competition was 74kg. There is a difference of 6kg."

"Suspicion 3: There are three discrepancies between the tooth mark record on the corpse and Ling Wufeng's dental medical record from three years ago. The upper right second premolar is missing, while Ling Wufeng's medical record shows it to be intact."

"Conclusion: Someone used a body double to fake their death. The body double was genetically modified—but their bones and teeth could not be modified."

After Ling Wuwen finished reading, his phone slipped from his hand and hit his leg.

Gu Xidong picked it up and saw her face. There were no tears, no trembling, just a frozen expression, like a statue that had suddenly been frozen in time.

"You knew all along?" he asked.

"I don't know." Her voice seemed to come from a great distance. "But... I've had my doubts."

"What do you suspect?"

"When he pushed me out that day, I looked into his eyes." She slowly raised her head. "Not the eyes of someone facing death. They were—the eyes of someone about to do something."

Gu Xidong took her hand. It was icy cold, and the knuckles were rough.

"You never said that."

"Because I'm afraid." She finally started to tremble. "I'm afraid that if I say it, I'll actually believe he's still alive. And then I'll find out that it's just that I miss him too much."

Outside the window, it was still dark. The black sedan on the street corner was still parked, its lights off, like a sleeping beast.

2

The next morning, Gu Xidong dialed that number.

The number comes from Raven—a policeman surnamed Zhou, 53 years old, who handled the explosion scene back then. He retired early three years ago and immigrated to New Zealand.

The file stated "health reasons," but Raven discovered that his retirement account suddenly received an extra sum of money a month before his retirement, the amount of which was the sum of his twenty years' salary.

The phone rang seven times, and just when Gu Xidong thought no one would answer, it connected.

"Feed?" came an old male voice with a distinct New Zealand accent—not a local accent, but a deliberately imitated one.

"Officer Zhou, this is Gu Xidong."

silence.

A very long silence followed. So long that Gu Xidong thought the call had been disconnected.

How did you find this number?

"That's not important. What's important is that I want to ask about what happened five years ago—"

"I don't know," the other person interrupted him, speaking quickly. "I don't know anything."

"I haven't asked yet."

"No matter what you ask, I don't know."

Gu Xidong took a deep breath and tried a different approach:

"I don't want you to testify, nor do I want you to identify anyone. I just want to know one thing—was the corpse you saw really Ling Wufeng?"

I could hear heavy, suppressed breathing coming from the other end of the phone.

"Officer Zhou?"

"There are some things," the voice finally spoke, slowly and softly, "that I don't know if it's good for anyone."

"Who are you good to?"

"To you. To her. To everyone."

"And what about him?" Gu Xidong asked. "And what about Ling Wufeng?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Then, a sigh was heard, as if a breath that had been held in for five years was finally exhaled.

"The body I saw had injuries all over its face," Officer Zhou said. "It was from the explosion; it was unrecognizable. DNA matched, so we wrote the report based on the DNA. But—"

"But what?"

"But there was an old scar on the little finger of the corpse's right hand. I noticed it when I took the picture."

Gu Xidong's heart skipped a beat.

"There's no record of a scar on Ling Wufeng's little finger in his file," Officer Zhou continued. "I thought it might be an injury he sustained later that wasn't recorded. But the shape of that scar—it's too regular, like it was cut by some sharp weapon, not caused by an explosion."

Did you ask?

"I asked. They said the files are incomplete and don't need to be addressed."

"and then?"

"Then I signed it." Officer Zhou's voice suddenly became very tired. "Then I took the money, retired, immigrated, and pretended nothing had happened. For five years, I've dreamed about that scar every night."

Gu Xidong gripped his phone tightly: "What shape is that scar?"

"A diagonal line, from the base of the finger to the tip," Officer Zhou said. "It's very straight, like—"

He stopped.

"Like what?"

"It looks like it was cut by an ice skate."

The phone hangs up.

Gu Xidong dialed again, but the phone was off.

3

The next day, the raven sent a news link.

A New Zealand local media outlet published an English headline accompanied by a photo of a silver car that had been wrecked.

"A fatal car accident occurred in Tauranga, killing a Chinese man in his sixties at the scene. The driver fled the scene."

Gu Xidong knew who it was without even clicking on it.

Ling Wuwen slid to his side, looked at his face, asked nothing, and simply placed her hand on the back of his hand.

Ten minutes later, Raven called.

"The car that caused the accident was stolen. It was found in the woods three hours later, burned to a shell. There were no witnesses, no CCTV footage, and no fingerprints." Her voice was calm, but Gu Xidong could hear the suppressed anger beneath the calm. "This wasn't a car accident; it was a cover-up."

"How did they know he contacted me?"

"I don't know. Maybe his phone was tapped, maybe someone was watching him all along, maybe—" she paused, "maybe someone was watching us all along."

Gu Xidong looked out the window.

The black sedan on the street corner is still there.

But today, its location changed—it was 20 meters closer than usual, directly facing the entrance to the ice rink.

"Raven, investigate that black car. I need to know when it arrived, who drove it, and who it's connected to."

"I checked," said the raven. "I couldn't find it."

What does "cannot be found" mean?

"It means that its license plate, engine number, and chassis number all correspond to a car that was scrapped five years ago. It's a ghost car."

Gu Xidong hung up the phone and looked out the window.

Ling Wuwen's voice came from behind: "Officer Zhou is dead?"

"Um."

"Because of me."

He turned around, squatted down, and looked her in the eye: "Because of your brother."

She looked at him, her eyes reddening, but she didn't cry.

"If he really is alive," she asked, "why hasn't he shown up for five years?"

Gu Xidong didn't answer. Because he didn't know the answer either.

4

That night, Gu Xidong dug out the package from five years ago.

Those ice skates had been kept on the bottom shelf of his bedside table, wrapped in velvet, and hadn't been touched for five years.

The two characters "Forward" engraved on the sole of the shoe have been worn away by time, but every time he sees them, he is reminded of that night with the aurora borealis.

Ling Wuwen frowned slightly as he watched him take out the ice skates.

"You've been keeping it?"

"Um."

Why?

He didn't answer, but just looked at the shoes over and over. The uppers were a bit old, but the skates were still sharp, the blades reflecting a cold light under the lamplight.

He suddenly remembered one thing.

When he received the package, he tried them on. The size was perfect, as if they were custom-made for his feet. But he never imagined that these shoes would have any other use besides being "worn".

He turned the shoe over and tapped it with his finger.

Solid.

Then I tapped the other one.

It is also solid.

But when the third tap hit the heel, the sound was wrong—not a solid muffled thud, but a hollow echo.

He turned the shoe over and examined the heel closely. There was an extremely fine seam there, so fine that it was almost invisible, but when he touched it with his finger, he could feel a slight indentation.

"Do you have a knife?"

Ling Wuwen handed him a folding knife from her wheelchair—she had carried it with her for five years and had never let it out of her sight.

He gently sliced ​​along the seam with the tip of his knife. The outer leather of the heel lifted, revealing a thin inner layer. Inside, lay a tiny memory card, about the size of a fingernail.

Ling Wuwen leaned closer, his breath catching in his throat.

Gu Xidong took out the memory card and connected it to his phone using a card reader.

There is only one file.

video.

He clicked on it.

The camera shook a few times before settling down—it was a training venue with a standard ice rink in the background, and the stands were empty. The camera focused on the ice, showing a person skating.

Ling Wufeng.

He was wearing a black training suit with a red band tied around his left arm. His movements were slow, not with the explosive power of a competition, but rather—like he was recording an instructional video, each movement executed with precision and clarity.

He skated for three minutes, then stopped and faced the camera.

As the camera zoomed in, his face became clearer—thinner than five years ago, with dark circles under his eyes, but his eyes were bright, so bright they seemed to penetrate the screen.

He raised his right hand and made a gesture towards the camera.

First, open your palm, then close your fingers, then open your palm again, then close your fingers again—repeat three times.

Then he spoke, his voice very soft, as if afraid of being overheard:

"wait for me."

The video ends.

Gu Xidong looked up and saw Ling Wuwen's face.

She froze, her eyes fixed on the black screen of her phone, her lips trembling, but she couldn't utter a single word.

He placed the phone in her hand and held her hand.

"It's him," he said. "He told you to wait for him."

Ling Wuwen lowered his head, and tears finally fell, splashing onto the phone screen and creating a small patch of water.

"Five years," her voice shattered like ice breaking, "and he made me wait five years, then sent me a 'wait for me' message?"

Gu Xidong didn't say anything, but simply pulled her into his arms.

She trembled in his arms, crying like a child—not the restrained tears of a reunion, but the kind of tears that had been held back for five years and could finally be shed.

The night outside the window was very dark.

The black sedan was still parked on the street corner.

But this time, its car door opened.

5

After Ling Wuwen finished crying, she sat up from his arms and wiped her face.

"I want to see that gesture again."

Gu Xidong replayed the video, freezing the moment when Ling Wufeng raised his hand.

She stared at the screen, her eyes slowly narrowing.

"This is not a raven's whisper."

"What?"

"The Raven's Whisper was something she made up later; it didn't exist five years ago." She pointed to Ling Wufeng's hand. "This gesture is something we played when we were kids. Spreading it out means 'being,' closing it means 'waiting,' and spreading it out again means 'I'—putting it together means 'I'm waiting,' or 'wait for me.'"

"so?"

"So this gesture isn't for the raven. It's for me." She looked up. "He knows I'll see this feeding video."

The fragments in Gu Xidong's mind began to piece together.

An anonymous package. Ice skates with engravings. A hidden memory card. A video prepared five years ago.

Ling Wufeng knew she would come back, knew she would find Gu Xidong, and knew she would see this—

wrong.

"He prepared this video five years ago," Gu Xidong said, "which means he knew five years ago that you would come back to him."

Ling Wuwen was stunned.

"Or rather," he continued, "he knew five years ago that he wouldn't die."

The two looked at each other, and at the same time thought of the same question:

If Ling Wufeng knew five years ago that he wouldn't die, then where was he during those five years? What was he doing? Why didn't he show up?

At the street corner outside the window, the car door opened and a person got out.

It wasn't the driver, it was someone in the back seat.

The distance was too far to see the face clearly. I could only make out a blurry outline, standing motionless beside the car, facing the direction of the ice rink.

Gu Xidong stood up and walked towards the window.

Ling Wuwen pushed the wheelchair over.

The figure remained standing, neither approaching nor leaving. The night breeze ruffled his clothes, revealing him to be a man, tall and slender, with a certain posture—

Ling Wuwen stopped breathing.

That standing posture.

Left foot slightly forward, right foot bearing weight, arms hanging naturally—that's the habitual stance of a skater, always keeping their weight on the supporting foot, ready to move at any time.

She had seen this posture countless times.

On the training field, backstage at the competition, under the aurora.

That was Ling Wufeng's standing posture.

"Is it him?" Gu Xidong asked softly.

Ling Wuwen did not answer. Her hands gripped the armrests of the wheelchair tightly, her knuckles turning white.

The figure moved.

He took a step forward.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Step into the circle of light from the streetlight.

The light illuminated his face—

It wasn't Ling Wufeng.

He was a complete stranger. In his early thirties, with ordinary features, he wore a dark coat. He stood under a streetlamp, facing the ice rink, and raised his right hand.

Open your palm.

Bring your five fingers together.

Spread it out again.

Then gather them together again.

Repeat three times.

Then he turned around, walked back to the black sedan, and closed the door.

The headlights came on, the engine started, and the car slowly drove away, disappearing around the street corner.

Ling Wuwen's fingers trembled on the armrest.

Gu Xidong squatted down and took her hand.

"That gesture," he said, "was for you."

She nodded, unable to speak.

He knows you're watching. He wants to tell you—

Tell me what?

"I told you to wait." He looked into her eyes, "But he's not Ling Wufeng. He's someone who relays Ling Wufeng's message."

Ling Wuwen closed his eyes, tears seeping from between his eyelashes.

Outside the window, the night was still very deep.

But in the direction where the black sedan disappeared, a streetlamp was lit, as if guiding the way.

She opened her eyes, her voice hoarse:

"If he weren't dead... if he were still alive..."

She didn't finish speaking.

But Gu Xidong finished speaking for her:

"There must be a reason why he can't show up. What we need to do is wait for him to come out on his own."

She looked at him, her eyes still wet with tears, but a new light had appeared in them.

That light is called hope.