Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

Emotional tone: Fulfillment, relief, eternal moments

The Last Dance:

There was no music, only the hissing sound of ice skates cutting through the ice.

Since Ling Wuwen couldn't use her left leg, Gu Xidong supported her every movement with his body.

Every time she stumbled, he caught her just in time.

With each spin he made, she followed perfectly.

It's not perfect technology, but it's communicating every second.

Ling Wufeng's perspective:

He sat in his wheelchair, watching the two people on the ice.

I remember the first day I taught my younger sister to ice skate, and the first dance I taught Gu Xidong.

Thinking of that blood and fire, thinking of those losses and gains

He lowered his head, tears dripping onto his prosthetic leg, but a smile played on his lips.

Children join in:

Sometime during the day, a group of children gathered by the ice rink—all of them students taught by Gu Xidong.

The oldest girl is the one who asked "Who is this grandma?" earlier.

She was the first to skate onto the ice, following behind the two.

Then came the second, the third, and the tenth.

The ice rink transformed into a flowing river, with dozens of children gliding behind the two.

The completion of the inheritance:

Gu Xidong stopped and looked at the long line behind him.

Ling Wuwen also stopped, leaning on his shoulder to catch her breath.

She said softly, "Look, they're all here."

He nodded: "Yes. The arc we drew, they drew next."

She looked up at him: "Should we still row?"

He smiled and squeezed her hand: "Paddle. Paddle until you can't paddle anymore."

Final screen:

The setting sun turned the ice rink golden.

The three sat side by side on the edge of the ice rink—Gu Xidong, Ling Wuwen, and Ling Wufeng.

Behind me were the sounds of children's laughter, falling down, and the clatter of ice skates.

Gu Xidong held Ling Wuwen's hand, and Ling Wuwen held Ling Wufeng's hand.

No one spoke.

But in every ray of sunset light, the same word is written.

Voiceover (last page of Gu Xidong's memoir):

"I used to think ice skates were weapons, used to pierce the truth; then I thought they were paintbrushes, used to paint myself; and later I thought they were teaching aids, used to convey hope."

"Now I understand—"

"An ice skate is just an ice skate. It will dull, it will rust, it will be worn down by time. But every arc it draws on the ice will never disappear. It will be continued by the next pair of skates, and the next, and the next."

"Just like the first dance Ling Wufeng taught me, I taught it to those children, and they will teach it to their children in the future."

"Just like Ling Wuwen spent five years learning to walk again, and then spent the rest of his life teaching more people—walking is not about getting somewhere, but about being able to stand up and keep moving forward."

Those we've loved won't truly leave. They become the light beneath the ice, the momentum for the next movement, the hand that catches you when you fall.

"so--"

"Ice blades forward, regardless of east or west."

The final shot:

As night deepened, the children dispersed, and the ice rink returned to silence.

Gu Xidong stood up and extended his hand to Ling Wuwen.

She grasped it and stood up.

The two slowly skated towards the center of the ice rink.

Ling Wufeng, sitting in his wheelchair, slid to the other side.

The three met in the center of the ice rink

Above, outside the dome, the stars shone brightly.

On the ice, three figures merged into one.

Rating

Epilogue: Two years later

1

The opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics, in the center of the main stadium.

The 90,000-seat stands were packed, and the lights illuminated the entire stadium as if it were daytime. But at this moment, all the lights went out, leaving only one beam shining on the center of the ice rink.

It was an artificial ice rink—360 degrees without any blind spots, the ice surface was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the lights overhead, like a piece of shining white jade.

Gu Xidong sat on the coach's bench with a blanket covering his knees.

It's been two years. The old injury in his left knee is hurting more and more frequently. The doctor said it's irreversible wear and tear and he can only let it heal. But he didn't feel any pain today, or rather, he couldn't care less about the pain.

His eyes remained fixed on the center of the ice rink.

There was a boy standing there.

Eighteen years old, tall and thin, with slightly hunched shoulders—a posture typical of someone who has trained for a long time. He wore a dark blue competition uniform with a small national flag embroidered on his left chest. The lights shone on his face, illuminating his eyes.

Those eyes held tension, excitement, and something Gu Xidong was very familiar with—an impulse to prove himself.

Five years ago, that boy stood by the ice rink and asked him, "Coach Gu, will you still compete?"

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

Now, it's your turn.

The music is ringing.

The boy took a deep breath and began to glide.

2

The first movement is the swallow balance.

He raised his left leg back, leaned forward, and spread his arms—the posture, the angle, the degree of weight shift—it was exactly the same as Gu Xidong's twenty years ago.

Gu Xidong's breath hitched for a moment.

The second action is a combined rotation.

Entering with one foot, cutting in with the outside edge, tightening his body, and spinning faster and faster—that was the first set of spins Gu Xidong taught him. It took him three years to master it, and on the day he did, he skated ten laps around the ice rink, grinning like a fool.

The third movement is a jump.

Triple toe loop. He took off, spun, and landed—his left knee wobbled slightly upon landing, but he regained his balance.

Gu Xidong clenched his fists under the blanket.

He knew how difficult that move was. He had jumped it tens of thousands of times, and that's how he ruined his knees. He knew that every jump was a gamble, and every landing was a test.

The boy continued skating.

Every movement bears the mark of Gu Xidong. But it's not just Gu Xidong—some movements have the angle of Ling Wufeng; some have the rhythm of Ling Wuwen; and some are connected by movements that Lin Xiaoman figured out later.

He is a child produced by everyone.

He is the one formed by the arcs drawn by everyone.

3

In a corner of the audience, Ling Wuwen and Ling Wufeng sat together.

Two years have passed, and Ling Wuwen can walk independently now. Although it's slow, and her legs hurt after walking for a while, she no longer needs a wheelchair. Today, she's wearing a dark gray sweater, and her hair is whiter than before, but her eyes are still clear.

Ling Wufeng sat next to her, his left leg a prosthesis below the knee. He stood up with his prosthesis and handed her the binoculars.

She didn't answer.

I just leaned on his shoulder and looked at the ice rink.

"Can you see clearly?" he asked.

"I can see it clearly."

"That far?"

"You don't need to see clearly," she said. "I know what he's dancing."

Ling Wufeng didn't say anything more, but just let her lean on him.

On the ice rink, the boy is performing his final combination jump. He leaps into the air, spins, lands—perfect.

The crowd cheered.

Ling Wuwen's lips curved into a smile.

"Like him," she said.

Ling Wufeng knew who she was talking about.

Like Gu Xidong.

Just like all of them.

4

The music stopped.

The boy stood in the center of the ice rink, panting, his chest heaving. The lights shone on him, gilding him with a silvery glow. He bowed deeply, and when he straightened up, the entire arena erupted in applause.

He didn't look at the stands, but turned his head to look at the coaches' bench.

Gu Xidong stood up.

He felt a sharp pain in his knee, pressed it, and then slowly walked towards the edge of the ice rink.

The boy glided over and stopped in front of him, panting.

"Coach Gu, how did I do?"

Gu Xidong looked at him.

His eighteen-year-old face was soaked with sweat, and his eyes shone like two flames. There was no fatigue in those eyes, only excitement, only the satisfaction of finally completing the task.

He thought of himself twenty years ago.

That's how it was. Standing on the ice rink, panting, I asked the coach: How was my jump?

He reached out and patted the boy on the shoulder.

"good."

The boy's eyes shone even brighter.

"But remember—" Gu Xidong looked into his eyes, "it's not a dance for others to see, it's a dance for yourself to see."

The boy was stunned.

Then he laughed.

The smile bloomed on his young face, like the first ray of sunshine in spring.

"Coach Ling Wufeng said the same thing."

Gu Xidong smiled too.

He turned around and looked towards a corner of the audience.

There, Ling Wuwen and Ling Wufeng sat together. Ling Wuwen leaned on her brother's shoulder, while Ling Wufeng whispered something to her with his head down. They were too far apart to see their expressions, but he knew they were smiling.

He turned back and looked at the boy.

"Go," he said. "They're waiting for you."

The boy nodded, turned, and glided towards the audience.

Gu Xidong stood there, watching his back.

In the center of the ice rink, the lights were still on. The ice surface was covered with knife marks—the marks left by the boy, dense and numerous, like an abstract painting.

Those marks will soon be smoothed over by the people who re-pour the ice. New ice will cover the old, as if nothing had happened.

But he knew they were still there.

Beneath the ice. In memory. In the hearts of those who have seen it.

They will not disappear.

5

The opening ceremony was still ongoing. The next program was already being prepared backstage, and staff were beginning to clear the ice. The boy had returned to the athletes' bench, surrounded by a crowd of people taking photos, hugging, and congratulating him.

Gu Xidong didn't go over.

He walked back to the coach's bench, sat down, and covered himself with a blanket.

His knees hurt even more. But he didn't pay attention; he just stared at the center of the ice rink, at the knife marks that were being smoothed out.

My phone vibrated.

He took it out and looked at it; it was a message from Ling Wuwen:

"We'll wait for you at the door."

He smiled, put away his phone, and stood up.

Before leaving, he glanced back at the ice rink.

The lights have dimmed, and new performers are entering. The knife marks on the ice are no longer visible, covered by new ice and replaced by new knife marks.

But he still watched it for a long time.

Then he turned and walked toward the exit.

Just as he turned around, a line of text slowly appeared on the large screen in the center of the stadium.

White lettering on a black background—very simple, without any decoration.

"Dedicated to everyone who found themselves on the ice."

pause.

"Also dedicated to those who haven't found their way yet, but are already skating."

The entire room fell silent for a second.

Then applause broke out.

Gu Xidong did not turn around.

But he stopped.

Standing at the exit, with my back to the ice rink, I listened to the applause.

That applause wasn't for any one person. It was for everyone. For those who have found it, and for those who are still searching. For those standing on the ice, and for those who will never stand on the ice again. For those who fell, and for those who got up. For the arcs that have been drawn, and for the arcs that are being drawn.

He stood there for a long time.

Then he laughed.

keep going.

6

Outside the venue, night had fallen.

The neon lights illuminated the entire street in a riot of colors, and crowds poured out from all the exits, forming a flowing river. Some were taking pictures, some were making phone calls, and some were hugging.

Ling Wuwen stood under the streetlight, leaning on Ling Wufeng's shoulder.

She saw Gu Xidong come out, raised her hand, and waved.

He saw her and walked over quickly.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"In a little while," she said, "how was the performance?"

He thought about it.

"fine."

"Is it fine?"

He looked at her and smiled.

"very good."

Ling Wufeng chimed in from the side, "It's rare to hear you praise someone."

Gu Xidong glanced at him: "I was praising him, not you."

Ling Wufeng laughed and kicked him lightly with his prosthetic leg.

Three people stood under a streetlamp, watching the crowds come and go.

Some people recognized Gu Xidong and pointed at him from a distance, but no one came over to bother him. The Ice Blade Foundation had already spread far and wide, and his name had appeared in the news countless times, but he never gave interviews or participated in public events, so people had gotten used to watching him from afar.

Ling Wuwen took his arm.

"go home?"

He looked into her eyes. Under the streetlights, those eyes remained clear and bright.

"go home."

The three people turned around and slowly walked towards the parking lot.

Behind me, the lights in the venue were still on, but the text on the big screen had disappeared, replaced by a preview of the next program.

But those words still resonate in many people's hearts.

7

Many years later, someone asked that boy: What is the most important moment in your life?

He thought for a moment and said: Not the moment of winning the championship.

The man asked: What is that?

He said: "It was the first time I asked Coach Gu, 'Will you still compete?' and he said, 'My competition is over, now it's your turn.'"

The person didn't understand: Why that moment?

He looked into the distance and said, "Because it was at that moment that I realized I wasn't skating for anyone else. I was skating for myself. And also for all those who can't skate."

The man remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked: Where are they now?

The boy smiled.

They say, "Ice blades forward, regardless of east or west."

Then they just kept moving forward.

I don't know where they are now.

But I know that wherever they are, they are gliding.

Because to live is to dance, time and again, on the broken ice, for yourself and for those you love.

[The End]

End of book

Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

Dedicated to all those who find themselves on the ice

Also dedicated to those who haven't found it yet, but are already skating.