Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

Chapter 143 Author's Closing Remarks

When I finished writing the last word, I sat by the window, lost in thought.

Outside the window, it's an ordinary night in an ordinary city; the sound of traffic can be heard in the distance, and the lights of neighboring houses are on. Everything is very ordinary.

But I know that from today onwards, a world is complete.

In that world, there are ice rinks, there are aurora borealis, and two people stand on the ice waiting for their reunion after five years. There is a brother who went undercover for five years to exchange for his sister's freedom, there is a girl who leans on crutches and says, "I want to learn to ice skate," and there are children who line up in a long queue to skate behind him.

That world is called "Ice Blade Forward, No Questions Asked".

For whom was this story written?

For everyone who has ever fallen.

For everyone who is in so much pain that they want to give up, but still manages to stand up.

For everyone who has waited and is still waiting.

For everyone who loves someone and is willing to give everything for that person.

Also for those—

I haven't found myself yet, but I'm looking for someone.

Gu Xidong, thank you for showing me what "moving forward" truly means.

The first time he appeared in my mind was on a very late night.

At that time, all I knew was that his knee was broken, and his heart was broken. He didn't know where to skate next, or if there was anyone left for him to skate to.

Later he met Ling Wuwen.

Later he lost her.

He waited for five years.

For five years, he skated alone every night, his knees aching with every turn, but he didn't stop. Because he had promised her: to keep the skates forward.

Gu Xidong taught me one thing:

A true strong person is not someone who never falls, but someone who can get back up every time they fall, using the ice as a crutch.

Even if your knees are broken, even if the road ahead is dark, even if the whole world tells you "forget it"—you must stand up. Because someone is waiting for you, because someone is watching you, because every arc you draw will become the starting point for those who come after you.

Finally, he stood by the Winter Olympics stadium, watching the boy finish his entire dance. The boy asked him, "How was my dance?" He replied, "Not bad. But remember—you're not dancing for others, you're dancing for yourself."

At that moment, I knew he had succeeded.

He is not a champion, not a hero, he is—a successor.

He passed that light on.

Ling Wuwen, thank you for showing me what "coming back" truly means.

Ling Wuwen is the toughest character I've ever written about.

She was as hard as ice, as hard as a knife, as hard as five years of living in darkness. When I wrote about her, I often paused to ask: Was she in pain? Was she tired? Did she want to cry?

She didn't answer. She just kept walking. With her crippled leg, step by step, she walked back to that person.

She taught me that love is not sweet words, but "I spent five years learning to walk again so that I could walk to you."

Finally, she stood at the edge of the ice rink, leaned against the wall to stand up, looked at Gu Xidong and said, "Take me for a lap."

At that moment, I couldn't stop crying.

She used those five words for five years.

Five years of treatment, five years of rehabilitation, and every day for those five years I thought, "Will I ever be able to stand on the ice again?"

She did it.

She spent the rest of her life teaching more people that walking is not about getting somewhere, but about being able to stand up and keep moving forward.

Ling Wufeng, thank you for showing me what a "brother" truly is.

Ling Wufeng, you idiot.

You lived as the dead for five years, in place of the living. You lost a leg, five years of your life, and everything a normal person should have. Lying on the ice, weighed down by steel frames, you said, "I didn't sacrifice myself; I completed my mission."

But do you know what? You are the sacrifice.

You sacrificed yourself for your sister's freedom. You sacrificed five years for the truth to come to light. You sacrificed that leg for those people to be caught.

But you taught me that some people leave so that more people can stay.

Finally, you sit in your wheelchair, watching your sister and Gu Xidong dance on the ice, tears dripping onto your prosthetic leg.

I will never forget that scene.

Because that was love. Not romantic love, but love. The kind of love a brother has for his sister with his whole life.

You said, "I'm there when we're dancing."

Yes. You've always been there.

To those children, thank you for showing me what "hope" truly is.

When Lin Xiaoman appeared on the ice rink with crutches, I cried.

She looked at Gu Xidong and said, "My legs are ruined; the doctor said I can never skate again. But your knees are ruined too, and you're still skating. So I wanted to ask you—can you teach me?"

At that moment, I knew that this story had not been written in vain.

Because as long as there is one person who wants to learn, as long as there is one person who wants to stand up, as long as there is one person who does not believe in the word "ruined"—the ice rink will always exist.

And there was the boy who asked, "Will you still compete?"

Five years ago, he stood by the ice rink and asked this question; five years later, he stood on the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics, skating the entire dance. Every movement of his bore the shadow of Gu Xidong.

After he finished skating, panting, he asked, "Coach Gu, how did I do?"

Gu Xidong said, "That's right. But remember—it's not a dance for others to see, it's a dance for yourself."

The boy paused for a moment, then smiled: "Coach Ling Wufeng said the same thing."

At that moment, the arcs of the three people converged.

At that moment, I knew that the passing on of the torch was complete.

About waiting and reunion

This book is about waiting a lot.

Ling Wuwen waited for Gu Xidong for five years.

Gu Xidong waited for Ling Wuwen for five years.

Ling Wufeng waited for his sister for five years, in a different way.

Lin Xiaoman waited five years and finally received the words, "I'll teach you."

Waiting is painful. I know. I've waited too. Waiting for news, waiting for someone, waiting for a tomorrow that may never come.

But after writing this book, I realized one thing:

The waiting itself is the answer.

The fact that you are waiting means you still believe.

Believe that person will come, believe that event will happen, believe that tomorrow will be a little better than today.

As long as you keep waiting, you are still moving forward.

The ice skates move forward because someone is waiting.

Regarding the phrase "ice skates forward"

These four words are the soul of this book.

Gu Xidong first said it when Ling Wuwen taught him. At that time, he didn't quite understand it, but he thought it was a cool phrase.

Later he understood.

Later, Ling Wufeng lay on the ice, holding his hand and said:

"Skating forward on your ice isn't about forgetting the past. It's about carrying the past with you and continuing to skate."

Those pains, those tears, those lost souls—they have all become the light beneath the ice. You can't see them, but they've always been there.

With every step you take, they are supporting you.

Every time you fall, they help you up.

Every time you draw an arc, they all follow your arc.

So you're not alone in skating.

Never has been.

About you

Thank you to everyone who has read this far.

142 chapters, over 500,000 words. I don't know how long it took you to finish reading, but I know you must have cried in some parts, laughed in others, and stopped to think about your own experiences.

That's enough.

The purpose of a story is not to make you remember the characters, but to let you see yourself in them.

If you've ever felt pain, if you've ever waited, if you've ever fallen and wondered if you could get back up—

Remember Gu Xidong's knees, remember Ling Wuwen's five years, remember Ling Wufeng's words: "I am not sacrificing, I am completing."

Then stand up.

Put on your ice skates.

Even if it's just gliding slowly, even if it's just gliding along the ice.

As long as you keep moving, you are moving forward.

Finally, I want to say

This story is for everyone.

A message to those who have found themselves on the ice rink.

This is for those who haven't found it yet, but are searching.

This is written for those who have lost, those who have waited, and those who have fallen and gotten back up.

A letter to everyone—

A person who has experienced pain, but has never stopped.

If one day, this story can be seen by more people—

I want them to see the nights when Gu Xidong skated alone on the ice rink for five years.

I want them to see Ling Wuwen leaning on his cane, walking step by step towards him.

I want them to see the hand Ling Wufeng used when he lay on the ice and handed over the hard drive.

I want them to see the look in Lin Xiaoman's eyes when she said, "I want to learn to ice skate."

I want them to see that boy standing in the center of the Winter Olympics ice rink, skating an entire dance.

I want them to see—

On the ice, three figures merged into one.

Above, the stars shone brightly.

If one day, this story could be brought to the screen—

I want that light to shine into the hearts of more people.

I want those arcs to become the starting point coordinates for more people.

I want that sentence to be heard by more people:

Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

last sentence

Gu Xidong wrote on the last page of his memoir:

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.

Ling Wuwen said, "I was there when they were dancing."

Ling Wufeng said, "I am not sacrificing myself, I am completing the task. You are the ones who will continue."

The children said, "It's our turn."

And what I want to say to you is—

The ice rink will always be there.

The light is always there.

Those curves will remain forever.

and so--

Keep skating.

Regardless of whether your knees hurt, regardless of whether there is light ahead, regardless of whether anyone still remembers you.

Slide down.

Draw your arc.