Ice skates forward, regardless of east or west.

1

The air in the abandoned ice rink still carries moisture and a faint smell of rust.

Gu Xidong left.

He didn't take the miniature camera with him, but instead threw it at Lin Wuwen's feet.

Like a hunter throwing a bone to its prey.

A gift filled with humiliation and warning.

Ling Wuwen stood there, staring at the camera, his body trembling slightly for a long time with anger and fear.

She didn't pick it up.

She knew it was a trap.

A cursed Pandora's box.

She turned and walked out of that "apartment".

She needs to calm down.

She needs to find something of her own in these ruins.

She wandered aimlessly, her feet leading her to a pile of junk in the far corner of the ice rink.

There, piles of all sorts of "garbage" that Gu Xidong had collected over the past three years were stored.

A worn-out mattress.

A broken wine bottle.

There were also several rusty, abandoned tin boxes.

She crouched down, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with the miscellaneous items.

Her mind was in complete chaos.

Gu Xidong's words, "You're too naive," echoed in her ears like a curse.

She always thought she was in control of the situation.

She was guiding Gu Xidong to rediscover himself.

In retrospect, she was just a character in his script.

A pathetic supporting character who doesn't even know his own lines.

2

Her fingers touched something cold and hard.

It was a rectangular metal box that had been pressed under a broken mattress.

The box was old, covered with dark red rust, the color of dried blood.

She pulled it out.

The box was not locked.

She opened the box.

There was no gold or silver treasure inside.

There were no earth-shattering classified documents.

There was only a bunch of shredded, yellowed photos.

Like a piece of a dream torn to shreds, never to be pieced back together.

She picked up a sheet.

That was a group photo of the national team before they participated in the World Championships.

In the photo, Gu Xidong stands in the center, full of vigor and with a bright smile.

In the photo, Lin Wufeng stands next to him with a shy, admiring smile on his face.

Behind them were the fluttering national flag and a group of energetic teammates.

That was a golden age that can never be relived.

Ling Wuwen's fingers gently stroked the smiling face of "Ling Wufeng" in the photo.

Then, her fingertips touched a glaring, abrupt red.

She looked closely.

The face of Ling Wufeng in the photo.

It was smeared black by a red marker, fiercely and frantically.

It's not a simple crossout.

It's the kind of graffiti that's filled with extreme hatred and completely erases facial features.

The black ink even penetrated the photograph and imprinted itself on the one below.

She quickly picked up the photo.

The photo below is another group photo.

The same scene.

The same location.

The same "Ling Wufeng".

The same face was also painted black.

She flipped through the pages one by one.

In every photo, wherever "Ling Wufeng" appears.

That face was covered with such an ugly, cursed black ink stain.

In the photos, Gu Xidong "killed" Ling Wufeng countless times in this way.

3

Ling Wuwen sat on the cold ground, holding the pile of destroyed photos in his hands.

Her hands were trembling.

She looked at the faces that had been blackened, and felt a mix of emotions.

At first, she thought this was Gu Xidong venting his frustrations.

This is his hatred for the brother who "killed his partner".

This is his way of denying his past as a "murderer".

He hated Ling Wufeng.

I hate his willfulness.

I hate his existence.

I hate him for not dying in that accident.

So he wanted to "kill" him with his own hands, again and again, in these photos.

Ling Wuwen's heart ached as if it were being pricked by needles.

It is a complex emotion that mixes guilt, anger, and sorrow.

She thought she understood his pain.

It now appears that what she saw was only the tip of the iceberg.

Gu Xidong's suffering was a deep-seated, self-torturing torture.

His three years of depravity.

His three years of drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

His three years of self-exile.

It's not just about numbing yourself.

It was also to punish himself.

He was using this method to subject himself to "death by a thousand cuts" over and over again.

He turned himself into a living dead.

A walking corpse guarding its own sins.

4

"What are you looking at?"

A voice rang out behind her again.

This time, there was none of the previous horror and oppression.

The owner of the voice seemed very tired.

Ling Wuwen suddenly turned around.

Gu Xidong was standing right behind her.

He changed his clothes.

An old tracksuit, faded from washing.

His hair was still wet, casually hanging over his forehead.

He wasn't holding the camera.

Instead, he was holding a can of chilled Coke that he had just bought from a vending machine.

He walked up to her without looking at the photo in her hand.

Instead, he looked at the empty metal box.

"It's nothing," he said, pulling the tab on the Coke. "Just some junk."

"What is this?" Ling Wuwen held up a blacked-out photograph. "Why did you do this?"

Gu Xidong took a sip of cola, the icy liquid sliding down his throat, making him shiver.

He stared at the glaring black ink stain in the photo, his eyes no longer filled with the madness of the past.

There was only a deep, unyielding weariness.

"I'm practicing."

"Practice what?"

"Practice...forget."

Gu Xidong sat down next to her, stretching his legs out against the cold wall.

"Did you know that in figure skating, there's a move called a 'lift'?"

"That was the most harmonious and perfect collaboration between me and my partner."

"I remember his weight, his center of gravity, and every breath he took."

"That kind of memory is etched into my bones."

"But my memory is faulty that night."

"My hand has loosened."

"I made him fall."

His voice was very soft, as if he were telling someone else's story.

"From then on, I began to force myself to forget."

Forget what he looks like.

"Forget his voice."

"Forget all the unspoken understanding between him and me."

"I bought these photos, and then I personally blacked out his face."

"I'm using this method to forcibly remove this person's existence from my memory, over and over again."

"But……"

He shook his head with a wry smile.

"it's useless."

The more you try to forget, the clearer the memory becomes.

"I'm even starting to have trouble telling if the person in the photo who's been blacked out is actually my brother..."

"It's still me."

He turned his head and looked at Ling Wuwen.

Do you think I'm ridiculous?

"He's the one who killed me, and yet I'm here punishing myself?"

Ling Wuwen looked at him.

Looking into the unfathomable abyss of despair in his eyes.

She suddenly understood everything.

The miniature camera that Gu Xidong bought.

His "horror movies".

The "negatives" he hid.

All his "degeneration" and "pretense" over the past three years.

Neither of them were motivated by revenge.

At least, it's not about seeking revenge against others.

He was waiting.

He's waiting for the truth.

He was waiting for evidence that could prove he wasn't the "murderer".

He was waiting for a key that could free him from this self-cursed hell.

That "red rope videotape" was the prototype of that key.

But he knew that wasn't enough.

So he's still waiting.

He is using this self-destructive method to turn himself into a "useless person".

A "useless person" who makes "black swans" lower their guard.

He was gambling with his life.

I'm betting that the mastermind behind this will strike again.

I'm betting that the truth will resurface.

5

You're wrong.

Ling Wuwen suddenly spoke.

Her voice was soft, yet firm.

Gu Xidong was stunned for a moment: "What?"

"You've misunderstood him." Ling Wuwen looked at the photo in his hand. "Your brother didn't kill you."

"The incident that night was not an accident."

"It was murder."

Gu Xidong's body jolted violently.

He stared intently at Ling Wuwen: "What...did you say?"

Ling Wuwen raised his head and looked directly into his eyes.

"I'm telling you, the reasons you've been torturing yourself for the past three years have been wrong from the very beginning."

"You are not the murderer."

"Your brother isn't the murderer either."

"You are all victims."

"They were designed by someone, the two main characters in a 'Swan Lake' tragedy."

She reached out and pointed to the blacked-out face in the photo.

He did nothing wrong to you.

"He might even... be taking a bullet for you."

Gu Xidong's face turned deathly pale instantly.

He looked at Ling Wuwen, his eyes filled with shock, doubt, and a hint of...unbelievable hope.

"How...how did you know?"

"Because I am that..." Ling Wuwen's voice choked with emotion.

She almost blurted it out.

She almost told him that she was Ling Wufeng.

But at that moment...

The factory gate made a dull thud.

Someone is coming.

It's not Lao Zhao.

It was the sound of a group of unfamiliar, heavy footsteps.

Ling Wuwen and Gu Xidong exchanged a glance.

They both saw wariness in each other's eyes.

Gu Xidong quickly stuffed the photos back into the metal box and kicked it to the deepest part of the junk pile.

He pulled Ling Wuwen up and shielded her behind him.

"Hide well."

He spoke in a low voice, his eyes becoming sharp and dangerous again.

He had somehow acquired a sharp ice knife for cutting ice.

The footsteps grew closer.

Accompanied by a blinding beam of light, like a flashlight.

A strange, gruff male voice rang out in the darkness:

"Gu Xidong, we know you're inside."

"Come with us."

"Someone wants to see you."

Gu Xidong gripped the ice blade in his hand and sneered:

"not see."

"Let him come here by himself."

The voice showed no sign of annoyance.

Instead, it carried a strange smile:

"You don't want to see him, then...would you like to see your former 'partner'?"

"He's still alive."