After work, Cheng Cheng somehow ended up at the Xishuang Ice Rink again. 

This was already his seventh visit to Xishuang this week. Sure, the rink was technically part of his job, but honestly, every visit felt the same to him. 

There were only so many promising young skaters around. Following some higher-up’s spur-of-the-moment “genius idea” to hang around commercial rinks hoping to spot talent? He figured even if he kept this up until retirement, he still wouldn’t find enough kids to count on one hand. 

Might as well check out elementary schools instead. Yeah, the odds were worse and it was more exhausting, but at least he wouldn’t have to pay the rink entrance fee. 

And that fee wasn’t cheap either. The provincial team offered a few ticket reimbursements, but with Cheng Cheng’s habit of constantly wandering around, the ten subsidized visits per month always ran out before the month was even half over. 

Fifteen yuan for two hours, the indoor rink was many times more expensive than the natural ice rink. 

With the figure skating team stuck in a lull and no new talent coming in, the higher-ups might as well lower their own rink fees and wait for kids to walk in. Sending coaches to all these commercial rinks just felt like helping the competition make money. 

Still grumbling in his head, Cheng Cheng dug out some crumpled change from his pocket, had a quick chat with the ticket girl he knew well, changed into his skates, and pushed open the rink doors. 

The sudden blast of cold air immediately fogged up Cheng Cheng’s glasses. He paused, waiting for his vision to clear, then instinctively and professionally scanned everyone on the ice carefully. 

That kid over there—too stiff. That one—scared of falling. The one in the corner—some talent maybe, but too old… 

Same old story. Just like his last few visits, there weren’t many people on the ice, and most of the kids he already recognized. 

This so-called “Little Dragon Project” was nothing but a pipe dream. The number of kids who could afford to practice at an indoor rink was tiny; most were already with other clubs. Every time he came here, he wasn’t sure if he was scouting talent or just sadly watching other clubs train their promising new recruits. 

Seemed like another fruitless trip. 

As another familiar coach walked over to him, Cheng Cheng gave a wry smile. 

“Brother Lin, fancy seeing you here.” Facing a former colleague sharing the same plight, Cheng Cheng had no competitive heart and just joked casually, “Changing places but still hanging around here?” 

Wang Li Lin used to be a coach for the B City provincial figure skating team too. But after the local talent pool dried up and the higher-ups held out for two months, they finally started downsizing. Compared to Cheng Cheng, who had trained several champions, the less competitive Wang Li Lin was unfortunately told to leave. 

They’d always gotten along decently. Cheng Cheng had followed his situation for a while after he left the team and heard he’d joined a club as a coach. He hadn’t expected to run into him again like this, though. 

“Who isn’t?” Wang Li Lin sighed. “Spent all that time fighting for a spot, and now look at us—skating on public rink, trying to spot talent.” 

Then, as if remembering something, he circled back. “What about you, Brother Cheng? Found any good kids?” 

Cheng Cheng had thought Wang Li Lin was a bit of a simpleton when they first met—and this only confirmed his gut feeling. Only someone that clueless would still go around stabbing himself in the heart with false hope. 

“If I had, do you think I’d be this free right now?” Cheng Cheng rolled up his sleeves in mock irritation. “What about you? After a whole day here, did you find anything?” 

Wang Li Lin looked like he’d been waiting for that question. 

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” He grinned, then dropped his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Kid’s in the far corner. Amazing flexibility and leg strength.” 

“She’s probably still there.” He glanced behind him, spotting a figure near the column. Then, turning to Cheng with a look of invitation, he said, “Wanna go take a look? No joke, she might be the most gifted kid I’ve seen in the past two years.” 

“Gifted?” Cheng raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You sure a talented kid at Xishuang is unclaimed?” 

It wasn’t that Cheng Cheng didn’t believe Wang Li Lin, but he had almost asked every kid who came to this rink. Those with some talent were either from other clubs or had preliminary agreements with other clubs. There was really no lone promising kid like he described. 

“She’s not technically free,” Wang Li Lin said, mysteriously. “But for all practical purposes, she might as well be.” 

“You’ll understand when you see her.” 

✵✵✵ 

The blade sliced sharply across the ice. With a strong push off the toe pick, fine shards of ice flew into the air alongside the skater. They floated gently down in the soft background music of the rink. 

A double flip (2F). She managed to stay upright after landing, but the rotation was off by about 180 degrees. In a competition, that would’ve been an automatic “<” mark on the scoresheet. 

Landing it at all was an achievement. The double flip wasn’t easy—especially not for someone who had only recently stopped falling during attempts. But to Qiao Nan, it still didn’t count as a success. 

She’d been chasing perfection since she was little—so much so it had become an obsession. Everyone said habits formed young, and in her case, no one had been able to break her of this slightly obsessive streak. 

After coasting a short distance forward, she let go of all tension and slumped half-over the rink railing, mentally replaying every frame of that last jump. 

That’s how she’d been spending most of her days lately—jumping, reviewing, jumping again. So much so that even her coach couldn’t bear to watch anymore. 

During the jump, her muscle memory led her into a proper arc, and she instinctively lifted her left leg mid-air. But her leg strength still wasn’t enough. The impact on landing nearly made her knees give out. 

The more Qiao Nan thought about it, the more tangled her mind became. It wasn’t the first time she’d made mistakes like this. Even though she’d trained the jump over and over, problems still kept popping up the moment she stepped on the ice. 

It was like a puzzle with no solution—every time she broke the movement down, a new issue appeared. 

As usual, her coach was the first to cut her off. 

“Rest five minutes and adjust your mindset.” Marlon Connor sipped warm water from a thermos beside him, spoke calmly, stopping Qiao Nan from pushing herself further. “Qiao, don’t let your muscles get too stiff. Don’t be afraid to fall.” 

Then, as if something occurred to him, he picked up his camera and reviewed the footage. “Take a break. Think about something else.” 

“Okay.” 

She said it obediently, but the moment she stepped off the ice, she dragged over a small bench and sat down with a pout, muttering under her breath and counting all her mistakes on her fingers. 

It wasn’t that she was too hard on herself—after all, she’d just finished a full month of exams, and between school and daily off-ice training, she hadn’t had much time on the rink. 

That’s figure skating for you. Miss three or four days, and it feels like you’re starting from scratch. And here she was, barely warmed up, trying to pull off a jump she’d only recently learned with a so-so success rate. 

What can she say? Youth is a blessing. 

However, despite feeling a bit down, Qiao Nan’s attention was quickly drawn to the two middle-aged men nearby. 

Qiao Nan had been watching them for a while—well, more like felt them watching her. Ever since she finished warming up and started jumping, those two had been lurking behind a pillar, whispering like they were up to something. Every time she jumped, they seemed to cheer silently, their stares so intense she couldn’t ignore them even if she tried. 

That look in their eyes? Let’s just say they looked like they wanted to scoop Qiao Nan up and take her home. 

In her previous life, Qiao Nan was just an average figure skater, barely known in the scene. Her weak foundations from childhood training kept her stuck at the national championship level, and after dying unexpectedly, she ended up becoming a completely different version of herself in another world. 

She was no stranger to looks like that. Back in her old life, her teammates often threw similar glances her way—half admiration, half attempt to recruit or cozy up. Qiao Nan remembered those moments well. 

When she was thirteen, a car accident took her parents’ lives. Her older brother ended up in a coma, and the medical bills became a massive burden that fell squarely on Qiao Nan’s young shoulders. 

At that time, she had just entered the provincial team. Most of the training expenses were covered by the state, and what little money she received all went directly to the bottomless pit of hospital bills.

Once carefree, she now had to maintain her daily training while squeezing in time to earn money however she could. Her breaks were few and far between. 

The brutal schedule wore her down fast. During one jump drill, she lost focus, tore her Achilles tendon, and just like that—her skating career was over. 

To make things worse, her injury happened right when the national team came scouting. Qiao Nan showed up in a wheelchair, sat through the whole session, and ended up as little more than background decor. She could only sit there listening as coaches heaped praise on her teammates and chatted about the generous salary boosts athletes got after transferring teams. 

She couldn’t remember who picked whom, but the moment someone’s income doubled? That number was etched in her brain, even twenty years later—and even though her life had completely changed. 

Nearly five thousand, excluding training costs. 

Now, if Qiao Nan were really seven years old, maybe she wouldn’t care about any of this. But mentally, she was already in her twenties. So when she noticed the two men giving her that treasure-hunter kind of look, she didn’t ignore it. Nope—she dragged a little chair over and parked herself behind them, eavesdropping like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Just like her past self. The only difference was that this time she was doing it openly, instead of sneaking around. 

Listening to gossip during replay reviews? Totally counts as “thinking about something else,” just like the coaches used to scold her for. 

Qiao Nan figured that kind of twisted logic actually made perfect sense. 

And honestly? This kind of chill distraction… it was kinda fun. 

But just as she was thinking that, she suddenly heard her name come up in their conversation. 

“Brother Cheng, so this kid called Qiao Nan—is your provincial team interested in her?” 

Author’s Note: 

A little heads-up before we dive in: 

✵ This story was born from a pact with my bestie—we challenged each other to start a new project without any pre-release hype. We were super excited for a month, only for me to throw out my entire outline and rewrite everything the week before launch… Yep, that’s me. Currently running on zero drafts, posting daily at 9 PM (3,000 words each), and planning to finish this story as a VIP work. Hopefully, I can keep this up until my exams are over! 

✵ Treat the system like a silly little background character. It doesn’t do much and doesn’t show up early (though maybe just a bit earlier than the male lead). Seriously.

✵ All competitions use the ISU Judging System (CoP 2.0), following the 2021–2022 season rules (yes, the version where judges effectively score frame-by-frame technical elements). Basic knowledge is drawn from ISU YouTube videos from September and other sources. Some details may be inaccurate—corrections are welcome.

✵ The protagonist has no counterpart in the real world. Qiao Nan was reborn into another world with a different family background. It’s a parallel universe with similar technology and no pandemic.