That Park Jin-Ah girl… there’s definitely something a little off about her. 

Sure, they say her technique is solid, but mentally? I’m starting to wonder if she’s all there. 

Qiao Nan watched the girl walk away after randomly dropping some bold words in front of her, completely confused. Her mind was full of question marks. 

But the little girl didn’t have much time to care about Park Jin-Ah’s behavior. 

Soon, the backstage doors opened again, and Cheng Cheng and Marlon came in along with the other coaches. 

“Qiao, are you feeling okay?” Marlon touched Qiao Nan’s forehead, and seeing her temperature wasn’t as high as he had imagined, he felt a little relieved. 

The old man had forgotten yesterday that she’d been dealing with some on-and-off fevers the past few days and had let her stand around in the cold adjusting her posture. Thinking back now, he felt a bit guilty. “Don’t push yourself too hard, alright? Just do your best.” 

This competition isn’t about winning a medal. What matters is that you pay attention to the other skaters’ techniques and performances. 

Marlon had brought Qiao Nan here mainly to help her build up some real competition experience. He never expected her to take home any awards. 

After all, she was easily the youngest among all the skaters here. Even though she was incredibly gifted—probably one of the most talented Marlon had ever trained—a year and a half of practice still couldn’t compare to athletes who’d been on the ice longer than she’d been alive. 

They chose to compete overseas because, back home, all she’d be eligible for was some beginner-level club tournaments. 

Sure, with her four clean double jumps, she’d probably receive a medal, but in Marlon’s opinion, that would do less for her development than tossing her into a more intense professional field where she could be humbled a bit. 

Because it’s not just about skill—mental toughness in competition is just as important. If she always ends up on the podium… well, Marlon thought back to how one of his past students, Blake, had once complained to him about that very issue. He sighed deeply. 

That kid from Korea probably got wrapped up in a utilitarian mindset from childhood and was hyped up by the mass media. 

Qiao Nan wasn’t really a kid; she understood this. She just nodded at Marlon’s words, then wrapped her coat tighter. 

This was the first time she realized just how freezing this place really was. 

She sniffled hard and spoke in a stuffy, nasal voice. “Yeah. I get it.” 

The Volin Memorial was second only to the Russian Youth Championships. In Russia, figure skating had the same kind of popularity that table tennis had in China. Even though this was a children’s competition, the stands were packed, and the buzzing energy almost made the rink feel warmer. 

Qiao Nan leaned on the barrier around the rink, watching the crowd settle down as the countdown on the big screen ticked away. She felt a bit envious. 

She bet she’d see a lot of stuffed toys raining down soon. 

The “stuffed toy rain” is kind of a signature thing in figure skating. The more toys you get after your performance, the more the audience likes you. It’s not just appreciation—it’s a symbol of how popular you are. 

Every Russian fan seemed to come prepared with at least one plushie to toss. Meanwhile, back in China, getting a fully seated audience was already considered a win. Forget about toy showers—Qiao Nan had once dreamed of getting just one plushie thrown for her. 

Figure skating never really took off back home, even though it was often called the most beautiful event of the Winter Olympics. Domestic competitions were barely attended, which wasn’t surprising considering how often provincial teams got cut. 

She let out a deep sigh. Noticing Cheng Cheng’s puzzled glance from the side, she quickly sat up straight and focused on the performance happening on the ice. 

The order of competition was drawn by Cheng Cheng yesterday during Qiao Nan’s official training. It was neither good nor bad —five groups in total, and she was assigned to go second in the third group. 

Which meant she’d get to watch both Elena and Park Jin-Ah’s performances before hers. 

First up was Elena, a girl with soft blonde hair like Aurora’s. 

Maybe because the Russian team wasn’t staying at the same hotel, Qiao Nan hadn’t run into her before. But she had heard a lot about her from Aurora. 

Apparently, Elena was also the blunt, straightforward type. 

She was skating to Liszt’s Dream of Love, a gentle, romantic piece. 

The little girl wore a flowing white costume. Following the rhythm, she danced gracefully on the ice. The soft skirt swayed with every jump, using her body language to tell the story of the song in the empty rink. 

Aurora had once said that Elena was technically strong, but lacked a certain artistic spark. 

That seemed to be a common trait among Russian female skaters— they constantly strive for higher technical scores, relying on the large gap in technical points over other countries to overshadow the artistic score’s influence on the total. 

After watching the whole program carefully, Qiao Nan understood Aurora’s comment. 

Park Jin-Ah clearly hadn’t gotten accurate info. During Dream of Love, Elena attempted a triple Salchow (3S) that she clearly hadn’t mastered yet. The whole program was packed with high-level technical content for her age group. 

But with difficult moves came high energy drain. So even though her skating was smooth, the musicality felt off—some of the timing just didn’t land right. 

Her skating was smooth, but the artistry didn’t come through. Qiao Nan stared at the two very different scores on the big screen and zoned out. 

Technical Element Score (TES): 27.71 
Program Component Score (PCS): 41.76 
Total Score: 69.47 

The PCS multiplier for free skate is 1.6, and when you break it down, Elena was definitely leaning hard on technical points to carry her performance. 

Cheng Cheng noticed Qiao Nan’s slightly puzzled expression and glanced at the screen she was staring at. 

“Do you think Elena’s score was too low?” The man chuckled, as if he didn’t find the score surprising at all. “Just wait and see—this score is already not considered low.” 

Even though the Russian team didn’t focus heavily on artistry, that didn’t mean their judges went easy on them. If anything, they were strict—especially with their own skaters. Still, home field advantage mattered, and they’d usually come out ahead compared to foreign competitors. 

Just like Cheng Cheng predicted, the skaters following Elena didn’t score very high. Sure, some of it was due to their own mistakes, but even their PCS couldn’t break the 40 marks. Even Park Jin-Ah, who had thrown some sharp words at Qiao Nan before the competition and was rumored to be a medal contender, only just barely scraped 40. 

An artistic score of 40.16 and a technical score of 26.23: when those scores appeared, Qiao Nan noticed that the previously smug girl sitting in the Kiss & Cry area visibly lost color in her face. 

Looking back, Elena’s score wasn’t so bad after all. 

Still, scores are one thing. Qiao Nan had her own performance coming up. 

While she was still calculating everyone’s points in her head, the staff next to her awkwardly called her name. 

“Next up, representing China, Qiao Nan.” 

Time had slipped by. It was already the third group. Her turn had come. 

✵✵✵ 

Standing on the competition ice for the first time since being reborn, Qiao Nan would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. 

But as the familiar music echoed through the arena, her muscle memory kicked in before her mind could even fully register it. 

After all, she’d just gone through intense “extra training” from the world’s top coaches at the Garcia rink. It wasn’t just about stamina training that left her totally wiped out. In those short two days, Wright had even taken over for Marlon and personally corrected her performance movements. 

Wright’s reputation as a “devil” in Russian skating circles wasn’t for nothing. In the world of technical coaches, getting famous is already a huge deal. 

In just two days, while he couldn’t teach her entirely new elements, he did manage to help her squeeze a little more out of her technical score—which is honestly impressive. 

Qiao Nan’s biggest issue right now was with under-rotations during jumps. 

From a distance, it looked like she lacked stamina—her jumps weren’t high or far enough, and she often didn’t complete the full rotations before landing. That meant GOE deductions. 

And there’s a big difference between a -2 and -3 GOE. One jump losing three points vs. two jumps losing two each? That adds up. 

A lot of that came down to how well she managed her energy. Under Wright’s intense “math lessons,” her efficiency on the ice seriously leveled up. 

The sound of a familiar guzheng tune pulled her right back into the icy world. Her blades carved clean arcs into the ice as the soft blue hem of her dress swayed with the music. 

Unlike last time, where she used up all her energy from the start, this time Qiao Nan consciously paced herself. Even her opening double Salchow (2S) was more about stability than trying to push for a triple. 

She wasn’t sure if it was a psychological effect, but Qiao Nan felt especially energized during this performance. 

She looked delicate, even a little fragile, but once the music started, she bloomed—graceful and expressive. Her elements weren’t as technically difficult as the other skaters’, but her artistry definitely stood out among them. 

Technical Element Score (TES): 20.15 
Program Component Score (PCS): 38.72 
Total Score: 58.87 

Qiao Nan hadn’t aimed too high for her technical score, but the PCS result still made her smile in surprise. 

“Uncle Cheng Cheng, I—” She looked up toward Cheng Cheng beside the Kiss & Cry area and had just opened her mouth when she unexpectedly heard her coach spit out a standard curse word. 

Marlon Connor glanced at her scores and let out a cold snort. 

“The scores were way too low.” 

Author’s Note: 

Cough cough, Wright’s unofficial math lessons. 

Basically, he was teaching Qiao Nan how to manage her stamina better~