Since it was an expensive private school, the real highlight wasn’t the textbooks—it was the variety of extracurricular enrichment classes that the school loved to boast about. 

Even if Qiao Nan had fully mastered everything in her textbooks, things like advanced math, essay competitions, and science innovation contests weren’t skills she could catch up on overnight. 

Teacher Ning didn’t agree to Qiao Nan’s request outright, but she did ease up on her schedule a bit. 

She was allowed to take afternoons off, but mornings were non-negotiable—she had to be in school on time, and there would be a weekly test. If she scored under 80, the whole arrangement would be voided. 

All things considered, it wasn’t exactly a generous deal. But for Qiao Nan, at least it lightened her load a little. 

I mean, she still had a mountain of classes, still had to drag herself out of bed early every day, and now had one more test each week. But she got more time on the ice. And watching herself slowly go from clunky to smooth while performing the choreography Merlin had given her made the pain kind of worth it. 

Perhaps because Marlon had changed the program, the final choreography that Merlin handed to Qiao Nan was packed with one difficult move after another. 

Even the double flip (2F), which Qiao Nan hadn’t fully mastered yet, was placed in the second half of the program. According to competition rules, jumps executed in the second half receive a 10% bonus (1.1x multiplier) due to increased fatigue. 

Higher risk, higher reward. 

The music may have been calming, but Qiao Nan definitely didn’t feel calm. 

Even though they switched the music to the traditional Chinese song Jasmine Flower, running through the whole routine left her completely exhausted. 

The biggest issue? Speed. Not even her natural feel for the ice or impressive jump height could make up for how much she slowed down in the second half of the program. Her leg extensions during spins became shaky, and forget about tracing elegant patterns on the ice. 

Marlon once said that ideally, her gliding in the second half should carry her from one end of the rink to the other. But the way her positioning kept going off, it looked more like she was trying—and failing—to draw a jasmine flower on the ice. 

“Qiao, at your current level, you’d be at the Volin Memorial just for participation points.” 

Ever since they started choreographing the program, Marlon had been getting increasingly frustrated. Every time he saw her performance fall apart toward the end, he’d scowl, and then give her a stern talking-to once she skated over, panting. 

Qiao Nan wasn’t unaware of her weakness, but the issue of stamina wasn’t something she could fix overnight. Even with a system dangling a big reward in front of her, all she could do was grit her teeth, increase her daily training, and try her best to ensure consistency in her movements. 

Even though the Volin Memorial wasn’t a well-known competition in China, it would be her first. No matter how rough she was, she didn’t want to be someone who was just “happy to be there.” 

At six and a half years old, she may have had the maturity of someone older, but her small frame still gave her away. 

Every time Xie Luoying came to pick her up after work and saw Qiao Nan falling on the ice, getting back up without a word, and going back to practice—it broke her heart a little. 

Time flew by. Two months passed in a blink. 

On January 25, just as Qiao Nan was finally able to pull off her program with solid execution and roughly match it to the music, the Chinese Spring Festival arrived. 

After school let out, she went with Marlon to a club in Canada for extra training. Even though she knew the holiday was around the corner, Qiao Nan never once mentioned wanting to go home. Every day she showed up early, starting with morning stretches and powering through a full day of training. 

In the end, it was Marlon who brought up going home. 

“Qiao,” he said, watching her finish a run-through of the program. For once, the frown he’d worn for the past two months eased a little. “Tomorrow’s Chinese New Year’s Eve. Do you want to go home?” 

Marlon, though technically Canadian, knew more about Chinese holidays than Qiao Nan did. She hadn’t said anything, but seeing her pushing herself harder every day, he could tell how she was feeling. 

After all, she was just a six-year-old kid. Being away from home and family at that age—of course it got to her. 

Hearing his words, Qiao Nan hesitated. “Coach, I’m still not very satisfied with this program.” 

To be fair, Merlin’s choreography made great use of every musical beat. Especially in the step sequences, he’d tried to adjust things to match her stamina while staying true to the rhythm. 

Even Qiao Nan, despite the struggle, felt a bit of a personal challenge in mastering it. 

The competition was on February 15, just over twenty days away. Even though part of her missed home, she didn’t dare slack off. 

“I want to keep practicing a bit more,” she said, shaking her head. 

“You’ve made great progress,” Marlon said. “All four double jumps are stable now, and your spins aren’t terrible. If you can perform the whole routine cleanly, this competition won’t be a waste.” 

“Your training here in Canada is about done. After the New Year, you’ll be heading to Russia to prepare.” 

Qiao Nan looked surprised, and Marlon smiled. “Qiao, it’s time to go home.” 

“Your mom has a gift waiting for you. Don’t you want to go see what it is?” 

✵✵✵

At Marlon’s persuasion, Qiao Nan flew back to China. 

On January 28, New Year’s Eve, she saw the gift her coach mentioned—something her mother had prepared. 

It was a white-to-sky-blue gradient costume, with a skirt designed to look like flower petals. At the waist, several embroidered jasmine flowers were subtly hidden among layers of tulle. The whole outfit felt fresh and full of life. With her delicate braids and tiny accessories, the little girl in the costume looked like an innocent flower spirit. 

As if she had just entered the mortal world, her naïve appearance made even her mother, Xie Luoying, want to pinch her cheeks. 

“Mom, do I look pretty?” Qiao Nan asked in a soft, sweet voice, looking up at her mom, who was practically overflowing with love. 

Just then, a tiny floating ice crystal appeared next to her, glowing with specks of icy blue. 

⌈ Qiao Qiao looks amazing! ⌋ 

The first to respond was Tuan Tuan, the little AI spirit that had become much more lively since gaining energy. The ice crystal was one of its forms—only Qiao Nan could see it. 

Since activating, the system’s built-in AI had revealed its true talkative nature. Even though Qiao Nan had already chosen a career path in the system, Tuan Tuan still kept trying to convince her to switch to a “better” one. 

It wasn’t just about mission volume across different paths—Tuan Tuan had discovered that the main energy source in this world wasn’t exactly strong when it came to figure skating. According to its data, the energy you could gain from a performance was barely enough to leave a shadow. 

“Trying to talk me into switching paths again?” Qiao Nan answered without hesitation, already expecting the next line. “There are only twenty days left before the competition. Don’t you want to see how my novice mission turns out?” 

⌈ I’m just worried about you, Qiao Qiao! ⌋ 

The ice crystal did a little twirl and settled gently on her shoulder. 

⌈ To pass the novice mission, your performance has to get at least a C rating in influence. In other words, it’s not enough to skate well—you need to leave a lasting impression on at least a thousand people. ⌋ 

⌈ And until you pass, you can still change your career path. Don’t you want to at least think about it? ⌋ 

The novice mission that came with binding the system required her to promote a Chinese song to an international audience and get at least a C-grade rating from the system. 

As luck would have it, the song Qiao Nan chose for the Volin Memorial competition was none other than the famous Chinese folk song, “Jasmine Flower.” 

Whether it was a happy accident or a stroke of fate, it turned out Marlon’s decision to let Qiao Nan pick the song herself had triggered the mission. 

“No thanks. Not changing,” Qiao Nan replied flatly, without even blinking. “How will we know if I don’t try?” 

“I’ve looked it up before. Jasmine Flower is pretty well-known overseas. Tuan Tuan, just trust me on this one.” 

You looked it up? When did you do that behind my back? 

Tuan Tuan wasn’t entirely convinced. 

⌈ Qiao Qiao, don’t lie to me…⌋ 

Before Tuan Tuan could finish its thought, Xie Luoying suddenly interrupted, cutting into the conversation. 

“Nan Nan,” her mom said, her gaze shifting past Qiao Nan to the front door behind her. “Come here. Let me introduce you. This is Uncle Cheng—he’s from the family next door, Jue Zhi’s uncle.”

“You’re going to Russia in a couple of days, and since your dad and I can’t go with you, we thought Uncle Cheng could accompany you. He’s actually a figure skating coach in B City.” 

Cheng? Why does that name sound… weirdly familiar? 

Qiao Nan instinctively turned around—only to lock eyes with a scruffy-looking man she hadn’t seen in two months. 

“…It’s you?” she blurted out, staring at him for a second, puzzled. “Uncle Cheng, what happened to you? You look so… messy now.” 

Author’s Note: 

Cheng Cheng: No thanks, I’m about to lose my job. 😅 

I personally don’t like lengthy author’s notes, so I’ll try to clarify the rules clearly in the main text~ 

The actual competitions will really kick off after the Volin Memorial, and I’ll introduce the rest of the framework gradually instead of info-dumping. 

Rules are loosely based on ISU guidelines, and the training schedules are modeled after real-life Chinese athletes. 

During choreography, about six to seven hours on the ice for coordination are required, plus land training. It’s no joke how tough it is.