The atmosphere on and off the stage suddenly became tense, like the aftermath of a typhoon. When the man stared at her and said those three words, “You deserve it,” Weizhi felt as if a sword hanging over her head had finally fallen.
In front of this crowd, with seven or eight cameras pointed at them, and the possibility of TV5 broadcasting it tomorrow, he couldn’t rush down and pin her to the table for a beating. This was good.
She silently steadied herself against the table, mainly because her legs felt weak. Courage was fleeting, fragile, and uncertain. Even without him saying anything particularly harsh, just his raised eyebrow and the glimpse of his white teeth as his lips curled was enough to make her cower in an instant.
This was the downside of having your mentor as your boyfriend. No matter how much he was her boyfriend, when he cast that chilling glance, his authority remained eternal, effortlessly making her scalp tingle with the urge to call him “daddy.”
At this moment, in the frozen air, Weizhi hoped Shan Chong understood the concept of “program effect” – right? Program effect! The face mask incident was ancient history; she hoped he remembered that…
Besides, back then, when she didn’t let him remove the face mask, he truly didn’t. This couldn’t be her fault, could it? Who told him to be so obedient?
… What a mess.
Weizhi wanted to curl up and tremble.
It’s worth emphasizing that apart from the athlete bigshots on stage, the people seated below were all multimedia and short video operators, novel authors, and comic artists. The most notable characteristic of these three groups was their familiarity with human diversity, their love for imagining all they saw and heard, and their keen ability to perceive subtle atmospheres. Give them the beginning of a story… no, not even that – just give them a look, and they could spin a tale to “and the prince and princess lived happily ever after.”
So when Weizhi sat down after her interactive Q&A session with Shan Chong, she wasn’t at all surprised to find that the event-specific WeChat group for colleagues, which had been as quiet as a mouse and drowsy just ten minutes ago, had exploded into a lively [99+] unread messages.
Weizhi: “…”
Glancing at it, she found that at least a third of the messages mentioned here-
[Colleague A: What’s going on between you and the bigshot? @Geeky and Crafty Otaku]
[Colleague B: That sudden change in tone! How did it turn like that so abruptly!]
[Colleague C: Something’s up? @Geeky and Crafty Otaku]
[Colleague D: Oh ho, smell that dog food? @Geeky and Crafty Otaku I don’t know if it’s just me… but wow, snowboard comic artist vs retired snowboard legend!]
[Colleague A: …………… That smile from the bigshot made my heart melt!]
[Colleague F: I’m different, my heart’s shattered. While I was busy writing, my colleague already took the big bigshot home wuwuwuwu sister we’re both otakus how are you so amazing?]
[Colleague C: @Geeky and Crafty Otaku An otaku who’s not an otaku, those who call themselves otakus are all liars qaq!]
… Omitting a hundred messages.
After sitting down, Weizhi sent a “…” to the group.
[Geeky and Crafty Otaku: I think that part will probably be cut out.]
Her message dropped like a bomb into the Pacific, making the group chat even more active.
[Colleague A: Something’s up!]
[Colleague C: You knew each other before!]
[Colleague F: Ahhhhhhhhhhh!]
The male colleagues were fine, their gossip not getting too out of hand, but almost all the female colleagues in the conference hall were heads down, tapping on their phones-
Today was another day of being moved by a colleague’s beautiful love story.
Sitting next to Weizhi was a novelist from a certain “green” website. Compared to the other wild imaginations of the wolves and tigers around them, the authors from this website, constantly disciplined by moderators, didn’t dare write a single word below the neck. They sat there with “pure” written all over their faces.
At this moment, she tilted her head and spoke the truth: “The bigshot on stage is your mentor?”
Weizhi leaned her head closer and said, “Yeah.”
The green website author smiled: “Not just a mentor.”
Weizhi made an “Ah” sound.
The green website author, unable to write about anything below the neck, could only write about things above it. Reading between the lines was part of their expertise. She said, “The way he looked at you just now was different.”
With these simple words, the author who only wrote about above the neck made the artist who only drew below the neck blush furiously.
Amid their whispered conversation, Weizhi stole a glance at the man sitting on stage and suddenly felt he wasn’t so detestable anymore.
When Shan Chong wasn’t speaking, he sat quietly, his gaze lazily observing the current speaker. Though he was the only non-active, idle person on stage, there was a hint of arrogance and haughtiness in his eyes and brows, perhaps born from the lack of rigid discipline-
Yet he somehow managed to look polite.
Making it hard to find fault with him.
…
This Q&A session lasted for about three hours. It wasn’t until the sun was nearly setting that the various media representatives and authors seated below were finally released.
They were exhausted, and so were the big shots sitting on stage.
But while Weizhi and the others were dispersing, the big shots on stage weren’t let off so easily. The official media present all rushed forward with their equipment, grabbing whoever they could for on-the-spot interviews-
They didn’t ask much.
Just inquiries about their training progress.
In such a setting, Shan Chong, a mere “snow sports enthusiast,” should have been ignored. However, his presence was imposing just by sitting there… Moreover, as the only non-active team member present, the number of people crowding around to question him was even greater than for the other athletes.
Weizhi turned her head to look; there were four or five reporters holding microphones, surrounding Shan Chong.
Originally, she had been ready to leave, but now she felt a bit worried and reluctantly stopped, moving closer.
She overheard a sports section reporter from a website asking the man with a microphone: [God Chong, can you talk about the current prospects of snowboarding in China?]
Shan Chong had already half-risen, ready to leave, but now, forcefully surrounded, he had no choice but to sit back down.
“Snowboarding isn’t as optimistic as skiing, and the situation for women and men is similar… Parallel giant slalom is okay, we’re among the top, but still a bit behind the traditional powerhouses; we’re doing well in the halfpipe too, with emerging talents. If the athletes perform consistently, we should be able to win medals, though it’s hard to say what place. As for big air, we only have Dai Duo there-“
The man was quite polite, going through all the events he could remember. When it came to big air, he only mentioned Dai Duo, “He’s a player with a very high ceiling but also a low floor. On a good day, he might even win a medal, but on a bad day, he could be eliminated early in the qualifying rounds…”
[Speaking of elimination, God Chong, you’ve participated in the Winter Olympics twice before.]
The man turned his head slightly towards the interviewer. His face didn’t show any particular emotion in response to the reporter’s question; he just quietly looked at him.
Faced with that calm gaze, the reporter became a bit nervous before finishing his question: [Given that you were unsuccessful in both Winter Olympics, did you ever regret your decision to retire immediately afterward?]
This question made Shan Chong pause for a moment.
At this point, the event organizer became nervous. He perked up, not even bothering with politeness as he called out “Hey-” and started walking over: “Don’t ask questions unrelated to the event-“
“I don’t regret it.”
The man’s light voice caused an immediate few seconds of silence at the scene.
“Not everything in this world yields rewards just because you’ve put in effort,” he said. “Every athlete sweats and works hard, but in competitions, besides skill, luck also plays a part… Athletes who always think they’ll be rewarded just for their efforts won’t go far – sometimes failure is due to bad luck, sometimes it’s because what you thought was effort didn’t even come close to others.”
[May I ask, which category do you fall into?]
The reporter’s tone was provocative now.
Shan Chong just smiled slightly: “I retired for personal reasons.”
Reporter: [Was it because the psychological pressure was too much to bear?]
Shan Chong: “What I said earlier wasn’t nonsense. Why don’t you go back and think about it some more?”
The reporter was about to speak again when one of his colleagues, unable to watch any longer, stepped in front of him and changed the subject: [We’ve witnessed recently… even just now, that your current big air performance isn’t far behind your active days-]
Shan Chong: “Professional athletes have strict regulations for diet, sleep, and lifestyle habits. I still fall short in those aspects.”
The person asked: [From your comments, we can feel your attention and love for snowboarding and big air snowboarding. There was a lot of discussion about your sudden retirement back then, with some understanding and some regret-]
Shan Chong thought for a moment and said: “Behind keyboards, there’s always excessive kindness, unnecessary righteousness, irrational malice, and an urgent desire for attention.”
The man’s words were arrogant.
But no one could point out anything wrong with what he said-
As a retired athlete, he spoke about his past very candidly.
Those deep, dark pupils were calm yet sharp, showing no signs of guilt or unease.
[Can you be more specific?]
“Minding other people’s business.”
The reporter seemed to be at a loss for words for a couple of seconds.
[People are just curious. You’ve been active in the snow sports circle all these years-]
“First of all, I need to make a living,” Shan Chong said. “On top of that, promoting a sport I love, bringing it to the grassroots level, making it accessible to the public – is that illegal? When snowboarding competitions in local communities can match the scale and level of international tournaments, as table tennis does, then snowboarding will have hope.”
[…]
“In any sport, it’s not just the athletes standing on the competition podium who are great on their own.”
His answer once again plunged the scene into silence. Many of the other bigshots being interviewed turned their heads to look at him, probably surprised at how daring he was to speak like this.
…Indeed, he was daring. The epitome of “no organization, no discipline, and defiance of authority” was fully embodied in the man at this moment.
[The Beijing Winter Olympics are just around the corner. Have you thought about making a comeback?]
The reporter finally asked this question.
Shan Chong fell silent.
Almost simultaneously, all the camera equipment was pointed at his face, as if unwilling to miss any subtle change in his expression.
However, after what felt like a century, the man just smiled at the reporter without much warmth and gave an ambiguous answer: “As long as the competition platform is clean, athletes’ aspirations for it never change regardless of where it’s held.”
With that, he stood up.
This was probably a signal that all interviews were to end.
At this moment, the reporter who had been blocked earlier jumped up, raised his microphone, and asked reluctantly: [Excuse me, God Chong, could you please say a few more words? Are you not going to respond to your fans’ expectations? Do you know how many people’s hopes for snowboarding were ignited by your three consecutive championships and then dashed? I heard your retirement was related to family demands, is that true? Your sister was a figure skating prodigy back then-]
He couldn’t finish his words.
Because the man, who had already turned around, paused at these words and looked back at him-
Unlike his usual aloof and distant demeanor when speaking, this glance was filled with an icy, bone-chilling warning.
Meeting such a gaze could make one’s heart sink.
An invisible pressure instantly spread to the surroundings, and as silence fell around them, he withdrew his gaze and turned to leave.
The reporter, chilled to the core by that single look, still stood there dumbfounded, holding his recording equipment, unable to comprehend how an athlete could have such a fierce gaze…
Until a colleague patted his shoulder.
“You know how to pull a tiger’s whiskers.”
The person’s voice carried a hint of schadenfreude and mockery. “Suicidal and tactless.”
As Shan Chong stepped off the stage, signaling the successful conclusion of today’s event, with just a group dinner remaining before everyone would go their separate ways… At this moment, all the people began to retreat like a tide, and Weizhi, caught in the middle of the crowd, was pushed to the door.
She was squeezed against the door.
From afar, she watched her boyfriend, saw him slightly tilting his head, his side profile unbeatable, only the slight curve of his thin lips giving him an aura that seemed to keep all evil spirits at bay…
He took out a mask from his pocket and put it on, his slender fingertips adjusting the edge of the mask.
He lowered his eyes, his long and thick eyelashes casting small shadows on his lower eyelids, hiding the emotions in his eyes.
“Your mentor is over there,” at this moment, someone tapped Weizhi’s elbow. She turned her head to find it was the little sister from the green website, “Aren’t you going over?”
Weizhi: “…”
She looked up at Shan Chong in the distance.
She withdrew her gaze: “Haven’t you noticed there’s not a single soul around him right now?”
Green website author: “The atmosphere is a bit scary, but aren’t you-“
Weizhi, expressionless: “I’m scared too.”
As she said this, she pressed down her mask, fully embodying the spirit of “husband and wife are like birds of the same forest, when disaster strikes, they fly away separately,” preparing to slip away first.
Just then, she heard someone behind her call out “Otaku” in a lazy voice. Her hand froze on her mask, feeling the gazes of those around her turn towards her. With a tingling scalp, she turned her head…
Across the sea of people, her eyes met the black eyes of the man on the other side.
He raised an eyebrow.
Some of the people around had heard, and instantly, keen to catch the atmosphere, their gazes flickered between the two of them. If there was anything in that three-hour meeting that had kept everyone awake for three seconds, it must have been the mystical dialogue between the two of them on and off the stage.
“Where are you going?”
The man’s voice was deep.
He raised his hand, palm, casually beckoning in her direction.
“Come here.”
The originally noisy and crowded surroundings suddenly fell silent.
Those who were chatting stopped chatting, those who were pushing and shoving stopped pushing and shoving.
Everyone looked over.
Every. Single. Person.