For the first time in her life, Jiang Nanfeng was accused of lacking manners. However, she seemed unfazed by the comment, merely glancing at him before entering the bathroom. Moments later, she emerged wearing Lao Yan’s clothes—new ones, but Lao Yan could tell they were his from their length.
Her hair was still dripping, soaking the front of the shirt. The hem of the short-sleeved t-shirt barely covered her thighs. One look was enough to know she was doing this intentionally.
Lao Yan’s body reacted involuntarily. He shifted under the blanket on the hospital bed and said, “You’re lucky the heating is good here. If this were back south, you’d freeze to death.” His tone betrayed his frustration—something he wouldn’t have dared express before.
“I’ve never seen those clothes before,” Lao Yan remarked. “Where did they come from?”
Jiang Nanfeng’s gaze drifted to the sofa, where an open duffel bag lay.
In truth, Jiang Nanfeng’s clothes weren’t dirty. Earlier, when Lao Yan had been curled up in bed like a violated househusband, she had stood up to take a shower. Glancing at the duffel bag on the sofa, she remembered it was brought by Lao Yan’s local female disciple that afternoon. She rummaged through it and found new, branded sports t-shirts.
So she decided to wear one.
Lao Yan didn’t react much to this revelation. He just clutched his blanket, bewildered, and asked, “So you’re wearing clothes another woman gave me. Does this make us even?”
He braced himself for a scolding.
Instead, she gave him a casual glance and said, “What’s there to be even about? I was never angry with you over this.”
Oh, so they were completely misaligned, weren’t they?
Lao Yan had never felt so wrong in his life. He watched Jiang Nanfeng saunter around the room in his clothes, slowly putting on her skirt and baseball jacket under his very eyes. Finally, as she unhurriedly replaced the disposable slippers with her boots…
Well, Lao Yan had been in and out of the hospital three times this year, but never had it felt so much like a five-star hotel.
“Should I start quacking now to fit my role?” he asked sarcastically.
“What are you talking about?” Jiang Nanfeng glanced at him. “Aren’t I the one getting dressed to leave? This is your room. Have you ever seen poultry prepare a room for guests—what is this, a running banquet?”
“…”
Damn.
Who said northerners had quick tongues?
At least he could never have come up with such a precise metaphor as “running banquet” in his life.
Lao Yan fell back onto the bed, feeling that his wrist wasn’t in much trouble tonight. Tomorrow morning, when the nurse came to check on him, they’d find his corpse, and the autopsy report would surely list “sudden heart attack” as the cause of death.
“Jiang Nanfeng, if you didn’t intend to reconcile with me, why did you sleep with me?” Lao Yan decided not to look at her anymore. Every glance made him want to strangle her, so he stared at the ceiling instead, dutifully covered by his blanket. “I now regret being born a year earlier. Otherwise, I’d send you to jail… See how much I care about you.”
He was almost mumbling to himself when he felt a presence approach, bringing the scent of cheap shower gel…
Wearing his clothes, she leaned over the bed, one hand propped on the edge, forcing eye contact. She earnestly told him, “I heard that after sleeping together, at least half of a man’s regrets can be eliminated.”
Her tone suggested she was doing him a favor.
Lao Yan was stunned. He reflexively asked, “Are you sick? Do you believe everything you hear?” Then he seriously pondered her words, wondering, “Do I even have any regrets?” Unfortunately, he discovered that he did—
His fingertips still tingled with the memory of her warm, soft skin and the fullness he’d felt while caressing her…
Closing his eyes, he could still see her propped up on one elbow, her gaze moist and slightly red as she looked at him.
He remembered the beautiful dimple in her lower back as she arched her spine.
…Realizing this might be the last time, far from eliminating half his regrets, “regret” had upgraded to “lifelong sorrow.”
She was sick.
“Please, stop aggravating me,” Lao Yan said. “I’m just a college student. I haven’t even entered society yet. I don’t understand how treacherous women’s hearts can be—”
She sat on the edge of his bed, gently patting his blanket, and said in a light, emotionless voice, “Well said. From now on, date people your age.”
Lao Yan was already a bit annoyed.
Her words made his chest explode, his whole body turning sour. The ache spread from his constricting heart throughout his body, almost sentencing him to death—
He had always thought that perhaps he had been too much in the past. Although he hadn’t cheated, he had often seamlessly transitioned between girlfriends. So now, heaven was punishing him…
Did he deserve this?
His eyes reddened slightly, and he tugged at the blanket without speaking.
The next time he opened his eyes, it was six o’clock the following morning. The hospital ward reopened for caregivers, and Jiang Chao pushed open the door, poking his head in.
Jiang Nanfeng was drowsy.
In the dim light, her hair covered half her face as she nodded off, one hand supporting her on the bed’s edge.
Not far from her, Lao Yan lay on his side, his injured arm resting at his side. As Jiang Chao opened the door, Lao Yan’s good hand was suspended in mid-air, about to brush away the hair covering her nose…
Hearing the noise, he first withdrew his hand before slowly turning his head.
Jiang Chao had opened the door quietly, but he didn’t control the sound when closing it. As he set down breakfast, Jiang Nanfeng also opened her eyes and yawned.
Lao Yan’s face remained expressionless as if he had been sleeping in his current rigid position all along, without any other movement.
Jiang Nanfeng stood up to go to the bathroom to freshen up, with Jiang Chao following close behind, leaning against the doorframe… When she lifted her eyelids, her face wet, and glanced at him in the mirror, he said, “That’s enough. He’s just a kid, his character isn’t settled yet. I reckon he does like you.”
His voice was neither loud nor soft, just audible to the two of them—
“Have you heard the saying, ‘A prodigal’s return is worth more than gold’? A reformed player can be even more devoted than an ordinary man.”
Jiang Nanfeng paused for a moment, blinking her eyes for two seconds.
Water droplets fell from her eyelashes, casting shadows that concealed the brief hesitation in her eyes.
That hesitation was truly fleeting.
As if it had never existed.
When she raised her head, the corners of her lips curved into a smile: “It’s quite funny hearing that from you. Which of your ex-girlfriends said something like this when you broke up with them?”
Jiang Chao realized that his sister was even more ruthless than him.
“He likes you more than you like him,” Jiang Chao said.
“Whatever,” Jiang Nanfeng said indifferently. “It’s not a competition. There’s no need to determine who’s winning or losing.”
She finished freshening up and was ready to leave.
The atmosphere seemed ordinary at the time.
But as her hand touched the doorknob, the young man on the hospital bed called her name. She turned back to look at him—
Seeing his face, still boyish, wearing an unprecedented seriousness.
It felt a bit unfamiliar.
As if the child had grown up overnight.
“Remember this: once you walk out that door, don’t look back,” Lao Yan’s voice sounded as if he was speaking through gritted teeth, with helplessness mixed with forced determination. “It’s you who doesn’t want me.”
For a moment, Jiang Nanfeng’s hand on the doorknob twitched.
But in the end, she still opened the door and left.
…
As she walked out of the hospital ward, it started snowing outside.
Amidst the heavy snowfall, Jiang Nanfeng stood in front of the bustling outpatient building but didn’t leave immediately.
People’s intuition is a very subtle thing. In the icy, snowy weather, she took off her gloves and pulled out her phone. She opened the short video platform app, went to her following list, and found the person she hadn’t paid attention to for a long time—
When they first met, he only had 120,000 followers. Now he was close to 160,000.
That meant at least about 40,000 people had seen his pinned video of ground freestyle skating with a partner when they visited his profile, knew who his most prized disciple was, and had seen his “No casual chat if not single” declaration…
Now all of these were gone.
The pinned video had been deleted, with no new video selected to replace it. The “No casual chat if not single” words had disappeared, leaving only sponsor brand acknowledgments and contact information for “Summer Guangrong, Winter Chongli teaching appointments”…
All the flashy stuff was gone, leaving just a normal ski master’s homepage, though it hadn’t been updated for a few days.
A biting north wind blew.
Jiang Nanfeng shivered, put away her phone expressionlessly, and left the hospital.
…
In the blink of an eye, half of the snow season had passed, with less than a week left until the New Year.
This snow season, eagerly awaited by people, came with hurried steps and was half over in no time.
In the short span of just over three months, many strangers met on the ski slopes. Some had accidents, some fulfilled their skiing dreams, and some became overnight sensations under pseudonyms—
And the story of Lao Yan and Jiang Nanfeng seemed to have come to an abrupt end.
…At least that’s what Wei Zhi thought when she saw Lao Yan’s short video platform homepage exuding an air of utter despair.
She deeply realized this a day later.
The despairing protagonist was sitting opposite her in the cable car, his arm in a sling, lazily leaning back and playing with his phone, his expression natural and relaxed.
Wei Zhi: “…”
Wei Zhi remained silent, waving her phone in front of the man beside her. He had been looking out of the cable car but turned his head when he felt his sleeve being tugged. He lowered his head to look.
He immediately saw Lao Yan’s short video platform—
He was silent for a moment, then, to Wei Zhi’s shock, he kicked the person opposite them: “Is it completely over between you and Jiang Nanfeng?”
His deep voice successfully attracted the attention of everyone in the cable car to Lao Yan. Besides Bei Ci, there were two disciples from Shan Chong, who often played with them and were familiar to Wei Zhi.
Bei Ci let out an “Ah” and looked at Shan Chong, but before he could say anything, he heard the man ask: “So how do you feel now?”
The rest of the people in the cable car: “…”
“If I were you, I’d jump up and fight him to the death,” Bei Ci turned to Lao Yan and said. “Even if he were a tiger, I’d be Wu Song with a crippled arm.”
Wei Zhi awkwardly put away her phone, feeling something was still off. She kicked the man’s foot to express her humanitarian stance.
Shan Chong felt quite wronged by the kick: “What’s that for? Isn’t Lao Yan here today to teach you? If he’s in a bad mood, you should prepare to be scolded.”
“Why should I prepare to be scolded?”
“How long has it been since you returned from Guangzhou? Have you mastered your back edge? Can your right hand touch the snow? Is your butt tucked in?”
A barrage of deadly questions.
It had been almost half a month since returning to Chongli from Guangzhou. Except for the few days of training with Shan Youmu, Wei Zhi had been battling the snow from dawn to dusk every day—
Her front edge stance was standard and smooth, her left hand could touch the snow, and her posture was elegant and beautiful;
But switching to the back edge was a disaster as if she had become a different person. She couldn’t manage it no matter what. Her posture had been adjusted repeatedly, but her right hand remained as far from the snow as fish from birds. The standard back edge stance required her butt to be almost above the snowboard, but she always ended up with it suspended in the air because her front foot couldn’t hold steady…
This was her pain point.
It shouldn’t be mentioned.
She thought Shan Chong didn’t know, but who knew Lao Yan’s mouth was a sieve, even tattling on her. It was truly unpredictable…
She wanted to look reproachfully at her “teacher” sitting opposite, but after her gaze lingered on his face, Wei Zhi didn’t have the heart to speak up. So she pursed her lips and remained silent.
In the awkward atmosphere of the cable car, Lao Yan, who had been looking at his phone, slowly raised his head, glanced at his master, and said calmly, “I’m in a pretty good mood.”
Everyone in the cable car looked at him.
“Listening to the same song on repeat for three months, no matter how good it is, you’ve got to change it eventually,” Lao Yan said. “Isn’t this just perfect timing?”
As he spoke, he put down his phone for everyone to see. The chat interface showed him having a lively conversation with a girl whose profile picture was Sailor Moon. It looked like she had just added him to book a lesson—
This kind of chat was far from dry.
Just the series of questions like “What’s your current level?”, “Do you have your board and boots?”, “Price?”, “What do you want to learn?”, “When do you want to take the lesson?”… If it were Shan Chong, he might have finished the conversation in ten sentences, or given his well-known policy of not taking beginners and being expensive, he might have skipped the preliminary questions altogether and wrapped it up in five sentences.
But for Lao Yan and others who occasionally took on beginners, it was different—
If they wanted to chat casually, each question could easily be expanded into a dozen sentences, and they could talk for an entire morning without stopping.
Wei Zhi glanced at it and wasn’t surprised to find that they could even exchange emojis for a while, truly hitting it off.
She didn’t say anything. From her understanding, Lao Yan and Jiang Nanfeng’s relationship had ended in mutual destruction through their process of hurting each other. At first, Lao Yan hadn’t been serious about the relationship, and by the time he woke up, Jiang Nanfeng couldn’t bring herself to care anymore—
As the saying goes, where you fall, there you shall rise. After Jiang Nanfeng left, Lao Yan started picking up beginners all over again.
As the cable car reached its stop, Shan Chong stood up, glanced at Lao Yan, and ultimately left without saying a word, carrying his board.
Wei Zhi followed behind Lao Yan, carrying her board.
Just as the two of them stood steady in front of the advanced K trail, a Salomon board “thudded” down beside them. This brand dominated the park boards, and the bindings on the snowboard were set in a pigeon-toed stance. Wei Zhi stared at it for a while before turning her head and meeting the man’s pitch-black eyes.
Wei Zhi: “…”
Wei Zhi: “?”
Shan Chong: “What are you looking at?”
The man pulled up his face mask, adjusted it around his nose, then slowly lowered his goggles.
Wei Zhi, still holding her board, turned back confusedly to look at the entrance of another advanced trail leading to the park. Bei Ci and the other two guys from the cable car were standing there, also looking bewildered in this direction.
Wei Zhi: “Aren’t you going to the park today?”
He was carrying a park board, after all.
The man dressed all in black, stood there and slowly let out an “Ah” as if reacting sluggishly, then said, “Suddenly don’t feel like it. I’ll watch you ski.”
Wei Zhi was perplexed.
The man seemed unwilling to waste words with her. He jerked his chin towards the slope ahead and bent down to put on his bindings.
…
The three set off one after another.
As usual, Lao Yan went first to demonstrate, she followed in the middle to learn, and Shan Chong trailed behind her with his phone.
The advanced K trail was sparsely populated, so she stood out as the ugliest skier on the entire slope—
The person in the pigeon-toed stance holding a phone could occasionally show off some pigeon-toed carving, switching the phone between his left and right hands, casually brushing the snow surface with whichever hand was free…
Moreover, his posture was the most graceful and beautiful pigeon-toed carving Wei Zhi had ever seen.
The atmosphere suddenly felt like her first day learning to carve in a parallel stance, with her stuck in the middle like a sandwich, neither here nor there…
Oh.
It wasn’t entirely the same.
Because halfway down this trail, Wei Zhi realized something was off—
After demonstrating a few edge techniques for her, Lao Yan didn’t patiently remind her every so often as he used to: Keep your legs firm, move your left shoulder towards the binding on your front leg, don’t forget your core, remember the trinity, none can be missing.
In the past, when she occasionally messed up a turn, he would wave her over to the side, then lie on the ground to explain what constitutes entering and exiting a turn, where to start exerting force and where to start applying pressure, telling her why her skiing line wasn’t smooth enough…
Today, all of this was gone.
Lao Yan just demonstrated, then stood on the slope with his hands behind his back, balanced on his front edge, watching her ski.
For the first half, he didn’t say a word. Only when she skied up to him did he say “Wrong,” followed by “Watch my legs and lower abdomen carefully,” then with a twist of his snowboard, he did a 180-degree jump turn and went down—
The atmosphere was tense.
He didn’t waste a single extra word.
Having one arm in a sling didn’t hinder his perfect folding at all. From Wei Zhi’s perspective, not to mention the relatively simple front edge, on the back edge he was almost touching the ground…
Wei Zhi watched in amazement.
However, when she, filled with anxiety about the change in atmosphere, tried her best to imitate him and skied breathlessly to Lao Yan’s side, his only comments were—
“You can’t even control your back edge skiing line now.”
“Know why? You applied pressure too late coming out of the turn.”
“You’ve lost your core.”
“I said it’s a trinity, what’s the use of doing one part and not the others?”
“Start over.”
“Again.”
“Your right leg isn’t firm enough.”
“You’re sweeping snow.”
By the time they reached the equipment hall at the bottom, Wei Zhi was dizzy.
It felt like she was skiing with two Shan Chongs.
It was bizarre.
She watched in a daze as Lao Yan bent down, removed his snowboard, picked it up, and stood straight, snow falling from his board… He turned back to look at Wei Zhi, who was standing there stunned, lazily beckoned to her without a word, then turned and walked towards the cable car.
Wei Zhi: “…”
Wei Zhi stared at the red and white hoodie on the young man’s back in the distance, reflexively turning her head. At this moment, the man dressed all in black approached from behind—
“When switching from front to back edge, you need to start pressing your shoulder forward to prepare for the board flip when you’re halfway through the front edge turn. If you only press when flipping the board, it’s too late. Right now it’s just that your speed is slow. If you were skiing at high speed and pressed slowly, your upper body would lag and you’d be thrown off… Think more while you’re skiing, don’t let your mind go blank.”
He reached out and gently patted her head, “Don’t rush, it normally takes at least a month or so for people to master both front and back edges… Go on.”
As he spoke, he bent down to pick up her board.
Wei Zhi looked at Lao Yan’s retreating figure.
Then she turned to look at her boyfriend beside her.
Faced with her silent questioning of life, he let out a brief chuckle from behind his black face mask, his eyes slightly narrowed as he said calmly, “What did you think I was following you for?”
“…What for?”
“If I weren’t here, he would have lost his temper and started scolding you long ago.”
“…”
“If he dared to scold you, I would scold him,” the man said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Now you know how good I am, don’t you?”