Most snow enthusiasts visiting Xinjiang seek a return to nature, considering any mountain slope as a wild snow paradise. Consequently, the snow park was nearly deserted, with only a few lonely props scattered about—unlike Chongli, where the heavily used props were polished smooth enough to serve as mirrors.
To find the big air jump, one had to go elsewhere. It was a training ground for professional teams at the end of winter, but now, at the start of the snow season, it was desolate.
In the cable car, Wei Zhi leaned against the door, gazing down at the empty snow park below. It seemed perfect for recording videos. She studied the landscape intently, while behind her, the man sat relaxed in his chair. His bandaged hand rested naturally on his leg as he reclined, briefly glancing at the girl pressed against the door.
Since boarding the cable car, she had been mesmerized by the view, her eyes fixed outside, not daring to turn her neck towards the interior.
Perhaps her earlier outburst in the restaurant had depleted her courage for the day—or even for the week.
Her eyes were still red and slightly swollen from crying and rubbing, resembling overripe peaches. It wasn’t a particularly flattering look.
Serves her right, the man thought.
Shan Chong raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just open the window and jump out?”
The moment he spoke, Wei Zhi visibly stiffened. Her expression became even more sardonic. He lazily stretched out his long legs and crossed them. “Sit back down.”
Wei Zhi’s fingers nervously fidgeted with the rusty door handle before reluctantly retreating two steps. She sat down next to Bei Ci, who was engrossed in his phone.
Bei Ci sat directly opposite Shan Chong. Wei Zhi sat diagonally across from Shan Chong, head bowed, suddenly fascinated by a dirty spot on her snow boots.
“Tell me,” Shan Chong said, deciding to amuse himself by teasing his disciple, “where did you get the sudden inspiration to see me perform a big air jump?”
His direct question made Wei Zhi’s scalp tingle. Even her elementary school interview for a private middle school hadn’t been this nerve-wracking. She fiddled with the zipper on her snow pants pocket, eventually mumbling, “Because I thought you could do it, and you’d be no worse than Dai Duo—”
“A normal person would say ‘and you’d be better than Dai Duo’ at this point,” Shan Chong interrupted.
Wei Zhi fell silent.
“Go on,” he prompted.
How can I continue after you’ve said that? You’ve completely killed my motivation, she thought.
Wei Zhi lowered her head further, speaking in a muffled voice. “I saw you looking at the comments on Dai Duo’s video for quite a while. All those people praising him to high heaven…”
She paused, realizing her logic was somewhat flawed, but couldn’t help adding, “I wanted to see people praise you like that too.”
Bei Ci chimed in, “The world’s best Shan Chong gege?”
Wei Zhi stared at him expressionlessly. He shrugged, looking inexplicably pleased.
“Being good doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be praised,” Shan Chong said. “You might be underestimating the imagination and aggression of internet users these days… Perhaps Dai Duo just deleted the negative comments.”
Wei Zhi looked at him, puzzled. Why would anyone criticize a good performance? She continued, “I also saw someone ask Dai Duo, ‘Who’s better, you or Shan Chong?'”
“So you wanted to see who’s better?” Shan Chong leaned forward, his dark eyes fixed on her. “What if you find out Dai Duo is better?”
Wei Zhi instantly froze, her back as rigid as a steel plate. Bei Ci, unable to watch any longer, said sympathetically, “Keep breathing. He’s just teasing you.”
The sound of deep breaths immediately filled the air. Bei Ci now seemed like a concerned father. “Stop scaring her.”
Shan Chong gave Bei Ci an expressionless glance. After a few seconds, the oppressive atmosphere dissipated, and he leaned back in his seat.
Having finished his questioning, Shan Chong noticed Wei Zhi stealing furtive glances at him.
“If you want to ask something, just ask,” he said.
“It’s still the same question.”
“Which one? Why I’m unwilling to do big air jumps anymore? Why there are no big air videos among all the short videos online?”
She nodded vigorously, like a pecking chick.
Shan Chong chuckled softly. “My answer is still the same. It’s not about willingness. My back isn’t good, so I don’t jump anymore.”
This answer was completely unexpected.
Wei Zhi believed him. Her eyes widened as her gaze traveled from his face down to his chest, then to his waist, lingering there for a good ten seconds. Hesitantly, she moved her gaze about fifteen centimeters lower—
Shan Chong shifted his posture. “Where are you looking?”
Wei Zhi quickly averted her eyes. “Men shouldn’t casually say their backs aren’t good.”
“But it’s true. You saw it before, didn’t you?” Shan Chong said. “There are genuine steel pins in there. Even if I were cremated, my ashes would weigh more than yours.”
Reminded of the ghastly scar on his back (which she had been drawing repeatedly), Wei Zhi vividly recalled the image. She moved her lips slightly. “Does… does it still hurt?”
The man paused.
The lazy expression on his face became more serious. He glanced at her thoughtfully and said, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
The atmosphere in the cable car shifted, becoming somewhat strange.
Wei Zhi raised her hand, uncomfortably scratching her face with her index finger. The cool fingertip against her burning cheek eased her embarrassment. She blinked, her mind filled with the meaningful look he had just given her.
Could he have noticed? she wondered. Noticed that she had ulterior motives towards him.
Damn it.
She shouldn’t have said anything. Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!
As she internally panicked, Bei Ci, who had been quietly playing with his phone, saved the situation by asking an unexpectedly creative question:
“Chong-god, isn’t that scar on your waist? When did Little Shimei see your waist? When did you take off your clothes in front of her?”
Wei Zhi was rendered speechless.
As Wei Zhi’s toes curled in embarrassment, Shan Chong calmly replied, “It was above freezing in Chongli those days. What’s wrong with a grown man changing his quick-dry shirt by the lockers?”
Bei Ci’s gaze darted between the two for a long time before he finally said, “Oh. Well, men should still protect themselves. I was just worried gege might have been taken advantage of.”
Shan Chong let out a cold laugh.
…
At the training facility’s jump platform, even Wei Zhi, accustomed to heights, felt a bit of vertigo. She leaned against the railing, peeking out, only to have the crosswind nearly blow her head off.
The next second, she was yanked back.
The man had already donned all his protective gear and was slowly putting on his final outer snow jacket. This action indeed gave off the vibe of a cautious, retired veteran athlete. Finally, he fastened his helmet and pulled down his goggles. He set off, warming up with two straight jumps.
On his third jump, he casually performed an outward 720, but didn’t land perfectly, having to do a tail drag to maintain balance—
Wei Zhi’s heart leaped into her throat, thinking he was about to fall, but he managed to stand up at the last moment.
Returning to the jump platform for the fourth time, the man discussed the filming plan with Bei Ci. He would start a few seconds ahead, with Bei Ci following closely. When Shan Chong jumped, Bei Ci would jump too—
In mid-air, Bei Ci would film him, capturing a 1-second shot of the board’s base at takeoff, then zooming out to show the number of rotations, and finally getting another 2-second shot of the board’s base.
Hearing that Bei Ci would also be jumping, Wei Zhi was stunned. She had fallen just walking past the bottom of the ramp with her straight board that day!
“Camera ready?” Shan Chong asked.
“Of course. Don’t you trust me?” Bei Ci replied.
“Wei Zhi left me traumatized last time.”
“She was indeed a bit ridiculous.”
…
The two of them shamelessly gossiped about the third person present.
“Wasn’t I the one traumatized that day?” Wei Zhi chimed in, but no one paid attention to her.
The two men, ready to start their promotional stunt, finished their discussion. Bei Ci secured the camera and pulled down his goggles. “Let’s go,” he said.
Immediately, two figures left the starting platform one after another. Wei Zhi barely noticed the cameraman following behind, her attention entirely focused on the black silhouette in front—
The 8-meter big air jump was truly wide and high. When the man was halfway down the straight run, his figure already looked only half its usual size.
He gained speed on the straight, then ascended the ramp.
Wei Zhi held her breath. For a moment, she was transported back to that summer afternoon months ago when bleary-eyed, she turned on the TV to see a snow-covered world where a man on a snowboard flew out from behind a towering jump–—
As if some people could sprout invisible wings just by standing on a snowboard.
From the starting point, she could barely make out the man’s silhouette as he leaped off the ramp. His back leg swung upward, his entire body executing a side-pull upward motion!
This upward pull, combined with his momentum, launched him about three to four meters off the jump. His long snowboard rotated half a turn in midair, some fifteen meters high. During this rotation, his body, initially stretched upward from the jump, gradually curled. His backhand grasped the snowboard between the bindings—
One rotation.
Two rotations.
…
Five rotations—
Six rotations.
Completing the spin during the descent, there was a heavy “thump” as the snowboard hit the ground. The tail of his board landed first, the entire board making contact with the ground at an exaggerated angle—
His hand touched the snow surface, his gloved left hand leaving a long trail as he used it to push himself up slightly. The front of the snowboard touched down!
He straightened up, glided straight for several meters, then executed a backside press, kicking up a small wall of snow before coming to a stable stop at the bottom of the slope.
From afar, he seemed to look up towards the jump’s starting point.
Across that distance, he made eye contact with the girl who was leaning on the railing, craning her neck to watch him intently.
At the starting point, the girl paused for a moment, then stood up straight and began clapping furiously like an excited seal.
…
Night.
Altay, Jiangjun Mountain Ski Resort.
In the evening, in their room, Dai Duo was sitting cross-legged, one hand propping up his head, looking disinterested as he listened to Wang Xin’s lecture about proper technique. Core strength, leg drive, why are you wobbling on landing, even if you spin 3600 degrees in the air it’s useless if you can’t stick the landing—
Just then, the phone on his lap seemed to come alive, vibrating furiously: “buzz, buzz, buzz,” “buzz, buzz, buzz,” “buzz, buzz, buzz.”
He paused briefly.
Amidst Wang Xin’s irritated warning “Could you pay a little attention?”, he picked up his phone and found his WeChat exploding—
People in the Changbai Mountain Ski Friends group were frantically tagging him.
[@Dai Duo …Your reverse psychology worked well]
[I now reasonably suspect you two are dating?]
[Master-disciple romance forever?]
[I’m dying laughing, damn, strictly speaking, isn’t Dai God Shan Chong’s junior? @Wang Xin @Wang Xin @Wang Xin]
[But Dai God is also Shan Chong’s disciple, hahahahaha, damn, your circle is so messy!]
[Alright, you’ve successfully grossed me out. Can’t you big men chase some soft little girls instead of making eyes at each other in public?]
…
A hundred more messages followed.
There were also tags for @Wang Xin.
[@Wang Xin Now you can die without regrets.]
[Hahaha congratulations Wang Xin hahaha hahaha you’ve waited for this!]
[Xin, I could cry with you. These years haven’t been easy for you, has your hair turned white?]
[Last time @Wang Xin got drunk, he grabbed me crying snot and tears, calling another man’s name, saying he hoped to see him on the jump again in his lifetime… Nice, coach, you have an “in this lifetime” series package to sign for.]
[Xin, come out and look at God.]
…
Fifty more messages followed.
The group chat was in chaos.
Dai Duo raised an eyebrow, feeling puzzled.
The next moment, a flying pillow hit him. The middle-aged man nearby had his hands on his hips, glaring coldly: “Can you stop looking at that damn phone! Is the earth exploding and waiting for you to save it? Even if the sky was falling, you should listen to me finish explaining your miserable landing—”
Dai Duo: “They’re calling for you in the group too.”
Wang Xin paused.
Dai Duo: “They say you can now die happy.”
Wang Xin: “What? Did the Olympic Committee give you a medal early? And now I can die happy?”
Faced with his coach’s bewildered expression, Dai Duo expressed his curiosity. He typed a question mark in the group chat, and someone told him to quickly check the short video platform, saying there was a “surprise.”
Dai Duo switched from WeChat and looked. He soon found his surprise—
In the video, the jump training facility near the Silk Road Ski Resort was bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, as if coated in a layer of lamp oil. The light flowed quietly over the empty 8-meter jump.
A black figure at the edge of the jump, parallel to the sun-scorched horizon, leaped out.
The snowboard scraped across the snow surface with a “swoosh.” The black base of the board, the fluid rotating figure in midair, the heavy thud of the landing, and a whistle from the person recording the video.
As the video ended, a caption appeared at the bottom: bsquadcork2160 🙂
After a few seconds of silence, Dai Duo exited the video. The caption outside the video read: Oh, I see.
Dai Duo: “…”
The phone was snatched from his hand. Once again, he heard the sound of the snowboard cutting through snow and landing as the video replayed. Then came Wang Xin’s loud “Ha!”, drowning out Bei Ci’s whistle.
Looking up, he saw the middle-aged man covering his mouth tightly with one hand, his eyes twinkling like stars in the reflection of the phone screen, brimming with tears.
Dai Duo: “Can you not disgust me?”
Wang Xin: “My angry scolding that day woke him up!!! Did you see that?! An inward 2160, aaaah, and he landed so stably. What a genius! How long has it been since he touched an 8-meter jump? Unlike you, with your wobbly outward 2160, still asking me if we can cut the landing part!”
Dai Duo: “…”
Dai Duo: “I’m going to make a scene.”
Lazily snatching back his phone, he glanced at the comments section of the video, which already had over 30,000 likes—
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah oh my god aaaaaaaaaah!
I never thought I’d see Shan Chong on the big air jump again in this lifetime.
Chong-god, forever a god!!!!
Amazing!
So impressive, why not participate in the Winter Olympics next year?
Chongli’s last glory!
The above is nonsense, he’s a native of our Changbai Mountain! Stop trying to claim him!
Jumping so well and still retired, I thought you couldn’t jump anymore, don’t know what you’re thinking.
Is this a response to Dai God? Aaaah I knew it, I knew you two must have a story!
Dai God: Two hearts pining, sharing the same snowy fate; in this life, we share our graying days.
This response, wuwuwuwu, the CP I ship has become real.
Newcomer here, just asking, will he participate in the Olympics next year? Isn’t it a waste of such a good gold medal prospect if he doesn’t?
Sassy bottom vs. Forceful top, Mom, I can’t handle this!
Aaaah finally saw your big air jump!
Dai Duo’s delicate face twitched slightly as he put down his phone. After pondering for a while, he squeezed out a sentence: “Is he sick or something?”
Wang Xin sat down on the edge of the bed, completely ignoring him. He was busy with his phone, liking all the comments mentioning the Winter Olympics, and also selecting a few that criticized Shan Chong for lacking ambition (but not too harshly) to like as well…
“This one asking why he doesn’t have the guts to participate in the Olympics, I almost suspect I left that comment while sleepwalking.”
Wang Xin scrolled through the comments, then suddenly expressed middle-aged confusion, “Why is this girl asking when you and Shan Chong are getting married?”
Dai Duo: “…”