At this moment, Jiang Ran was still being melodramatic about her sore throat, picking at her rice one grain at a time with her chopsticks. Song Die told her to stop eating if she couldn’t manage, but she hoarsely shook her head: “I can’t waste food. Buddha won’t love me anymore.”
Look at that. Who says all feudal superstitions are just nonsense?
When used in a positive way, it’s the continuation of excellent traditional national culture.
She forced herself to stuff rice into her mouth. Just as she was halfway through, she suddenly felt a chill and sensed murderous intent behind her.
Instinctively turning around to check what was happening, she barely lifted her head before a white quick-dry shirt smacked straight into her face!
“??”
Letting out a confused “Ah,” Jiang Ran had no idea what had just happened. The smell of sweat and blood from the clothing on her face made her sneeze violently.
Rarely flustered, she yanked the quick-dry shirt off her head, thinking she had encountered a terrorist attack. However, when she looked up, she saw Aju standing there with a murderous glare, holding onto a dispirited-looking teenager.
Jiang Ran raised an eyebrow. “What—”
“Jiang Ran! You knew perfectly well he couldn’t possibly win any ranking, so why did you push him to participate in that stupid competition?”
She swallowed the unfinished word.
Aju’s voice was loud enough, and in today’s snowboarding world, very few dared to directly call out Jiang Ran by her full name in such a harsh tone and hold her accountable. So naturally, his shout drew everyone’s attention!
The moment Aju started yelling, Bei Jiao half hid his face beneath the collar of his oversized hoodie and pulled the hood over his head. At this moment, all one could see was his prominent nose tip.
…He wasn’t used to being the center of attention.
As for Jiang Ran, she was so stunned by the sudden verbal attack that she first blankly looked down at the quick-dry shirt in her hands, recognized it as Bei Jiao’s, and immediately felt a jolt in her heart. She quickly looked up at him: “Did you hit your back again? When? Was it when you collided with the pole?”
“…I don’t know.” The boy’s muffled voice came from behind the collar of his hoodie. “I told him not to tell you.”
He paused, then turned to Aju and shook the arm Aju was holding to show his loyalty: “I told him not to tell you.”
Aju was stronger than he expected, and he helplessly struggled like a fragile little puppy without managing to break free.
At this moment, no one was angry at his complaints, because no one could possibly be angry at a poor little thing whose back was still bleeding profusely.
Aju’s blood boiled over, directed entirely at Jiang Ran. He slapped the table in front of her so hard that her tray jumped.
“Now I suddenly realize, you and Lin Shuang really are quite alike. No wonder you two got along so well! How are you alike? You two were just born lucky. If you ask for stars, people will rush to give you stars. If you ask for the moon, countless people will apologize for not being able to give you the moon?” Aju’s tone was fierce. As he continued, he broke into a desperate smile. “Doesn’t that sound familiar? Lin Shuang, for example, said she wanted to go pro, and you, Erche, rushed to follow her into professional skiing… Erche even neglected his family business, self-funded his training, and practiced hard. Do you know why he quit right before the Pyeongchang Olympics? Oh, you don’t know, and Lin Shuang doesn’t either—”
“Huang Can!”
Jiang Ran also stood up, staring expressionlessly at Aju.
When directly addressed by his full name, the latter instinctively flinched.
His smile looked more painful than crying. “Jiang Ran, don’t yell at me. You know I’ve never been afraid of you—how many more people are you going to torture because of Lin Shuang? Wake up, okay? She’s been gone for a year already! Everyone has accepted this reality, even Erche and Qiunian have moved on! Why can’t you?”
The dining hall fell into a bit of silence.
Bei Jiao broke free from Aju’s grip, stepped forward, and picked up his quick-dry shirt.
He glanced at Jiang Ran, seeing her expression was relatively stable, paused, and then turned to Aju, about to tell him to forget it…
Then he was surprised to find that the punk-haired young man, who hadn’t managed to make Jiang Ran cry, had instead burst into tears himself.
Looking at his tear-streaked face, Bei Jiao blinked in confusion.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
Unfortunately, no one answered his question.
Song Die silently handed Aju some tissues. When he angrily grabbed them, Qiu Nian and Li Xingnan, who were eating at the other end of the dining hall, also hurried over upon hearing the commotion.
They arrived late and didn’t know what Aju had said to Jiang Ran. They had just been eating when they heard someone say “Aju and Jiang Ran are arguing,” so they dropped their chopsticks and rushed over—
By the time they arrived, Aju was already wiping his tears, sobbing loudly.
Frowning, Qiu Nian looked at Aju sniffling and blowing his nose, then turned to Jiang Ran: “What happened again? Jiang Ran, for no reason, why did you scold him?”
Jiang Ran’s expression remained neutral: “From start to finish, I said no more than ten words to him.”
Aju interrupted, sniffling: “She just has no heart!”
Li Xingnan couldn’t bear to watch: “Either don’t talk, or stop crying… How can you not feel embarrassed being a respected man in the circle acting like this?”
Everyone listened to Li Xingnan. What he said always worked. Aju pursed his lips, eyes red, and fell silent.
Trying to figure out what had happened, Qiu Nian looked around and noticed Bei Jiao standing beside them like an ostrich, head down, face hidden, and the blood-stained quick-dry shirt in Jiang Ran’s hands.
She more or less understood the situation. Pointing at the quick-dry shirt, she asked Jiang Ran: “You let your apprentice train even though he’s injured like this. If there’s even a 1% chance he could win, this wouldn’t seem so ridiculous—”
For the first time, Jiang Ran didn’t respond.
“Everyone treats you well, Jiang Ran. Could you occasionally open your eyes and look at us too?” Qiu Nian’s eyes also reddened, her voice cracking slightly. “In your eyes, is Lin Shuang the only one worthy of your attention? Look at the injuries on your apprentice’s body. How can you not feel any heartache at all?”
“…You’re all misunderstanding.”
A calm female voice broke the silence.
Jiang Ran folded the quick-dry shirt in her hands, placed it on her lap, thought for a moment, and said, “When I decided to take another apprentice, my mind was clear. He is him, and Lin Shuang is Lin Shuang.”
Qiu Nian tightly pressed her lips together.
After saying this, Jiang Ran fell silent again.
Bei Jiao tugged at her sleeve, thought for a while, but still didn’t say a word.
…
Bei Jiao’s back was still bleeding profusely, so naturally he couldn’t ski in the afternoon. After lunch, Jiang Ran took him back to their accommodation.
His clothes were placed in her ski bag.
Upon arriving at their place, she didn’t say much. She heated some water, used an unknown miraculous detergent, washed his blood-stained quick-dry shirt thoroughly, wrung it out, and hung it up on a hanger.
Bei Jiao sat on her bed the entire time, hugging his legs, resting his chin on his knees, his eyes following her every movement within the small cabin, seemingly finding it quite novel—
He had never seen Jiang Ran doing chores herself. At home, she used the excuse that dishwashing liquid hurt her skin, never touching the dishes in the sink.
Now she was washing his clothes.
—I should keep this quick-dry shirt and enshrine it.
He thought whimsically in his mind.
After she finished with the shirt, she went to her suitcase and rummaged around, pulling out a first-aid kit. Bei Jiao stared at her, thinking again: Oh, after washing the clothes, now it’s my turn.
Sure enough, the next second, he saw the woman take out a bunch of bottles, jars, and cotton swabs from the first-aid kit. When her gaze passed over a bottle that was clearly alcohol, his back instinctively tensed.
“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, slightly resisting. “You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it.”
“Now the whole world thinks I’m abusing you. Aju even shed tears for you.”
Jiang Ran “slammed” the first-aid kit shut, walked over to him, and made a circle with her hand like a seal trainer patting his head…
He hesitated, maintaining his seated position on the bed, slowly rotating his body by scooting with his feet, turning his back to Jiang Ran.
Jiang Ran bent down, carefully lifting his loose black hoodie, using the cabin’s hanging lamp to examine the wound on his back—
The bruising had spread, a colorful mess with blood spots, combined with yesterday’s swelling and today’s abrasion from the fall, a long tear had opened up, with a thin flap of skin hanging on.
It looked like the kind of wound you get when wearing new shoes without socks, not very serious, but it would bleed and hurt.
The cabin was dimly lit, she leaned in close, her breath warm on his skin, which was already sensitive from the cold air…
It was both painful and itchy.
The teenager slightly furrowed his brow, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
When the cold cotton swab soaked in alcohol touched his skin, he hissed, curling up like a shrimp, releasing his knees to grab the blanket from the bed, burying his face in it—
The blanket smelled like her, so he took a deep breath.
Jiang Ran thought he couldn’t bear the pain, her hand stiffened slightly, her lashes lifting: “So when you said you were in pain, you really were.”
It was a statement.
“It’s okay,” the muffled voice from under the blanket seemed to detect her guilt, puzzledly saying, “I said it’s okay, so it’s okay.”
It seemed like he was talking about the injury, but maybe about something else.
Jiang Ran couldn’t quite grasp it, so she didn’t respond, continuing to clean his wound carefully, avoiding the exposed raw skin with blood spots for now, focusing intently.
Feeling the teenager’s tense muscles twitching, she finally looked up, muttering, “Don’t move around,” accidentally locking eyes with his bright, dark pupils…
They glared at each other for a few seconds before he smiled at her.
The room wasn’t lit, the only light coming from the overcast sky reflecting off the snow outside the window. The boy’s handsome, youthful face was half-hidden in shadow. When he smiled like that, it was as if he had turned his head and smiled, exuding a charm that could captivate a hundred beauties.
“I said it’s okay, Jiang Ran,” he said lightly. “Did you hear me? Even if you see me as Lin Shuang, it’s still okay.”
The person behind him didn’t speak for a while.
Bei Jiao heard the cotton swab fall into the trash bin.
Curious, he half-turned to look at her, only to find her turning to grab her phone. Apparently, she browsed through her photo album for a bit, then handed the phone to him.
Reluctantly stretching his head to look, Bei Jiao saw a newly edited video that hadn’t been posted on any social media yet—
The first segment of the video.
Jiang Ran’s skiing, the background was the steepest slope at Jilin ski resort. She slid down from the mountain, smooth as flowing water, her snowboard cutting across the snow, her long hair flying behind her, and the clear brand logo visible on the bottom of her board as she rose high in the air—BC’s RX.
Then she launched into a backside ollie, soaring into the air. The high speed caused her to leap almost parallel to the fall line. She practically flew over the slope, landed, and immediately performed another rail slide. With a powerful push from her back foot, the snow flew up like a silver-white curtain, revealing her silhouette hidden within the snowy wall…
The second segment.
It seamlessly connected with the first, the figure disappearing behind the snowy curtain reemerging—
However, this time, the skier had changed outfits, from overalls to a simple black snowsuit. Bei Jiao recognized it as himself.
Agile carving turns, combining speed and power.
The third segment.
The screen suddenly split into two, introducing split-screen editing.
The upper half of the screen showed Jiang Ran wearing a black Yakky limited edition snowsuit.
The lower half showed Bei Jiao in a plain black snowsuit.
Their outfits weren’t similar, but in the video editing, their skiing, whether in power, posture… or even the habitual slight raising of their arms when switching edges and flipping the board, was exactly the same.
As if they were copied and pasted.
The video was over a minute long. After watching it, Bei Jiao’s only thought was three words: I really like it.
He had seen his own skiing videos countless times and knew exactly how he skied.
He had also watched Jiang Ran’s skiing countless times, both live and in videos, naturally knowing how she skied…
But he had never realized that their skiing styles had become so similar.
Zhao Keyan and others had said that a student taught by the same master would inevitably carry the master’s shadow…
Back then, Bei Jiao had been half-believing, half-doubting.
Now he believed.
“So you’re not Lin Shuang’s replacement,” Jiang Ran locked her phone screen, casually tossing it aside, and said indifferently while looking down, “if anything, it should be mine.”
Bei Jiao looked up at her.
The boy’s dark eyes gleamed slightly.
“It’s not that I imagine Lin Shuang competing, so I make you compete,” Jiang Ran said, “I just want to see again what I looked like on the competition field.”
The room fell into a brief silence.
“Lin Shuang made Li Xingnan and me start seriously researching parallel giant slalom from just occasionally playing around with hard boots and competition boards. After she left, I don’t know about Li Xingnan, but at least I couldn’t touch competition boards for a long time. The matching hard boots were put away and forgotten. I hadn’t slid around the gates, studied routes, or checked the weather forecast for wind directions suitable for practice in a long time…”
Her voice sounded dry and hoarse, “Over time, even though I no longer associate my hard boots so strongly with Lin Shuang, I still feel a bit scared.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, her left hand anxiously picking at the nail of her right thumb… When she had picked a notch into it, she seemed to suddenly come to her senses and let go.
She turned her head and gave him a weak smile, “They still think it’s because of Lin Shuang. To be honest, I’m actually quite grateful for that. I don’t even have to think; they come up with so many excuses for me themselves—they probably don’t know that I can be afraid too.”
Afraid of what?
It’s hard to say.
Perhaps it’s because she had stood too high for too long, hearing people sigh and say “that Jiang Ran” as if it had become routine, like she had been elevated onto a pedestal.
In reality, she no longer knew whether she was still at the height they imagined—since Lin Shuang’s death, she had been away from all competitions for almost over a year.
Under her feet was like a tall building that was both there and not, one she had built brick by brick before. Now she could barely recall how certain parts had been built, so she had to be careful with every step, because one misstep would send her plummeting into an abyss.
This kind of thing seemed foolish to talk about to anyone, yet it was just like the old saying goes: those things that cannot be spoken of to others, yet unavoidably come to mind in the quiet of night, are what truly constitute life.
What was her fault?
She was Jiang Ran.
She simply didn’t want to fall from her own throne.
…
Jiang Ran wasn’t sure why she had told Bei Jiao all this.
Perhaps it was because it had started snowing again outside, and the heavy snowflakes hitting the window frames had given her heart a rare moment of peace.
Perhaps it was the strange mixture of blood and detergent in the air that unsettled her.
Or maybe it was the dim lighting that seemed to hide part of her anxiety…
She didn’t expect him to understand.
The boy beside her snorted.
She lifted her eyes and saw him looking at her with a crooked smile. Their eyes met, and he grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth: “Didn’t expect you to be so weighed down by your image as an idol.”
It was a completely outsider’s tone of casual indifference—
If it weren’t for her serious expression at the moment, he might have added: Compared to not having enough to eat or clothes to wear, is this even a real problem?
He scooted closer to her and, after a moment’s thought, took off his hoodie.
Before she could ask why he had suddenly taken off his clothes, the hoodie came down over her head, warm with his body heat and scent. Taken by surprise, she struggled, only to be tackled down by him.
“I already told you last time, don’t stay alone with me.”
The boy’s back was smeared with brown iodine alcohol, looking unusually grotesque, yet he seemed to not care at all, using his hands and feet to pull the woman into his arms—
First, he bit her chin.
Then, he licked the mark he had left.
He played with her chin until it was wet, before moving upward, finally pressing his lips against the corner of hers.
“Otherwise, I’ll do it again.”
He sounded as if he were proudly declaring some kind of victory.
“…”
As the boy chuckled in smug satisfaction, Jiang Ran turned her face slightly, her lips grazing the corner of his upturned mouth like a feather.
It looked as if she were kissing him willingly—
This unexpected initiative startled him so much that his smug grin stiffened for a moment.
“I’m talking to a cow,” Jiang Ran said gently. “Sure enough, it’s better to tell my thoughts to a toilet and flush them down the drain than to talk to a man.”
Bei Jiao buried his face in her neck, laughing so hard his whole body trembled.
“Stop laughing.”
Her worries had somewhat dissipated with his laughter. She raised her hand, intending to hit him, but hesitated for a few seconds above his back before changing her action into pinching the solid, iron-like muscle of his arm.
“Jiang Ran,” he said lazily after he had finished laughing and snuggled closer, “everyone has their own endless worries. They spend twenty-four hours a day, sixty minutes multiplied by sixty seconds thinking about their studies, their next meal, or why their girlfriend is angry today…”
He paused.
“Do you think they have even a few seconds to care whether you are as high and mighty as they imagine?”
Her hand had been pinching his ear, resisting and pushing weakly, but now her movements softened.
Bei Jiao seized the opportunity to roll over, pinning her beneath him so his back wouldn’t touch anything…
He hovered over her, full of vitality.
Leaning down, he looked at her. At this moment, the usual arrogance and coldness in her expression had faded, leaving her eyes as clear as a newborn creature.
She still had light makeup on her face, but most of it had been rubbed off by the cold-weather mask she had worn all morning, revealing the fair skin underneath.
Her hair was disheveled, a strand playfully dangling from her small, upturned nose, so he leaned down again and kissed her nose.
“A building that hasn’t collapsed cannot be rebuilt. The moment before rebuilding Rome is very painful, but this pain will eventually pass.”
One day, when you sit again on the high pavilion, all the hardships you once thought insurmountable will become nothing more than casual conversation topics.
…
The parallel giant slalom competition was scheduled for the last day of the National Day holiday, the fourth day after registration began.
Compared to the more visually appealing park features and flatland freestyle events, fewer people gathered around the parallel slalom course. Most of the spectators were technical skiers who came out of interest—
And these people were mostly familiar with the name [Tu Gou].
Jiang Ran’s apprentice, whose face was unknown and whose real name was a mystery, had only been skiing for two months when he first stood out at a competition in Guang Rong. He was low-key, owning only two snow suits—one black and one white—and used a BC RX board…
Now there’s another thing—he was the “gas tank” who broke poles at the General Mountain ski resort.
On the day of the competition, Gas Tank, who was supposed to be seriously injured after breaking poles, showed up at the competition site.
He was still wearing that black snowsuit, holding the familiar BC RX board, rushing around quickly, people barely catching a glimpse of him as he passed—
Check-in, collect the vest, all done in one breath.
No one had time to see his face clearly, but at first glance, his snowsuit seemed looser than before. He must have lost weight under recent stress.
Attention quickly shifted because Tu Gou’s board had a shocking scratch on the bottom—it was clearly a battle-worn board.
Someone sighed, “Bringing a nearly broken board to a competition, who does he think he’s disrespecting?”
In the crowd, another voice replied, “Well, no matter how talented he is, he’s just a half-newbie who’s only been skiing for a few months. How can he possibly win such a competition? I just saw A Ju… the one who used to ski with Jiang Ran, and Li Xingnan—Li Xingnan! With such ancient masters here, what chance does Tu Gou have?”
“A Ju and Li Xingnan have come too? Then if Nian Nian is here too, not to mention Li Xingnan, with A Ju and Nian Nian having registered, the ranking should start from third place—”
“Give it a rest. A Ju might be okay, but Nian Nian has been practicing flatland carving in recent years and isn’t that impressive… What impresses me is that I saw Li Xingnan at the check-in desk. He registered.”
“He signed up? Li Xingnan signed up too?”
“Then we’re done. Isn’t he a former national snowboarding team member? A professional! And I heard he recently tested the Pyeongchang Olympic parallel giant slalom course… This is definitely a case of fighting with an unfair advantage! Tu Gou was injured a few days ago, he doesn’t stand a chance!”
“…Come on, no one actually thinks Tu Gou can win, right? No way, no way?”
Everyone nodded, thinking the one who spoke was making sense.
In the eyes of the onlookers, besides bringing a broken board to a competition filled with masters, Tu Gou’s bad luck seemed to continue—
The competition still followed the amateur tradition: no timing, only comparing speed within groups.
Two competitors per group, the one who reached the finish line faster by weaving through the gates advanced to the next round.
When the draw was announced, everyone clearly saw the outdoor LCD screen showing over a hundred competitors divided into more than sixty groups. In the first round, Tu Gou was matched against the legendary Er Che, Li Xingnan.
“That’s fine,” a sympathetic passerby said, “losing in the first round to Er Che would be like me comparing bank balances with Steve Jobs. Not too embarrassing.”
…
The match between Tu Gou and Li Xingnan suddenly became the most watched event of the day. Everyone wanted to see the veteran master crush the rising star, and the star crying bitterly…
It was just exciting to think about.
When it was their turn to compete, the host was also infected by the gossip atmosphere of the crowd and gave a grand introduction of the titles of the two competitors currently on the red and blue tracks.
Then came the usual provocations.
“Today’s much-anticipated match is about to begin! As we all know, Li Xingnan is a former national snowboarding parallel giant slalom athlete. He has won multiple championships in various domestic technical skiing competitions. His personal best was a single run of 48 seconds on the Pyeongchang Olympic parallel replica course!”
…
“Facing the surging younger generation right in his former professional event, we wonder what Li Xingnan is feeling at this moment!”
The host was closer to the blue track and now extended the microphone far enough to reach Li Xingnan’s lips.
Leaning on the starting bar, Li Xingnan turned his head to look at the rising star on the red track. Although the other person was leaning on the bar without standing straight, there seemed to be a difference in height—
Didn’t he remember Tu Gou was as tall as him? Was it because of different snow boots, or was the ground on that side uneven?
It was a bit far away, and he didn’t look carefully, just feeling something was a bit strange…
Besides the videos of Tu Gou rolling in the snow, he hadn’t really seen much of his other skiing videos, let alone his equipment. Now looking at his snowboard, it seemed a bit long for him—
What’s going on?
Isn’t this person Jiang Ran’s apprentice?
Could Jiang Ran even choose the wrong board length for her apprentice?
Li Xingnan was full of confusion, but he had never been a meddler.
Moreover, the microphone was now in front of his mouth. He turned his gaze back and smiled: “No particular thoughts. Just hope he doesn’t break any more poles; we still need them for the rest of the competition.”
His deep voice was transmitted through the microphone.
He still remembered how Tu Gou had spoken to him in a condescending tone for elders, and this subtle mockery, not overly arrogant, even drew laughter from the host and the crowd.
Throughout, Tu Gou barely reacted, not even giving him a sidelong glance. All he did was raise his hand to adjust his goggles, lower his body into a starting position on the platform—
This posture looked quite professional.
People who had hoped to see a confrontation were disappointed, thinking Tu Gou was acting like a deaf person.
Three minutes later, with a gunshot, the race began!
“Go!”
The host’s voice was almost drowned out by the cheers and screams from the crowd!
Two figures in identical dark purple vests shot off almost simultaneously from the red and blue tracks!
Initially, people instinctively focused on Li Xingnan, because the spectators were mostly technical skiers, half-experts themselves, naturally watching for technique rather than spectacle…
They watched the professional, trying to learn something from his skiing and route planning—
“We can see that Li Xingnan is really fast! A true professional. Although he has switched from competition hard boots and boards to soft boots and regular carving boards, his route planning and pressure techniques are textbook examples worth learning!”
…
“Li Xingnan! My god, his edge control is extremely stable! This level of skiing is rarely seen in amateur carving competitions!”
…
“Comparatively, we can see the competitor on the red track, Tu Gou—”
The entire atmosphere of the match changed when the host’s cheerful voice paused for three seconds.
With an incredulous tone, the host said, “He is keeping pace with Li Xingnan!” The crowd fell silent for three seconds.
In an instant, all the attention previously focused on Li Xingnan shifted to the agile figure on the blue track—
The host hadn’t been mistaken; Tu Gou was indeed fast.
Compared to Li Xingnan’s steady, conventional edge transitions, with deep cuts into the snow, Tu Gou seemed more agile and daring. Between each edge transition, there was a brief moment when the snow marks disappeared—
His hand brushed the ground, sending up a cloud of snow, and his snowboard leaped into the air.
The next second, he landed steadily, continuing to slide along the planned route without losing any speed!
He stayed extremely close to each gate pole. As his snowboard “shua” cut heavily through the snow, his body almost hit the flexible plastic poles. Each time he passed, the red poles would tremble slightly!
Tu Gou!! Ahhhhh! My god! My—god!
…
“Approaching the third-to-last gate, Tu Gou’s route has been excellent, maintaining speed and power—”
…
“He’s overtaken!! Tu Gou?!?!”
In stark contrast to the host’s earth-shattering exclamation, the crowd was silent, almost no one knowing what had happened. In the blink of an eye, they had only managed to see three things occur—
1: A local dog and Li Xingnan entered the last three gates together, with Li Xingnan having a half-body advantage.
2: Then, at the second-to-last gate, the local dog directly overtook Li Xingnan.
3: The local dog crossed the finish line first.
The damaged BC RX snowboard was beneath his feet, and in complete silence, he passed the finish line.
There was no celebration or excessive joy; he turned around and looked at the big screen, saw that the results had not yet been announced, and with little interest, withdrew his gaze and bent down to remove his board.
A series of calm actions, not a second passed without telling everyone: he knew he would win.
[A local dog… won?]
…
[Won against Li Xingnan?]
Amidst the murmurs of the shocked host, the judge’s stand had already become chaotic. They were urgently required to re-watch the race footage to confirm whether the local dog had missed any gates or committed other violations—
Li Xingnan was born into the national team and during his active years was undeniably the backbone of the men’s snowboard parallel giant slalom team…
Just as the host mentioned earlier, with professional racing shoes and board, this athlete’s best performance could complete the same course as PyeongChang’s Winter Olympics in 48 seconds.
What does that mean?
It means that if he had not retired, with this result, he might have passed the qualification round and entered the knockout stage at the PyeongChang Winter Olympics men’s snowboard parallel giant slalom event, given a bit of luck.
In other words, at his peak, saying Li Xingnan was world-class was no exaggeration.
And such a figure—
lost by about half a body length, roughly 0.5 seconds?
Today’s race was truly an honor to witness…
Everyone present had their perceptions completely shattered.
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