Jiang Ran could no longer recall the last time they had been so close while in a peaceful state. It seemed since the day she kicked him out, they had been constantly at odds. Either she caught a glimpse of him in the darkness at her birthday party, or they were locked in fierce, emotionally charged confrontations behind the lockers. Yet now, all of this had magically quieted down.
Beijiao’s hand was coated in lip balm, thick layers of the milky substance covering his fingertips. As he reached out, the scent from his sleeve wafted toward her, making Jiang Ran instinctively turn her face away—it felt too unfamiliar.
Without a word, he placed the lip balm carelessly on the edge of the sink and used his now-free hand to gently but firmly turn her face back toward him. The force was clean and decisive, leaving her with no desire to waste energy resisting.
His fingers, carrying the scent of disinfectant and mint, neared her face and finally landed on her lips, which had become dry and cracked from the cold wind. Despite the harsh words she had thrown at him, her lips were still soft—so soft that the moment he pressed against them, they yielded easily, collapsing meekly under his touch, even without much pressure.
Her warm breath brushed against the back of his hand, and he paused briefly, the tendons on the back of his hand tightening silently, standing out. His lashes half-lowered, hiding the dark shadows in his eyes, his expression unreadable except for the slight press of his pale lips.
“Why do you carry lip balm but never use it?” His tone sounded like an ordinary conversation.
As his fingers rubbed the balm into her lips, Jiang Ran winced slightly and let out a soft hiss. At this moment, his handsome face hovered close to hers, seemingly annoyed about something, but she had no idea why he was in a bad mood again—right now, if anyone had a reason to be upset, it should be her.
“What’s it got to do with you?” she muttered under her breath.
His hand paused, and he glanced at her with a lifted brow, a look that gave her the feeling he might devour her whole.
But soon, he lowered his eyes again. “Hmm,” he murmured, a half-smile playing on his lips as he echoed her words, “nothing to do with me.”
He seemed indifferent, yet every part of him bristled with sharpness.
Jiang Ran was thoroughly annoyed by his sarcastic tone and wanted to warn him not to speak like that. But just then, she felt the lip balm soften and moisten between his fingers and her lips from the warmth. As he repeatedly pressed gently on one spot, the pain from her lips faded, replaced by a tingling sensation.
It felt like her skin was about to catch fire.
At first, he might have simply wanted to help her apply the balm because she couldn’t see the mirror clearly or disinfect her fingers, but now the situation had changed.
He was playing with her lips.
Rubbing away the pale, flaking skin, he restored color to her once-pale lips, even making them overly vivid, like blooming roses.
Jiang Ran’s breathing quickened. He leaned in closer, until he was nearly pressed entirely against her body. She had no choice but to place her hands on his chest to push him away.
Her heartbeat accelerated, blood rushing to the point of contact between them. His silent, gentle rubbing brought a strange, aching sensation—followed by a tingling sensation on her scalp.
Her back was now completely and tightly pressed against the sink counter, the force so strong it almost hurt her bones.
He hurt her a little, and she furrowed her brows tightly. “Stop rubbing—”
She whispered softly, “Your hands are too rough.”
Beijiao paused and finally withdrew his hand.
He scooped up another glob of lip balm and gently applied it to her uninjured lower lip. She could feel his gaze fixed on her lips the entire time. Her breath was slightly unsteady, her heartbeat anything but calm.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t kiss you. With all those wounds, it’s unhygienic.”
Jiang Ran thought to herself, Go to hell! Did I ask you to come here? Now you’re being picky? You’re the one who’s unhygienic!
She must have worn her thoughts on her face because the faint flush on her cheeks disappeared instantly. She lifted her head and gave him a blank, lifeless stare—the kind of look a walking corpse might give.
Beijiao wasn’t frightened. He thought she looked adorable, like a cat ready to lash out with its claws at any moment. He hummed softly, his gaze flickering slightly. For the first time in a while, he dropped his usual cold and aloof demeanor in front of others and showed a hint of the youthful innocence he used to have two years ago.
Leaning down slightly, he tilted his face toward her nose, watching her with a look of feigned innocence.
Jiang Ran stared blankly, showing no reaction.
He watched her cold profile and said slowly, “It’s fine if I kiss you. I don’t mind.”
It was just that if he touched her, he couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to control himself. He had little confidence in his self-restraint and had never been good at managing it.
He was afraid of hurting her, and she would definitely get angry again.
She would definitely.
Jiang Ran stared at his handsome face just inches away from hers, his nose almost touching hers. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, silently reciting, “Don’t get angry, don’t get angry, getting angry only makes you sick and no one will care.”
After a long silence, she opened her eyes and said expressionlessly, “I mind. Get lost.”
“…”
Sure enough, she had already extended her claws.
With her, he never stayed gentle for more than three seconds.
…
When Jiang Ran returned to the dining area, Song Song had already finished eating.
The lip balm on her lips had formed a thin film. She picked up a pair of chopsticks and tried to stuff cold food from her plate into her mouth, struggling with each bite.
And even though most people had already finished lunch and the area was nearly empty, she still used one hand to cover her mouth—only a long nail was missing for her to become Empress Jiang or even Dowager Jiang.
Song Song watched her for a while, then suddenly asked without warning, “Who did you meet in the restroom?”
Jiang Ran was chewing on a piece of vegetable when she heard that, nearly choking as the whole leaf almost slipped down her throat.
She coughed violently a few times, trying not to open her mouth too wide to avoid hurting her lips. Her face turned red, her eyes watering from the coughing.
She stared silently at Song Song, about to deny it.
Song Song pointed at her lips, which were now redder and slightly more swollen than before: “Putting on lip balm yourself shouldn’t make your lips look so glossy and swollen like a pig’s snout. That doesn’t really match your aesthetic, I know you too well—you’d rather die in pain than die ugly…”
She paused after finishing her deduction.
“And judging from how heavily you applied it, it looks… messy.”
Jiang Ran: “I didn’t meet anyone. My lips were cracked and bleeding, so what’s wrong with applying a thick layer of lip balm? I’m wearing a mask anyway.”
Song Song didn’t bother arguing. She shifted from supporting her face with both hands to just one, speaking slowly: “That seventy-thousand-follower guy is really popular. Look, someone actually dared to challenge you publicly, even though it ended badly… There’s no other opportunity like this, so… are you two getting back together?”
Jiang Ran was silent for a moment before putting down her chopsticks. “No.”
Song Song made a surprised sound.
Jiang Ran: “We already agreed not to see each other for three years.”
Song Song: “But you still kept meeting?”
She was rewarded with a kick under the table from an embarrassed pea princess.
“I never thought about getting back together,” Jiang Ran lowered her head, muttering, “I even blocked him on WeChat. It’s over. At least until he grows up and understands what responsibility means—”
“Men never really grow up. Don’t expect too much,” Song Song sighed. “And what do you mean by ‘grows up’? I think he’s pretty mature already.”
Jiang Ran thought back to fifteen minutes earlier, when he had tilted his head toward her and sweetly said, “It’s fine if I kiss you. I don’t mind.”
Mature?
Hmph.
Beside her, Song Song kept rambling: “He’s already pretty good. The reviews about him in the circle are all like ‘down-to-earth’ and ‘steady progress.’ I heard some snowboard brands are even inquiring about sponsoring him…”
Jiang Ran’s thoughts were interrupted. Her eyes widened slightly, and she turned to stare at her teammate in shock.
“Yeah, right! I remember that snowboard sponsorship is pretty important for general riders—it’s a real recognition of one’s skills… But he doesn’t seem too interested?”
Song Song finished expressionlessly, “The reason given was that his master said he’s not qualified yet.”
“…”
“I heard the brand representative who offered the first snowboard sponsorship was so devastated after being rejected… It’s so sad, I mean, for that seventy-thousand-follower guy!”
Song Song said, “Next time you take on an apprentice, could you at least try some confidence-building with a bit of humanity?”
“…”
“At least he praised him a little when he won an award, right?”
Twelfth place in the preliminaries—what award was there to win? Even if he wanted to pull off a miracle in the finals and become a golden warrior, there were still basic rules to follow.
Jiang Ran opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself, realizing how negative it sounded. She changed her phrasing.
“I’ll just assume he really can win an award—”
“…You look like you’re trying really hard to convince yourself to say that, which is really annoying.”
“Well, it’s not like I have to be the one to present the award!”
“Look at you after today’s big performance—who could possibly stop you from going to present an award now?”
Song Song finished speaking, stretched her long arm across the table, and grabbed Jiang Ran’s sleeve. “Stop spacing out! Just tell me—will you praise him or not?”
“…Praise what? He has so many flaws! Why are you all defending him?”
“What can I say? He’s just so good-looking! And he skis really well too! I heard he’s also a top student from a medical university, and he’s low-key and steady in everything he does. If you two don’t get back together, there’ll be plenty of people lining up—”
“Let them line up. I don’t care.”
“…Tch, you!”
…
The parallel giant slalom qualifying round was held as the first event on the first day.
In the following days came other events, such as the giant slalom, flatland freestyle, big air in terrain parks for both single and double boards, halfpipe, and obstacle racing.
With such a comprehensive lineup, someone joked that if they added an ice rink, Tonghua could host a mini Winter Olympics.
With so many events, there were long intervals between competitions. After the qualifiers, the entire group of competitors in the parallel giant slalom had nearly four days to adjust and adapt.
Throughout these four days, one could always see snowboarders hugging their boards, practicing hard to figure out what they were missing—some were simply trying to maintain their snow sense and make gradual progress, while others who knew their weaknesses were intensely refining their techniques, hoping to improve within just four days.
At first, Beijiao belonged to the first group. He knew that his route occasionally went off track, possibly leading to hitting a gate pole or deviating too far from the planned path. However, although he knew there was a problem, he had no idea where exactly he went wrong.
He discussed it with several SAJ-certified riders, but none of them could give him a clear explanation.
He was nearly overwhelmed by a quiet sense of despair.
That day, Beijiao lost speed again at the third-to-last gate, crashing into the pole and falling together with it onto the safety net at the edge of the course—landing in a heap, filled with frustration.
He got up like a drowned dog, shaking snow off himself.
Once he stood steady, his first instinct was to look back at his track.
Jiang Ran had once said that if someone had issues in their snowboarding, you didn’t necessarily have to watch their entire run. All the problems would show up in their track… That’s how experts practiced alone.
Beijiao wasn’t an expert. He couldn’t spot his own flaws, but he did feel something strange about his track.
Others’ tracks were smooth “S” curves. Even if someone like Jiang Ran performed a jump edge in the middle, which caused a brief moment of detachment, the overall line was still an “S” shape when connected.
His wasn’t. In the turn he made, his track was clearly “Z”-shaped, lacking the smooth entry into the turn.
He was lying on the snow, staring at his track like he was observing ants—when suddenly, the sound of snowboard edges slicing the snow approached—”swish, swish.”
He looked up and saw a snowboarder, the same model as his, come to an abrupt stop right in front of him. She was not tall, even a bit short, wearing a white helmet with a big blue bow on it. She was crouching slightly, hands on her knees, looking down at him with round, curious eyes.
Unfortunately, Beijiao was allergic to round eyes these days.
He silently got up, “plop” stuck the pole he had knocked over back in place, and tried to sneak away. But just as he stood up, he heard the girl say, “Don’t you wonder why your track looks like it completely skips the turning phase?”
He had originally intended to leave.
But her words struck a chord with his deepest concerns. His thirst for understanding made him stop. He turned his head expressionlessly and stared at her.
The way he looked at her, as if to say, “If you can’t explain it clearly, we’re not done yet,” amused the girl. She stood up straight and patted her stomach.
“Core strength, engage your waist and abdomen, move with the board, keep your eyes forward, control your back leg, don’t push off!”
A string of key terms, each one sounding strangely familiar.
The memory, dormant for three years, suddenly surged back and attacked Beijiao. On the snowy slope of Guangzhou Sunac, a woman wearing BC RX snowboards emotionlessly followed behind him uphill, watching and scolding at the same time—
“What is your left leg doing? Why are you pushing again?”
“I swear I want to chop your legs off.”
“Push!”
“Again? You pushed again!”
“For crying out loud, stop pulling your board. If you keep doing that, I’ll switch you to a 179cm board and let you fall to death!”
“Your snow clearing is a mess. You couldn’t even maintain an edge throughout the run. Do you have the nerve to say you do carving? Carving what? Where?”
“Don’t fear falling. Tighten your core, push with your feet, and you won’t fall.”
“Don’t fear falling. Tighten your core, push with your feet, and you won’t fall.”
The overlapping voices from memory and the girl standing in front of him now merged. Beijiao lifted his head in confusion, meeting her round, almond-shaped eyes for the first time. He glanced down at her snowboard.
Sponsored by Gray, her board bore stickers of top brands like SP bindings, Deeluxe snowboots, and a DB snowboard bag.
And her name in the snowboarding circle? Yu.
He swallowed hard, bent down, and patted his knees to brush off the clinging snow. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally let go of his usual frosty demeanor that kept others at a distance.
He stared at her blankly: “Did Jiang Ran send you?”
A brief silence.
Yu returned his stunned expression: “That smart, huh?”
Beijiao silently pulled out his phone and showed Yu the video of Jiang Ran’s exhibition match he had saved. In the video, she wore a blue snowsuit and a white helmet with a large blue bow at the back.
And that day, Jiang Ran had borrowed the helmet and gloves from none other than Yu herself, right under his nose…
How could he forget?
“You can tell her next time she picks a spy, to choose someone more ordinary.”
“Hihi,” Yu scratched her face.
“Where is she?”
“She didn’t come.”
“If she didn’t come, how do you know what to say to me?”
“‘Same old problem hasn’t changed in years. From day one I told him if he doesn’t fix his bad habits right away, the muscle memory will make correcting them later require real hardship. He’s proving that point now.’ Word for word.”
“…”
“And also,” Yu dutifully played messenger, “she said she doesn’t want to talk to you, but she also doesn’t want to see you lose too badly because that would embarrass her.”
“…”
“Wow, she’s so strict. I’ve never heard Ranjie talk to others like that—do you two know each other?”
“Maybe?” Beijiao smirked mockingly, “Ask her yourself. I’m not sure.”
“Huh?”
…
Five days after the men’s parallel giant slalom preliminary round was another competition day.
Today would conclude all parallel giant slalom events, with top three winners determined for both men’s and women’s divisions, culminating in an awards ceremony before sunset.
Beijiao stood at the starting platform.
Jiang Ran, arms crossed, leaned back in a judge’s seat.
The woman lounged with one leg casually over the other, swinging it slightly, seemingly relaxed, yet her expressionless face startled a staff member handing in score sheets…
If not for the mandatory signature required of every judge, he would’ve taken a detour.
Jiang Ran’s face was like stone, staring intensely at the mountaintop, as if someone there had wronged her.
She listened to the two commentators chatting calmly about Beijiao—
“Today’s performance by this athlete has truly been unexpected.”
“Yeah, a dark horse.”
“Though he didn’t make the final round, making it to the bronze medal match from the quarterfinals is undoubtedly an outstanding performance for a competitor who ranked 12th in the preliminaries. Perhaps it’s his lucky day.”
“Lucky? Not exactly.”
As one host finished speaking, the competition signal sounded. The two athletes competing for third and fourth place shot forward like arrows!
The only sound left on the slope was the staccato rhythm of snowboards carving through snow!
“Did you notice? Beijiao’s racing line today has improved significantly compared to his last race. I noticed during the first round when 32 competitors advanced to 16—he didn’t lose speed this time—”
“Ah, indeed. Look how much more stable his turns are.”
“And his turns are symmetrical now.”
“It seems Beijiao’s self-imposed intensive training over these few days has achieved the effect he desired. Now, let’s see who will claim today’s final medal!”
Two figures crossed the finish line one after another—
Three seconds later, a wave of cheers erupted from the sidelines.
Soon, more and more people began cheering and whistling, shouting Beijiao’s name and waving at him!
“Clap! Clap!” her excited teammate tugged at her, “How can you be so heartless? He’s improved so much, I almost cried!”
The teammate’s roar was deafening beside her.
Sitting still, Jiang Ran lowered her leg. She took a deep breath and smiled, reluctantly joining the clapping crowd.
…
The awards ceremony was scheduled for the afternoon.
In the north, the sun set early. It was only around four in the afternoon when the golden glow of the setting sun resembled spilled ginger ale, its bubbling liquid rolling across the pristine snow-covered slopes like liquid gold.
The shadows of the forest stretched long, and the snow slopes had become a different kind of scenery.
Under this golden dusk, Jiang Ran smiled as she hung the medals around the winners’ necks according to their rankings, then presented each with a bouquet of flowers.
Everything proceeded as planned until she handed the bouquet to the third-place finisher—
He bent down obediently as she placed the medal around his neck, gently caressing the bronze medal with obvious affection, then tilted his face slightly to whisper, “Does it look good?”
Jiang Ran ignored him, handing him the bouquet with a blank expression. He accepted the flowers, his long fingers toying with them, then chuckled softly as if recalling something.
She impatiently flicked her eyes at him, wondering what mischief he was up to now, only to hear him softly, in a voice only they could hear, say, “This is the first time you’ve ever given me flowers.”
“…”
Listen to that! How pitiful!
What kind of girlfriend doesn’t even give her boyfriend flowers?
Usually, she only scolded him or lectured him about breaking snowboarding rules—never once giving flowers. She didn’t understand the concept of punishing with a stick and then offering a sweet treat. She just kept hitting with the stick, leaving him to imagine the sweet treat himself.
Honestly, at this moment, anyone whose heart wasn’t made of stone would feel moved—Jiang Ran included.
She felt a little guilty, wondering if she had been a terrible ex-girlfriend, considering how excited he was over a bouquet of flowers that had simply been paid for by the resort and handed to him by her.
That guilt peaked at one moment that evening after returning to her room—
At the time, Jiang Ran had just taken off her coat and was preparing to shower when something heavy “thud” landed on her bed.
Looking down, she saw a bronze medal had fallen from her coat pocket. It had a bright yellow lanyard still attached.
Jiang Ran recognized this item well—it had been around the necks of six medalists, three from each men’s and women’s teams, during the entire golden dusk ceremony.
One of them had cherished it so much, touching it repeatedly.
Yet she never expected that this medal, handled by so many hands, would somehow end up in her pocket.
—It was her heartless apprentice, after three years apart, handing her the first satisfactory proof of his progress.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage