During The Blizzard (Amidst A Snowstorm Of Love)

Canto 77: Guiding Light

“Teachers are more than just educators; they are mentors, role models, and sometimes even second parents.”- Unknown 

Translator: Wuxia Studio, Editor: M.H Lovecraft

- - -

The news of Mr. He's passing echoed through the industry within a day. In the sterile, brightly lit Chinese lounge, the young players, faces buried in phones, barely registered the news. A stark contrast to the coaches, whose shoulders slumped a little lower, a crease deepening between their brows.

She offered a curt nod, the clatter of the mahjong tiles from a nearby room a dull counterpoint to the frantic drumming in her chest. Every stitch on the green felt table screamed "airport," urging her to fly back to China, back to Lin Yiyang.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be invincible, a machine programmed for victory. But as she gripped the cue, a tremor ran through her hand, a stark betrayal. Her opponent, a fellow Chinese player, capitalized on two uncharacteristic blunders, mistakes that reeked of a distracted mind, practically handing her the championship.

Yet, with victory seemingly within reach, the weight of it all crushed Yin Guo. As the final ball sank, a wave of nausea washed over her. Tears welled in her eyes as she faced her opponent, a veteran with a gentle smile etched on her nearly 30-year-old face.

Yin Guo choked out the words, "This win... it should be yours. I only won because of your mistakes."

The veteran squeezed her hand, her voice warm, "There are no 'shoulds' here, Guo. This win is yours. You earned it."

Yin Guo swallowed the lump in her throat, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "See you at the World Championships," she rasped, her voice thick with unspoken emotions.

- -

Yin Guo pocketed the trophy, the applause a dull thud compared to the storm raging inside her. Every congratulatory handshake felt heavy with unspoken goodbyes. Back in the sterile hotel room, another competitor, a man with tired eyes and a hopeful smile, presented a crumpled piece of paper. "Manuscript ready?" he asked, his voice laced with nervous energy.

Yin Guo nodded, pulling out her own well-worn draft. They weren't Lin Yiyang, none of them were. Last night was a blur of scribbling and strategizing, a desperate grasp at a future hurtling out of control. With a tight smile, she entered the interview venue, the fluorescent lights adding a sterile sheen to the forced applause.

She took a seat, the familiar ache in her chest morphing into a frantic countdown. Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes until escape. The first question was a predictable one, a flowery congratulation and a request to relive the championship glory. Yin Guo answered on autopilot, her gaze flitting to the clock ticking mercilessly on the wall.

The free questioning followed, a rapid-fire barrage of six questions. Her practiced responses flowed flawlessly, but her mind was a whirlwind, already boarding a plane, already racing back to Lin Yiyang. In the final four minutes, she clutched the crumpled paper, a lifeline in a churning sea of emotions.

The coach, mistaking her white-knuckled grip for nervousness, leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, Xiaoguo. You've got this."

Yin Guo shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips, but it never reached her eyes. The coach's concern washed over her like a wave, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside.

"First of all, congratulations, Miss Yin," a senior reporter boomed from the corner, snatching the microphone. "Now, for a more personal question, if you don't mind. Fans are curious about Lin's absence on this momentous day. Is he here celebrating with you, or will you have other plans?"