Foreign athletes had two choices when participating in the Winter Olympics:

Have fun and party.

Stay focused and prepare well.

Of course, many people chose a middle ground between the two. But avoiding distractions wasn’t hard; if someone didn’t want to party, no one would force them.

In countries like China and Japan, especially in China, things were more conservative, and the authorities were strict. So, whether people wanted to or not, they all behaved.

Zhang Jue entered the Chinese delegation’s dormitory in the Sochi Olympic Village, opened his backpack, and dumped out a pile of study materials onto the bed.

His roommate, Jin Zixuan, raised an eyebrow and said: “You… brought that much homework on a trip?”

Zhang Jue puffed out his chest proudly and said: “I never forget that I’m also a high school senior.”

You thought the Olympic countdown was intense enough? Zhang Jue had two ticking clocks—his final year of high school was just as pressing as the Olympics!

So, when the CCTV crew came to film inside the Olympic Village, and the reporter cheerfully said: “The athletes are off to explore Sochi together,” Zhang Jue stayed inside working on his homework. When Jin Zixuan left, Zhang Jue simply waved him off without looking up, leaving the camera crew with a shot of his back, deep in study mode.

He didn’t even show his face.

When foreign athletes arrived at the Olympic Village and hung ties on their doors to signal they were busy with “activities,” Zhang Jue was still working on his homework.

Initially, the team leaders were wary of Zhang Jue. After all, he was the most handsome athlete in the group. If he wanted to party, he’d probably have many offers. But no one expected high school to have such a strong hold on him, turning Zhang Jue into one of the most dependable members of the delegation.

The other dependable athlete was Liu Yemiao, also a senior in high school. Although he was just a substitute athlete and didn’t have much competition pressure, he was just as dedicated to his homework as Zhang Jue.

The leaders were amazed.

They had never seen athletes bring homework to the Olympics before.

When it was time for the team competition draw, Zhang Jue finally remembered that he was the team captain. He put away his homework, ready to freshen up for the draw, but his teammates stopped him.

Huang Ying laughed and said: “You had no choice for the individual draw, but let us handle the team one.”

Huang Ying, Guan Lin, the two pairs skaters, Mi Yuan Yuan, the ice dancers Mei Chunguo and Hua Taishi, and the men’s singles skaters Dong Xiaolong and Jin Zixuan, discussed it and decided that since the men’s short program was the first event, whoever competed in that would draw.

Zhang Jue was excluded, leaving the other three to eliminate one person with rock-paper-scissors. Jin Zixuan won.

Despite his shaky nerves, Jin Zixuan usually had good luck in draws, so the group trusted him.

There weren’t many people in the drawing room, after all, only the top ten countries from last season’s four figure skating events qualified for the team competition.

Zhang Jue had competed in all events except the Four Continents last season, and whenever he competed, he always medaled. Along with Huang Ying and Guan Lin in pairs skating, he played a significant role in securing China’s spot in the team event.

Dressed casually in the red team jacket, Zhang Jue stood out as he walked, drawing occasional glances from passersby. His handsome face made people stop and stare in admiration.

Vasily was injured and not competing in the team event, so he wasn’t at the draw. Ilya approached Zhang Jue with a subtle smile and said: “Little crocodile?”

Zhang Jue replied: “Yes, that’s me.”

He effortlessly lifted Ilya by the waist in front of the shocked crowd, then gently put him back down, extending a fist and flashing a grin.

“I’m so happy to see you at the Olympics.”

Ilya wasn’t upset, instead, he smiled back and bumped fists with Zhang Jue: “Me too. I’m glad to see you here.”

After a pause, Ilya asked as they walked: “Has anyone asked you to hang out lately?”

Zhang Jue instantly understood: “No.”

Clearing his throat, Ilya warned: “Then, no matter who asks you later, don’t go, okay?”

Zhang Jue said: “I’m underage. No one would ask me, right?”

Ilya responded: “Different countries define adulthood differently. In Russia, men can marry at 14. Some people your age wouldn’t hesitate to ask you out. But if you want to focus on competing, it’s best not to party.”

Ilya shot a glare at Vadim nearby: “Some people know they won’t win any medals, so they’ve already lined up multiple dates in the Olympics village.”

Yawning, Vadim looked at Zhang Jue, his eyes full of admiration, then turned to Ilya with a teasing grin.

In English, which Zhang Jue understood, Vadim said: “You seem to like him. If you two want a private spot away from the coaches, I can offer a place. The Olympics is the perfect place for short flings.”

Ilya’s smile turned icy: “No thanks. I’m not interested in men.”

In Russia, due to religious reasons, calling someone gay was almost a challenge to a fight.

Zhang Jue tilted his head, feeling oddly like he had become the reason for Vadim’s provocation toward Ilya.

As they arrived at their seats, Zhang Jue suddenly placed his hand on Vadim’s shoulder.

He was about 10 centimeters taller than Vadim, and after gaining muscle over the first half of the season, his presence was overwhelming. Although he was young, his masculine energy was strong, his face both playful and serious, giving off an aggressive vibe.

Vadim froze under the pressure of Zhang Jue’s hand, watching as the young Chinese skater leaned in.

“Some jokes aren’t funny. They’re bad jokes, and you’re a bad boy.”

Then, Zhang Jue casually found a seat and sat down as if nothing had happened, leaving Ilya in stunned silence. Vadim, meanwhile, was left speechless and confused.

Jin Zixuan, also shocked, felt like Zhang Jue had neither provoked nor flirted, yet somehow managed to do both at the same time.

The Japanese team was seated nearby. Hayato Teraoka had been watching the exchange and now said calmly: “To ensure Japan makes the final, I’ll be skating the short program. What about you?”

Zhang Jue replied without hesitation: “Me too.”

Ilya sighed: “Same here.”

The three rising stars of men’s singles—Zhang Jue, Ilya, and Hayato Teraoka.

They were all born after 1995, tall and handsome. When they gathered and chatted, they frequently attracted the attention of those around them.

Sending the strongest skaters for the short program was a consensus among all the countries participating in the team event. Even though not every country was strong in all four figure skating disciplines, every team dreamed of making it to the finals.

Originally, Vasily was supposed to compete in the short program for the team event, and Ilya in the free skate. With the two of them combined, there would be no worries about the men’s singles. But with Vasily’s withdrawal, in order to ensure that Russia could contend for the team event gold on home soil, Ilya might have to compete in both rounds of the team event.

When he said this, he completely disregarded Vadim’s feelings, clearly looking down on his abilities.

Vadim remained in a strange silence.

Hayato Teraoka was slightly better off. The Japanese delegation was weak in pairs skating and ice dancing, so he and Keiko decided to skip the team event, only competing in the short program and focusing all their energy on the individual competition.

Zhang Jue said: “I’m only doing the short program too, Jin is doing the free skate.”

After all, he had teammates.

Teraoka glanced at Jin Zixuan, who was on stage drawing lots, and responded: “He’s pretty good. It looks like you’re the luckiest one in this Olympics.”

Just then, Jin Zixuan returned after drawing a good spot, and Zhang Jue said to Teraoka and Ilya: “Maybe it’s because a fortune teller once told me I was destined to win an Olympic gold medal, and my luck is peaking now. Look at the starting order I got.”

Jin Zixuan thought: Didn’t I draw that lot for you?

On February 6, at 8:10 PM Sochi time, Iceberg Skating Palace was packed with spectators.

The floor of the warm-up room was gray. Zhang Jue laid out a blue yoga mat, knelt on it, and did a set of cat stretches.

The sound of the excited crowd constantly filled the room. For first-time Olympians, it was easy to feel nervous in such a big arena, losing their calm and composure.

But Zhang Jue, as expected, maintained his composure, continuing his warm-up completely unaffected by the noise outside. His ability to block out distractions was exceptional.

Coach Lu sat on a yoga ball with his eyes half-closed, Zhang Junbao stood nearby, and Shen Liu was by Zhang Jue’s side, ready to help him with stretches when needed.

There were 10 participants in the men’s short program for the team event, divided into two groups. Zhang Jue was the second skater in the second group.

The lineup for their group was: Maquen (Italy), Zhang Jue (China), Alex (France), Hayato Teraoka (Japan), and Ilya (Russia).

“Except for Maquen, the rest are all young skaters.”

“Yes, the quality of the new generation in men’s singles is really high. People thought they wouldn’t shine until the Pyeongchang cycle, but they’re already rising in Sochi.”

When Zhang Jue entered the arena, the crowd was roaring with excitement. There was a row of seats along the rink, reserved for athletes from the ten countries in the team event to cheer on their teammates.

The Chinese team’s seats were right by the rink entrance. As Zhang Jue waited in the ready area for the six-minute warm-up to begin, his teammates waved vigorously at him. Huang Ying even wore a hat with a pig mascot on it, waving a fan with a dancing crocodile on it.

Not far away in the Kazakhstan section, medal favorites Yin Meijing, Liu Mengcheng, and men’s singles skater Kharhasha, along with women’s singles skater Amina, also waved at them.

“Hey, Little Crocodile, yo hey!”

Guan Lin waved a red flag and, seeing Zhang Jue smile at them, shouted loudly: “Zhang Jue, you’re the first up from our team, start us off strong!”

Zhang Jue raised an eyebrow, lifted his right hand, and pointed a finger upward.

At that moment, it was 12:10 AM in China, prime time for night owls, and those who went to bed early could still stay awake with a cup of tea.

Some people, who weren’t usually into figure skating but were curious about the Olympics, turned on the TV and tuned into the sports channel, just in time to see Zhang Jue say to his teammates: “I’ll take first place in the short program.”

The young man was full of spirit, exceptionally handsome, and his eyes were brimming with confidence. Even though his words sounded arrogant, it was hard not to believe he could actually pull it off.

One viewer couldn’t help but say: “Wow, who’s this confident young guy? He’s quite bold.”

Shen Liu leaned toward Zhang Junbao and whispered: “Is he really planning to do the most difficult routine?”

“Yes, the higher-ups gave him the goal to finish in the top five and aim for the podium in the individual event. But this kid said he’d do the hardest routine—if he pulls it off, it’ll be a big win. Even if he doesn’t, his base score will keep him in the top five. The team event is just a test run. The old man is letting him try.”

The “old man” Zhang Junbao referred to was Coach Lu.

Shen Liu squinted his eyes: “Zhang Jue has only just perfected his performance, but that routine is too difficult. His execution isn’t consistent yet. If he pulls it off, breaking a world record wouldn’t be a problem. He’s really gambling.”

It seemed Zhang Jue’s ambitions were even higher than the goals set by the higher-ups.

 

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