Although the mountaintop ski resort wasn’t frequented by many experts, it usually bustled with a considerable crowd. Unlike today, Wei Zhi had never witnessed the slopes so deserted and wide open.
However, as the resort’s closing time approached, the snow on the slopes had turned slushy. The deep tracks left by both skiing and snowboarding enthusiasts transformed into treacherous trenches for Wei Zhi.
Trenches that seemed to possess a magical ability to trip her up in every possible way.
Averting her gaze from the treacherous terrain, Wei Zhi tried to ignore the daunting sight.
“Put them on yourself,” Shan Chong commanded, tossing his snowboard at her feet.
So much for the complimentary boot-fitting service.
Did the ‘Good Samaritan System’ operate on limited hours, clocking in at 9:00 am and promptly shutting down at 4:00 pm?
Bending down, Wei Zhi struggled to release the bindings of the snowboard. Without hesitation, she plopped down on the snow, resembling a clumsy bear as she slowly inserted her boots into the bindings and fumbled with the straps.
Shan Chong observed her for a while, his patience wearing thin.
He could tolerate her dawdling, but the sight of her hunched over, struggling with the snowboard, was too much to bear.
“Can’t you put on the board standing up?” he finally interjected.
“How?” Wei Zhi looked up, her brow furrowed.
Shan Chong bent down, effortlessly unfastening his bindings. “Place one foot between the bindings to secure the board. Then, put on the other boot,” he explained, demonstrating the process. “Once one foot is secured, engage the heel edge to anchor the board and prevent it from sliding. Then, put on the other boot.”
He finished securing his bindings as he spoke.
Wei Zhi, still struggling with her first boot, stared at him in disbelief.
“Got it?” Shan Chong asked.
“Does it offend your sensibilities if I put on my boots sitting down?” Wei Zhi retorted.
“No,” Shan Chong replied flatly.
“Then why do I have to stand?” she challenged.
For a moment, Shan Chong was taken aback. He couldn’t very well admit that sitting down to strap in screamed “rookie,” especially since he knew she would shamelessly retort with, “Well, I am a rookie, so what?” It would be a pointless endeavor.
So, after a beat of silence, he simply gestured for her to continue. He watched as she, still firmly planted on the ground, finally managed to secure her boots. Then, with a mighty heave, she attempted to stand, only to topple over like an overturned turtle, her backside landing squarely in the snow. With her hand supporting her weight, she awkwardly scrambled back up.
Then, she hopped around, turning to face him.
Everything seemed to be in working order. Suddenly, inspired by her inability to gracefully recover from a fall, Wei Zhi exclaimed, “Why can’t I get up like that on the slopes? Just turn around, face downhill, and stand up!”
“At this stage, you can’t,” Shan Chong stated firmly.
“But the slope is an incline; it should be easier to get up,” Wei Zhi argued.
“I said you can’t, so you can’t,” he reiterated, his tone brooking no further discussion.
Wei Zhi refused to believe him, convinced that he was just being difficult and picking on her for no reason.
The afternoon snow was indeed terrible for skiing. Coupled with the fact that it was a new slope she had never attempted before, Wei Zhi couldn’t help but feel a pang of apprehension.
Just then, as if by magic, the lights along the slopes flickered on with a satisfying “thump” of the switch being flipped.
The lights illuminated the slope behind her, gradually extending down towards her feet.
Although the mountaintop resort didn’t typically operate night skiing, the slopes were always lit up after dusk. The white lights, strung along the safety nets, twinkled like stars against the darkening sky.
From the bottom of the mountain, each winding slope resembled a luminous dragon snaking its way down the mountainside.
The bustling slopes of the day transformed into a tranquil and romantic spectacle by night.
Standing at the top, Wei Zhi gazed down at the silvery trails, her mind wandering.
“If you keep daydreaming, you’ll miss the end credits of the evening news,” a voice shattered the peaceful ambiance. Shan Chong stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. “It’s getting dark. Aren’t you cold?”
All it took was one sarcastic remark to completely obliterate the romantic atmosphere.
She turned to look at him. The man, clad in a deep purple hoodie, stood behind her, his snow goggles removed. The scattered lights reflected like shattered stars in his eyes.
Wei Zhi’s gaze lingered on him for a moment.
“Jiao Nian,” she began, her voice soft, “I just realized I’ve never actually seen what you look like.”
Shan Chong froze, taken aback by her words.
Standing slightly downhill, the young woman tilted her head up at him. The wind ruffled her hair, making it appear slightly messy yet endearingly lively.
Her round eyes, dark and bright, stared at him with an almost childlike curiosity.
She seemed genuinely curious.
“…”
Behind the protection of his face mask, the corners of Shan Chong’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. He leaned down, closing the distance between them. “And?” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Do you want to?”
His voice, usually cold and aloof, held a hint of warmth in the chilly night air.
On the deserted slope, their eyes met, holding the gaze for a long moment.
Finally, Wei Zhi replied, “Nah, not really.”
“…”
Shan Chong’s expression remained unchanged. “Are you looking for a fight?” he asked, his tone flat.