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Guided by the attendant, Zhong Yun pressed the ignition button—just a single touch—and felt the faint tremor of the car’s body as the engine came alive. Excitement surged within him.

“This is the accelerator, and this is the brake—ah!” The attendant barely got halfway through her explanation before she was jerked violently, utterly unprepared, and let out a terrified scream.

Zhong Yun had already pulled the car out of the parking spot, just a bit too quickly.

“You should have said something before driving off—what if there’s an accident…” The attendant’s complaints were cut short as Zhong Yun stomped on the accelerator, the speed instantly soaring to a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, the rush of wind swallowing her words.

Her face paled. He was a novice, after all. Anxiety made her hands tremble, and she fumbled several times before finally fastening her seatbelt.

She had barely breathed a sigh of relief when she saw, not far ahead, a sharp ninety-degree turn, and the car was still barreling ahead, not slowing at all, heading straight for the wall.

“Ah!” she screamed, covering her eyes with her hands. This was the end.

A piercing screech of tires cut through the air, drowning out her voice and stinging her ears. She felt her body almost thrown forward, the seatbelt digging painfully into her shoulder.

The wind roared past her ears, but the expected crash never came. Puzzled, she opened her eyes. The road ahead stretched straight; the sharp turn had vanished. She looked back—the ninety-degree corner was now behind them.

She was utterly bewildered. How did they make it through? Her mind spun.

At such speed—even her idol, the legendary racer, would hardly have managed to clear such a narrow, sharp bend at this velocity.

Could he truly be a master? She turned to look at Zhong Yun. On his ordinary face, his eyes seemed ablaze, brimming with boundless vitality.

In that moment, she found his unremarkable features radiating a unique charm, making her heart race.

Faint voices drifted from ahead. Zhong Yun spotted an exit, pressed the accelerator, and the red car shot through the opening.

A wave of noise engulfed them instantly. Zhong Yun took in the scene before him: a colossal racetrack, dozens of sports cars speeding by, the sound of engines tearing through the air exhilarating to the ear.

Above the track, a massive live panoramic display was divided into several screens, tracking the progress of various cars.

The grandstands surrounding the circuit were packed, spectators shouting themselves hoarse in support of their favorite drivers, the air itself seeming to blaze with their fervor.

Zhong Yun felt his blood ignite in an instant. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drove onto the track, set his sights on a car ahead, and floored the accelerator.

Seeing someone approach, the driver in front swerved to block the red car behind him. “Trying to pass me? You’re still too green,” he muttered.

He glanced at the red sports car’s license plate—oo1313. Unfamiliar. Probably either a rookie or a nobody.

Sports car racing was a newly revived extreme sport, embraced by young people for its sheer thrill. Countless adrenaline seekers had flocked to it, reveling in the rush of speed.

Within just a few years, racing clubs had sprung up in cities everywhere, each boasting a roster of skilled drivers with their own dedicated license plate numbers. These numbers became a badge of honor.

oo1313 was unknown, so the driver concluded the car behind was either new or inexperienced. Winning against a rookie hardly excited him.

He’d been racing for three years now, with a reputation and a veteran’s license number.

Five hundred meters ahead, a bend appeared. He perked up. “Rookie, let me teach you a lesson you’ll never forget,” he thought.

The red car was right on his tail, relentless. He frowned. Following so closely at nearly three hundred kilometers per hour was dangerous; even a slight touch could flip a car.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to slow down. The upcoming turn wasn’t too sharp—he’d never tried it at three hundred, but he believed he could handle it.

Five hundred meters flashed by. As the bend drew near, his heart pounded wildly. Instinctively, he pressed the brake, unable to withstand the pressure.

Just as he did, a red blur ghosted past him, the red car’s tail flicking gently, maintaining speed as it effortlessly rounded the bend.

Bang.

His own car slammed straight into the guardrail, the airbags enveloping him. Still stunned, he stared unblinking at the red blur vanishing around the next corner.

Was he dreaming?

He could hardly trust his own eyes.

Beside Zhong Yun, the attendant gripped the armrest tightly, her face pale. Moments ago, she had watched this madman nearly graze past another car—on a bend, no less.

At nearly three hundred kilometers per hour, she distinctly felt the car tilt as they slipped by, the stunned expression of the other driver still vivid in her memory.

Though she knew their lives weren’t in danger, facing such peril for the first time filled her with uncontrollable fear, her heart pounding as if it might leap from her chest.

The wind stung her cheeks, sweat drying before it could even bead on her brow. Yet in places untouched by the wind, her skin felt clammy, as if freshly pulled from water.

Ahead, two more cars appeared, locked in fierce competition, neither yielding. Zhong Yun, faster than both, quickly caught up.

The track was narrow—only four lanes. If those ahead wanted to block you, passing was difficult; the only real chance lay in the bends, a true test of skill.

The two cars ahead zigzagged, filling the track. Yet Zhong Yun showed no sign of slowing, seized an opening, and overtook the trailing car.

The passed driver had all his attention on the car ahead, never expecting someone to cut in from the side, and was overtaken before he realized.

Frustration flared within him—then he witnessed a scene he’d never forget.

He and the car ahead were in a straight line, barely ten meters apart, with a major bend some fifty meters ahead. Both were in the innermost lane, while the red sports car was in the adjacent lane.

His car was going two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour—the fastest he could manage for that bend. The red sports car must have been doing three hundred.

Fifty meters vanished in a second. By instinct, he pressed the brake, preparing for the turn.

Then he saw something uncanny: the car ahead hesitated, and the red car suddenly cut diagonally into his lane.

Like a phantom, it slipped through the gap created by the car ahead drifting in the turn. As the two cars crossed, sparks flew.

The car ahead instantly lost control, spinning like a top and smashing into the guardrail.

The red sports car had already rounded the bend, vanishing from sight.

oo1313—who on earth was that? He stopped his car, a storm of questions swirling in his mind.

ps: To my delight, I spotted a flower on the ratings board.