Chapter Seventeen: The God of Cars in Hong Kong (Second Update—Please Add to Your Favorites)

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“Oh my god, isn’t that Wu Zhaoming? The underground racing king! I’m about to faint!”
“Honey, I absolutely adore you! Thank you for bringing me here today so I could finally meet my dream man. I’ll go with you to the hotel later—I have no regrets. Consider my first time as a thank-you for bringing me here!”
As the woman who had just made a lewd gesture toward Long Fei now tried to throw herself at Wu Zhaoming, Long Fei felt sweat bead on his brow. My god, he’d experienced such scenes three years ago, and they were even worse then. He hadn’t expected these people to be so avant-garde—their enthusiasm rivaled that of Western racing fans.

Although Ye Qian had seen Wu Zhaoming before, she was still excited. She’d spent a hundred thousand just to invite this Hong Kong underground racing king, solely to strike at Long Fei and drive him out of her family. She really spared no expense.

“Over here!” She waved to Wu Zhaoming.

Wu Zhaoming seemed used to such scenes. He signed autographs for several bold staff members who rushed over, then frowned and walked toward Ye Qian. Truth be told, he wasn’t short on money—the profits from underground racing far exceeded the rewards from official competitions.

Three years ago, Wu Zhaoming was still a professional racer, ranked among the world’s top five. All Asians saw him as their hope. But after participating in an underground race in America, he retired and became an even more professional king of the underground circuit—a true king, as everyone said. Not only was he Hong Kong’s racing god, he was the idol of all Asian racing fans. His fame hadn’t diminished in the years since his retirement; in fact, as Asian racing fell into a slump, his reputation only grew.

Wu Zhaoming wasn’t lacking in money, so normally the hundred thousand wouldn’t have enticed him. But who was Ye Qian? The only daughter of Ye Wentian, the infamous sorceress of Shanghai. Though young, she was rich in connections. No one knew whom she contacted, but Wu Zhaoming came regardless, catching the earliest flight to arrive as soon as possible.

“Miss Ye, hello,” Wu Zhaoming said with a wry smile.

“Everyone, quiet down! What are you doing?” Ye Qian silenced the crowd, then turned to Wu Zhaoming. “I invited you here to race against him. Win or lose, you’ll get a hundred thousand. If you win, I’ll give you another hundred thousand. How about it?”

Wu Zhaoming wanted to say, “I don’t need your money.”

But in the end, he had to nod. In his eyes, the Ye Group had money to burn, so why not take it? However, when he turned and saw Long Fei, he trembled as if he’d seen an alien.

“It’s you?! Really you! Asia—”

“Enough!” Long Fei quickly patted Wu Zhaoming’s shoulder and whispered a few words in his ear.

“How could you…? Ha! Lucky me! I’ve been searching for you for three years,” Wu Zhaoming’s eyes flashed with fierce fighting spirit and deep admiration.

Long Fei winked, “You want to win that badly? Should I let you?”

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“If you let me, it would be an insult—I’d rather die right now!” Wu Zhaoming cried out.

Long Fei laughed, “Let you? Not a chance. I don’t want to be fired by my employer. You should know, I care about this bodyguard job.”

“You two… you know each other?” Ye Qian frowned, confused. Everything was in chaos. Who was Long Fei, really? How could a country bumpkin know someone like Wu Zhaoming? Not only did they know each other, they seemed quite close.

“We know each other. I’ve been searching for him for three years,” Wu Zhaoming said, clenching his fists tightly.

“Why did you look for him?” Ye Qian was surprised. Enemies?

“I want to race him!” Wu Zhaoming took a deep breath, calming himself—a ritual he always performed before a race.

Ye Qian was thoroughly confused. Suddenly, she thought of something and her face turned sour. She scrutinized Long Fei and, full of worry, said, “Wu Zhaoming, you’re not colluding with Long Fei to scam me, are you? Will you deliberately lose? Think carefully—if you throw the race, we know your skill well enough to spot it. And remember, if you beat him, there’s an extra hundred thousand for you.”

Threats and incentives—a classic carrot and stick.

Wu Zhaoming’s courage seemed to swell upon seeing Long Fei. Afraid of being misunderstood, he gruffly said, “Don’t talk to me about money. Rest assured, I’ll give it my all today. Win or lose, I won’t take a cent!”

“Not a cent?” Not only Ye Qian, but everyone else was shocked. Who turns down such easy money—especially a hundred thousand?

Several girls from less wealthy families felt bitter. Look at these people—hundred thousand sent straight to them, and they don’t want it. Compare that to themselves, who had to please their men just to afford branded clothes. Comparing people only brings misery.

“Yes, yes, not a cent!” Wu Zhaoming was impatient, turning to Long Fei with respect. “Can we go start the race now?”

Long Fei wasn’t in a hurry. He turned to Ye Qian and asked, “Miss Ye, when can we race?”

“Now,” Ye Qian replied coldly.

The Shanghai F1 International Circuit is about seven kilometers long, composed of Formula One and other track types. The F1 track itself is roughly 5.3 kilometers, twelve to eighteen meters wide, shaped like a dancing ‘Shang’ character. It favors powerful engines and offers challenging corners that showcase drivers’ skills. Besides F1 events, it hosts various other races.

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The grandstand was designed for about two hundred thousand spectators, with fifty thousand covered seats and the rest open-air.

At this moment, the dozens Ye Qian had invited were all seated in the diamond section of the main grandstand, closest to the track. Everyone craned their necks, watching the two sports cars on the track: Wu Zhaoming’s Mercedes on the left, Ye Qian’s Ferrari on the right.

The Ferrari had frequently won in recent international F1 races, not just because Schumacher represented the team, but because the car’s performance was truly outstanding.

Yet Ferraris come in several varieties—some expensive with superb performance, others expensive but mediocre. The former are custom-modified and rarely found except in professional races; the latter are bought by the wealthy to flaunt as status symbols. Unfortunately, Ye Qian’s car was of the latter type.

So, in terms of performance, the Ferrari Long Fei was driving was far inferior to Wu Zhaoming’s Mercedes. Both men knew it, but neither revealed the truth. Ye Qian, though fond of racing, was clueless about the technicalities of sports cars.

In the twenty-first century, what matters most? Information.

Within minutes, many track staff gathered in the grandstand, drawn by Hong Kong’s racing god Wu Zhaoming. Ye Qian, unlike before, didn’t chase them away—not because the venue belonged to someone else, but because she wanted as many witnesses as possible to see Long Fei humiliated by Wu Zhaoming. After all, Wu Zhaoming was her “guest.” Even if he refused the fee now, he still came because of her, and at Ye Qian’s age, pride was inevitable.

Everyone held their breath. The staff cooperated, and five red lights glowed near the starting line. According to the rules, once the lights went out, the race would officially begin.

Seated in the Ferrari, Long Fei calmly checked the parts and switches, then confidently flashed an OK sign to Wu Zhaoming nearby.

No matter what Long Fei was like off the track, once he stepped onto it, his aura changed dramatically—a commanding presence. Even before the race began, he exerted immense psychological pressure on his opponent, inducing a sense of helplessness. This dominance wasn’t baseless, but stemmed from Long Fei’s formidable skill. Anyone else facing a master like Wu Zhaoming would likely have trembling hands.

Wu Zhaoming struggled to stay calm. He knew that he must keep his mind clear—any stray thought could affect his performance, and in racing, victory or defeat often hinges on the slightest margin.

But the more Wu Zhaoming tried to forget, the more memories haunted him. He recalled the underground race in America three years ago, where his heart bled—he had only managed third place. After three years of training, he had surpassed the famous racer who finished three seconds ahead of him, but never had a chance to compete against the champion of that race.

That champion was, of course, Long Fei. He remembered Long Fei arriving at the underground track accompanied by Long Nü, just for fun, yet easily winning the championship and earning the title “Eastern Racing God.” This wasn’t to say Long Fei could only be a racing god in the East, but that he came from the East. Anyone passionate about underground racing would remember Long Fei. But back then, Long Fei had left quickly; apart from close acquaintances like Wu Zhaoming, few could recognize him now.

Long Fei’s race three years ago was just a casual display, but it revealed his exceptional racing talent. That race left Wu Zhaoming with unforgettable memories and made him nervous facing Long Fei even now. Cold sweat drenched his palms, which gripped the steering wheel so tightly that veins bulged; his face grew fierce and contorted.