Chapter Eighteen: The Hong Kong Racing Legend Versus the Eastern Racing God

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The Supreme Mad Dragon (No Pop-ups)
Chapter 18: The God of Cars of Hong Kong vs. the Eastern Car God

Long Fei remained motionless, but the two men exchanged polite words. He didn’t want to win through unfair means; although his Ferrari was not as formidable as Wu Zhaoming’s Mercedes, his confidence in his own driving skills was absolute. In his eyes, even if he were handed an ordinary Xiali, he could drive it as if it were a BMW.

Ye Qian grew anxious, thinking Long Fei and Li Zhaoming were toying with her, and snapped, “Are you two idiots? Start the race already! Long Fei, if you don’t, I won’t let you off!”

Though her voice was quickly drowned out by the surging clamor of the crowd, Long Fei’s extraordinary hearing caught every word. He knew he couldn’t delay any longer and was forced to take the initiative, his foot pressing down on the accelerator. The Ferrari shot forward like an arrow released from its bowstring, its engine humming as it rocketed ahead.

Although the starting position to the first turn was on a slope, Long Fei’s Ferrari reached it in an instant. The Mercedes behind him roared to life, its speed eliciting gasps from the audience. Long Fei quietly shifted down to fourth gear; though still in the lead, he fell behind at the second corner.

Long Fei’s subtle sandbagging was so discreet that even Wu Zhaoming suspected nothing. He simply thought Long Fei had fallen behind due to a lack of recent driving practice or unfamiliarity with the track, so he floored the accelerator again, pushing his car to its limits as he raced toward the next bend.

Ye Qian’s expression brightened, and the crowd cheered for Wu Zhaoming. No one seemed to appreciate Long Fei’s driving finesse, though his current performance already met professional standards. But comparison can be cruel—against Wu Zhaoming, he seemed to fall just a little short, and that small deficit was enough for Wu’s brilliance to totally eclipse him.

Wu Zhaoming himself, however, did not dare underestimate Long Fei. Though his car was behind, he always maintained a threatening distance. Wu understood Long Fei’s capabilities; it was clear Long Fei was still holding back.

Just as Wu Zhaoming suspected, after the first lap, Long Fei’s Ferrari seemed to gain an extra gear out of nowhere. Though still in sixth, he suddenly broke through 400 km/h—a feat no one but Long Fei himself would even dare to attempt, let alone achieve.

Now that he was familiar with the track and had let Wu lead for long enough, there was no need to keep up the act.

Approaching the T1 corner, Long Fei feathered the throttle and brake, dropping back to fifth gear at 280 km/h as he swept right. On this bend, there was a chance to overtake. Next came a series of complex right-left-left turns (T2–T4), with a vertical drop of twelve meters. The T1 and the subsequent right (T2)–left (T3) sequence formed a helix-like tightening curve, its radius narrowing from 93.90 meters to 31.8 meters.

Navigating this continuous sequence, Long Fei showed no particular caution; his command of the car’s balance was uncanny. In fact, any bounce or understeer here would have thrown him off the ideal line, risking collision with the Mercedes ahead or even flying off the track. Yet Long Fei whipped through the corner in a flash.

He then braked hard, downshifting to third gear and slicing through the first right-hander (T2) at 185 km/h. The following left (T3) was taken at 165 km/h, and after easing the throttle, he powered through the final left (T4) at 192 km/h in third gear.

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The Mercedes ahead was growing ever closer. Long Fei smiled faintly and murmured, “Wu Zhaoming, you truly are a prodigy, but for your own sake, I can’t let you win today.”

With a thunderous roar, the Ferrari surged forward, passing the Mercedes with a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Despite Wu Zhaoming pushing his accelerator to the limit, the gap between them widened steadily. Before the race, he had inspected Long Fei’s Ferrari to ensure it was completely stock—no modifications whatsoever. So how could it reach such mind-boggling speeds? It defied all logic.

No matter how hard Wu Zhaoming tried, the gap kept growing. By the twenty-eighth lap, Long Fei had lapped him at least three times, and with a total of fifty-six laps, at this rate he would overtake Wu by eight laps or more. Long Fei’s lap times hovered around one minute and five seconds—speeds unattainable even in official professional events.

Hearing the mounting cheers, Long Fei suddenly realized he might be driving too fast. But now it was impossible to slow down without making his sandbagging obvious—Wu Zhaoming would surely notice, and that would be a devastating blow to his pride. Besides, Long Fei had already decided to win this race, though he no longer wished to win so overwhelmingly.

The spectators all rose to their feet. Some began to grumble, suspecting Wu Zhaoming was deliberately holding back, while others loudly shouted, “Go, Ferrari!” Having paid little attention to Long Fei’s name earlier and too intimidated by Ye Qian’s fierce mood to ask, they could only cheer generically.

The more this happened, the darker Ye Qian’s face grew. Like many others, she was certain Long Fei and Wu Zhaoming were putting on a show—otherwise, how could such a situation arise? Wu Zhaoming, the God of Cars, losing to an unknown bodyguard? Impossible, absolutely impossible!

Suddenly, the Ferrari suffered a minor mishap at a corner—not a catastrophic crash, but enough to force it to stall. The crowd, who had been complaining, now all rallied for Wu Zhaoming, while Long Fei kicked the Ferrari in apparent anger. But anger aside, he had no choice but to repair the car, as the Mercedes sped past—thanks to Wu Zhaoming’s relentless spirit.

At this moment, Ye Qian was shouting the loudest in the stands. She seemed unconcerned about whether her sports car might be written off; for her, the most important thing was to see Long Fei suffer a setback.

Little did she know that Long Fei was merely creating trouble to take a break. The so-called malfunction was just an excuse to let Wu Zhaoming lose with dignity.

When Wu Zhaoming had lapped him again and only ten laps remained, Long Fei hurried back into the car, tried several times, and finally restarted it. By then, Wu Zhaoming had lapped him again.

Victory seemed within reach—at least, that was the reality for the audience. Any ordinary spectator would think so. But the two racers on the track knew better. Wu Zhaoming’s face was growing grim; he sensed something wasn’t right with Long Fei, but couldn’t pinpoint what. As Long Fei’s car roared back onto the track, Wu Zhaoming could only push himself harder and harder.

No matter how much Wu Zhaoming pushed, when the race ended, he was still left behind. The gap between them was only ten seconds—a small margin, but Wu Zhaoming knew better than anyone the true difference between them. Slumped in his seat, he had no desire to get out. Despair washed over him; after three years of hard training, he thought he had surpassed Long Fei, only to discover Long Fei’s progress far outstripped his own. Today’s race had not restored his confidence but shattered it entirely.

Long Fei, on the other hand, leapt lightly from his car and strolled over to Wu Zhaoming’s, leaning on the door with a serious look. “What’s wrong? Lost your confidence?”

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“You let me win. I know it—there’s too great a gap between us. I concede, wholeheartedly and without complaint,” Wu Zhaoming admitted, dejected.

“But ten years ago, I’d never even touched a car. In this world, nothing is impossible—only things you don’t want to do. Tell me, do you want to surpass yourself?” Long Fei suddenly smiled, ready to give Wu Zhaoming a chance.

Wu Zhaoming stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can teach you to drive. A car has its own spirit. You can’t treat it like a mere machine—you have to communicate with it, understand? In a race, the car is you, and you are the car. When you reach that state, you can come challenge me again,” Long Fei said, turning to leave.

Wu Zhaoming hurriedly called after him. “The car is me, I am the car... I get it! I get it! But how do I reach that state?”

A glimmer of light appeared in Wu Zhaoming’s eyes, growing stronger by the second.

“Want to learn? I can teach you,” Long Fei replied with a hint of disdain.

To be honest, if anyone else heard such words, they would surely be infuriated. The God of Cars of Hong Kong, dismissed so casually!

But to Wu Zhaoming, those words were like celestial music. His face lit up with excitement. “You really can teach me?”

“Of course, but only when I have the time,” Long Fei replied, not even looking back as he walked away.

Brother, add this to your favorites, will you? Thank you, there’s another chapter coming soon.