There exists a hierarchy of disdain between all things—even among people—and cars are certainly no exception.
Especially in a private racing venue like Mingqiu Mountain, whose very name carries an air of homage and where the clientele almost exclusively consists of supercar club members, the disparity between cars directly reflects the disparity between their owners.
Those who indulge in supercars usually come from affluent backgrounds, and among them are plenty of young, thrill-seeking heirs. When not pressing the accelerator, they gather in small groups to smoke and banter.
Though their idea of "banter" is a far cry from what ordinary people might consider lighthearted conversation.
"He drives a McLaren 540C, I drive a GTO, and your non-limited-edition Mustang has no right to hold its head up in front of us," one young man gestured while leaning against his car. "Unless, of course, you're driving an AE86."
His companions burst into knowing laughter.
Then, another engine roar echoed from the distance—just from the sound, it was clear this was no ordinary vehicle. The crowd turned to look.
A fiery red Ferrari seemed to materialize at the entrance, streaking toward them like lightning.
"But..." someone murmured, eyes glinting with envy, "when a Ferrari F40 shows up, whether it's a 540C, a GTO, or even an AE86, they all have to kneel and call it 'Daddy.'"
The F40, designed by Ferrari to celebrate its 40th anniversary, wasn't the most expensive model the company ever produced, but it was undoubtedly the most legendary.
Built with racing rather than ordinary road performance in mind, it was also the last model personally overseen by Ferrari's founding father before his passing.
Anyone with even a passing interest in racing or supercars would kill to lay a hand on that iconic Ferrari-red body.
The F40 tore through the crowd of supercars and their owners at a blistering speed—easily exceeding 300 km/h—leaving behind a gust of wind sharp enough to sting cheeks.
It ignored the waiting area entirely, charging straight into the mountain circuit.
Two young men waiting at the starting line angrily stuck their heads out of their cars to yell, "Why do they get to go first?!"
The owner of Mingqiu Mountain, smoking nearby, lazily glanced at the noisy pair and replied dismissively, "No reason. You just can't afford to mess with that car."
The owner had ties to the Wei family, and everyone here, being well-connected themselves, had heard about it. At his words, one of the young men, though visibly resentful, grudgingly sat back down.
The other, however, refused to back down. "Do you even know who I am? Who the hell is driving that F40? If you've got the guts, say their name!"
Without hesitation, the owner flicked his cigarette butt at the reckless youth. "Surname Wei. Happy now?"
"..." The second young man slowly retreated into his car.
Zhong Ziyan sped into the circuit, slammed the brakes for a sharp U-turn, and immediately gave chase to the nearest car ahead.
The driver, stubbornly refusing to yield, tried to block her, but his amateurish skills were no match. Zhong Ziyan effortlessly faked him out and overtook him on the outside, setting her sights on the next unsuspecting supercar.
In less than twenty minutes, Zhong Ziyan had left every car she encountered in the dust—even lapping the first Porsche she'd passed.
As she gleefully prepared to overtake it a second time, she could almost hear the Porsche driver's internal scream: "Stay away from meeeee—!!!"
Wei Hanyun, sitting calmly in the passenger seat, reached forward and tapped the console, connecting his phone to the car’s Bluetooth sound system.
Then, he played a high-energy rock song.
The seasoned driver Zhong Ziyan flinched slightly, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.
"There are many things I’ve never experienced," Wei Hanyun explained, noticing her look. "For example, I don’t have a driver’s license because driving myself is... 'dangerous.'"
Zhong Ziyan: "...And the music?"
"It felt fitting."
Zhong Ziyan: "..." Who knew Wei Hanyun had a rebellious streak? "Feeling better now?"
Wei Hanyun checked his watch and replied coolly, "Two more laps."
With the boss's approval, Zhong Ziyan cranked up the volume—just enough to be tolerable—and pushed the car to its limits, carving through the night like a red bolt of lightning and humiliating every car on the track.
At first, it was just the cars already present. Then, more arrived, eager to challenge the rumored "expert." By the end, Mingqiu Mountain’s parking lot was packed to capacity as word spread of an unbeatable driver tearing up the circuit.
Whether novices fresh off their provisional licenses or seasoned veterans who knew every inch of the track, all were left weeping in the wake of that merciless Ferrari-red streak.
A... a god of racing.
By around 10 p.m., the seemingly tireless F40 reappeared at the entrance, where the thoroughly humbled crowd erupted into cheers and whistles.
Just as they expected it to blaze past once more, the car executed a sharp drift and came to a smooth stop.
"Make way, make way." The owner of Mingqiu Mountain, puffing on what must have been his nth cigarette, shouldered through the crowd and kicked at a young man sneaking a hand toward the car’s hood. "What, trying to steal it?"
"Touching an F40 doesn’t count as theft!" the youth shot back.
Ignoring him, the owner approached the driver’s side and stood ready as the door opened. Instinctively, he began, "Mr. Wei... huh?"
Instead of Wei Hanyun, a tall, striking woman stepped out, one long leg after the other.
A stunned silence fell—briefly—before the whistles grew even louder.
"Damn, lady, you’ve got skills!"
"Need a passenger, gorgeous? I’d kill to ride shotgun in an F40!"
Zhong Ziyan rested an arm on the door and scanned the rowdy crowd, too indifferent to engage. She nodded at the owner. "Hello—watch your hand."
The owner flinched as his cigarette burned perilously close to his fingers. He stubbed it out and reflexively peered into the car. "Is Mr. Wei inside?"
"Yeah," Zhong Ziyan confirmed. "With this many people, it’s better if he stays low-key, right?"
The owner nodded mechanically. "True, he’s never been one for attention." After a pause, he lowered his voice. "You’re Zhong Ziyan, aren’t you?"
His emphasis on the name was odd—as if he already knew of her and was merely confirming her identity.
"You know me?"
"I’m..." The owner exhaled, scratching his head. "Hanyan and Ziqian’s uncle."
Zhong Ziyan’s face lit up. "Second sister-in-law’s younger brother?"
"Right." The owner glanced around. "It's getting crowded. If you're leaving, I'll clear a path for you."
"Do we need to pay a venue fee?"
The owner took a deep look at that impossibly stunning face, trying to figure out if Zhong Ziyan was serious or joking.
—She was actually serious.
He wiped his face. "No, family doesn’t pay. It’s free for our own."
Zhong Ziyan brightened. "Thanks." With a grin, she flicked two fingers from her temple in a cocky, carefree gesture before turning back to the car.
But then, from the crowd, someone shouted loudly, "Hey, beauty, this car isn’t yours, is it? How much for a night?"
The insult and implication were blatantly disrespectful. The owner of Mingqiu Mountain’s expression darkened instantly.
Zhong Ziyan swept a glance toward the voice, pinpointing the smirking, unapologetic offender in the crowd. She couldn’t be bothered to engage and moved to get back in the car—but then the passenger door swung open.
—Wei Hanyun stepped out.
Someone shrieked "Wei Hanyun!" first, but instead of chaos, the entire scene plunged into an icy silence.
Wei Hanyun wasn’t a celebrity, and the crowd here weren’t the type to joke online about "forward this Wei Hanyun for instant wealth…"
The richer you were, the more you knew some people were untouchable.
"Why’d you come out?" Zhong Ziyan was surprised.
He’d agreed earlier to let her handle the greetings.
"Just observing." Wei Hanyun gave the owner a slight nod, then tilted his head toward a direction and asked, loud enough for the dead-silent crowd to hear, "Who is he?"
The bulky man who’d just hurled insults at Zhong Ziyan paled and shrank back into the crowd.
But the owner of Mingqiu Mountain recognized the troublemaker’s voice instantly. He sighed and didn’t hesitate to give up the name.
Wei Hanyun stood by the car, doing nothing. He switched topics as casually as if he’d just asked, "What time is it?"
"Don’t forget the wedding."
"Wouldn’t dream of it." The owner scratched the back of his head. "My sister would skin me alive if I did."
Wei Hanyun smiled, not sparing another glance at the loudmouth, and got back in the car.
Zhong Ziyan slid into the driver’s seat and restarted the engine.
This time, the crowd parted like a receding tide, clearing a path for the F40—almost as if they couldn’t get away fast enough.
Zhong Ziyan drove off at a normal speed, her mood slightly soured.
Wei Hanyun assumed she was upset about the earlier incident. "He won’t get away with saying that," he reassured her.
Zhong Ziyan glanced at him. "So how’s your mood? Enjoying the ride?"
"Perfect. A first in my life." Wei Hanyun answered as meticulously as if giving client feedback.
She kept studying his expression in the rearview mirror. "Then… could you do me a tiny little favor?"
Wei Hanyun understood. "So the documents you sneaked into the car were for me to look at."
Zhong Ziyan: "…" You noticed the first time—you should’ve pretended not to see it the second time too!
