In the evening rush hour on Jiangzhou Avenue, rows of irritable private cars waited in line, moving only a few hundred meters in half an hour, even slower than snails.
Suddenly, a blue sports car shot past the emergency lane like a lightning bolt, leaving only a trace. The driver had a cigarette between his fingers, the wind blew off his wig, and took the cigarette end with it.
The other drivers were like petrified chickens.
"That's way too arrogant..."
"All of us are honestly queuing, and only he gets special treatment. Where are the traffic cops? Take him down!"
"Look at that car, a Lamborghini. Must be a rich second-generation with a background, don't mess with it."
In the car, Zheng Qing stepped on the gas pedal and drifted perfectly at the next intersection.
Ming Jing held the handle on the roof and said helplessly, "You're violating traffic regulations."
Behind them, a traffic cop chased them on a motorcycle, with the thrill and excitement of a blockbuster movie.
