"Ladies and gentlemen, a thrilling showdown between two titans of the racing world is about to begin. Both cars have slowly pulled into their starting positions. Right now, the Wind God of China is doing a tire burnout on the spot—it looks like he's determined to win this race!"
The noisy mountain summit, crowded with over 5,000 spectators, finally fell silent. Yet, this silence wasn't calm—it was the eerie stillness before a storm…
All eyes were either glued to the TV screens or staring unblinkingly at the two cars, engines revving impatiently.
Zhuifeng fixed his gaze on the distant finish line, taking a deep breath. *Let's go. Let's show this Japanese driver what we Chinese are capable of!*
Perhaps it was the overwhelming pressure of the atmosphere, but Koizumi Junichiro suddenly felt a sense of unease. The silence of the scene was unnerving, even for an experienced driver like him— it was something he had never encountered before.
"Koizumi-kun, is it starting soon?"
The voice in his earpiece startled him so much that he almost jumped. "Y-yes, boss. It's about to begin."
"What's wrong? Don't tell me you're scared of this so-called Wind God?"
"I…"
"Koizumi-kun, let me remind you—who is he? He's not some God; he's just a lamb to the slaughter in our hands. There's nothing to fear. You must win this race. Once he's provoked enough and races Yamamoto next, he'll be consumed by rage. He'll throw everything into that race. When that happens, our plan will already be half-complete. Besides, you're the runner-up of Japan's Zero-4 championship. Don't tell me the proud champion of the league can't handle a street racer from some small city?"
"…Understood." Koizumi took a deep breath. He reminded himself—Zero-4 drag racing was still niche in China. Even if this guy called himself the Wind God, so what?
---
"Both cars appear to be ready. The decisive moment is upon us. Will Chongqing's rising black horse, the Wind God, shatter Japan's undefeated streak tonight? The answer will soon be revealed…"
"Li Ning, I'm so nervous. Do you think Feng Ge will win?" Zhao Jie's palms were sweaty from her anxiety.
Li Ning glanced at her friend and sighed inwardly. 'I hope this Wind God really is Xiao Jie's Feng Ge, as Nianran suggested. Otherwise…'
Shaking her head, she squeezed Zhao Jie's hand gently. "Don't worry. He's a 'god', after all. He'll win for sure."
Xu Nianran didn't turn her head, her voice heavy with concern. "I hope so too. But this race has already become something different—it's turned into a battle for revenge. If the Wind God loses… I don't even want to think about what might happen."
Recalling Zhuifeng's steely gaze in the classroom when he vowed to avenge Teacher Cheng, Nianran felt her heart leap into her throat.
---
"Friends watching at home, friends watching at home," Mu Xin's voice trembled with excitement as she addressed the live audience. "In this tense atmosphere, the referee for tonight's race has finally stepped onto the track. The thrilling moment is almost upon us, so let's all hold our breath… Wait, what's this…?"
Mu Xin trailed off, stunned by what she saw on the screen. Zhuifeng had suddenly lowered his car window and extended his pinky finger toward the Japanese driver, pointing it downward.
Everyone understood the meaning of this gesture—disdain. Total and utter disdain.
The patriotic camera operator refused to cut away, leaving the scene broadcasted live for all to see.
Both at the scene and in front of their TV screens, the crowd erupted. It was as if boiling water had been poured into a pot—the enthusiasm exploded.
"Wind God! Wind God!"
The deafening roar of the crowd echoed across the mountain, showing no regard for saving face for the Japanese.
---
As the referee raised the green flag higher and higher, everyone's hearts began to pound faster and faster. Many spectators watching from home joined in the frenzy, shouting alongside the crowd at the mountain summit.
In the midst of this thundering chaos, the green flag finally dropped.
---
Koizumi didn't lag behind at the start as he usually did—clearly, the pressure from the Wind God had forced him to take this race seriously.
The long-anticipated race had begun, and no matter where the spectators were, they gave Zhuifeng their full support.
Even through the helmet and closed windows, the chant of "Wind God, jiayou!" echoed clearly in Zhuifeng's ears, stirring something deep inside him.
He felt a sudden surge of confidence, as if he were the only one standing atop the world. It was a feeling of being on a battlefield, blood pumping and adrenaline rushing. The only things in his vision were the finish line ahead and the rival at his side.
And in his heart, there was only one belief: *Crush the opponent.*
Not 'defeat'—'crush'.
---
The tension in the air was palpable as the engines roared to life, their growls echoing like thunder through the narrow mountain pass. Koizumi leaned forward, eyes locked on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with a deadly seriousness uncommon for him. The green flag whipped down, and both cars lunged from the starting line, tires squealing as they clawed for grip.
Zhuifeng felt the familiar vibration through the pedals, the powerful hum of his engine a song of promise. As the chant of "Wind God, Wind God!" resonated through his helmet, a fire lit within him, fueling his resolve. This was more than just a race; it was a clash of titans, where only the boldest would reign supreme.
From the announcer's tower, the excitement was unmistakable. "And they're off! Both cars are launched like missiles, already tearing past the 100-meter marker with identical ferocity. Neither driver is yielding an inch!"
Koizumi was no stranger to high stakes, and today, his rival's shadow loomed larger than ever. He upshifted smoothly, revving just enough to maintain an aggressive rpm as his car sped forward. Zhuifeng, fully aware of the Japanese racer's tenacity, knew he had to play his cards shrewdly.
'Let's test him,' Zhuifeng thought, fingers expertly dancing over the gearstick as he shifted down, then quickly punched it back into fourth gear to disrupt the rhythm. He feathered the throttle, feeling the precise moment tires threatened to break loose before pushing harder, daring Koizumi to respond.
The commentator's voice crackled with tension: "It's neck and neck as they reach the 200-meter mark. Zhuifeng appears to have miscalculated his gear shift, surrendering half a car length!"
Koizumi's confidence swelled. He darted a glance at Zhuifeng's car and smirked. 'Still stuck in third, while I'm floating in fourth at ease. These legends about the Wind God must be exaggerations after all.'
Yet the spectators did not waver. Their chants intensified, resonating as a collective heartbeat willing their hero forward. "Wind God! Wind God!"
Zhuifeng focused, his mind a precision instrument honed for this moment. His thoughts were clear, even as the pressure mounted. 'Close the gap,' he told himself, finessing the wheel while the track blurred around him. Just ahead, Koizumi's car was an obstacle. A simple, beatable obstacle.
In Koizumi's earpiece, his boss's voice was a bark of urgency. "You can't afford to lose, Koizumi! Not today!"
Panic rippled through him. An avalanche of doubts loomed—
Zhuifeng, aroused by his supporters' relentless encouragement, found a hidden reserve of speed and determination. Smooth but decisive, he shifted up, the tachometer needle swinging upward as the engine's song crescendoed into a symphony of raw power.
With precision, Zhuifeng shifted into fourth gear at the 250-meter mark, seamlessly distributing power while maintaining optimal traction. He felt the surge—a rocket's ascent—as his car clawed back the distance, the engine's shriek a testament to his resolve. "Time to leave you behind," he muttered, applying just a fraction more pressure to the accelerator.
"Unbelievable! The Wind God has closed the gap nearly instantaneously!" shouted the commentator, voice lost amidst the crowd's ecstatic roar.
As the cars tore past the 300-meter mark, Zhuifeng's face was a portrait of icy determination. He feathered his right foot delicately, pushing the pedal to the floor at the precise instant, the world outside blurring with speed.
As he surged past, he allowed his car's rear to glide ever so gently against Koizumi's front bumper—a calculated maneuver, a professional's kiss of dominance on the track. Koizumi's heart leaped into his throat, hands momentarily unsteady on the wheel, the realization dawning that his opponent was operating on a different plane today.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the commentator's voice soared, "Koizumi is slowing drastically! Is this a retreat from the race? Meanwhile, the Wind God is rocketing toward the finish—a pure spectacle of velocity and grace!"
As the checkered flag waved, the result was unequivocal. Zhuifeng had not just defeated his competition; he had crushed it with the elegance and power of the Wind God, etching this race into the annals of racing folklore.
----
Zhuifeng brought his car to a screeching halt at the edge of the cliff. Without a word, he climbed out, walked to the spot where Teacher Cheng had perished, and knelt down in silence.
The silence from the crowd erupted into thunderous applause—not cheers of celebration, but a tribute to the teacher who had lost his life.
Even Chen Rong, tears streaming down her face, couldn't suppress her sobs.
Zhuifeng clenched his fists, his chest heaving. *Teacher Cheng, did you see that? The arrogant Japanese driver has been defeated. I haven't fully avenged you yet, but I promise—as long as I'm still here, I will take care of Chen Rong and her son.*
He stood and turned, his eyes steeled with determination.
"Yamamoto… you're next."