It had been nearly an hour since Li Ziqing entered the VIP lounge, yet the atmosphere outside the racing arena was anything but calm. A tension hung in the air, subtle but heavy enough that even those unfamiliar with the nuances of the crowd could sense it.
On the track, Zhu Jinyan was a storm barely contained. His Lamborghini Huracán roared like a beast unchained, his hands gripping the wheel with a ferocity that left even seasoned spectators uneasy. Normally, he was the picture of control—a racer who thrived on precision, grace, and strategy. But tonight was different. His car sliced through the circuit with brutal speed, reckless yet devastatingly effective.
He crossed the finish line, claiming victory once again—his third match of the night. Whispers rippled instantly through the onlookers.
"Wasn't he only supposed to race once?" someone murmured from the crowd.
"Exactly. This is his third match. And did you see his speed tonight? It wasn't like before. It was… frightening."
Another voice piped up, hushed, uneasy. "Standing near him right now feels like standing in a freezer. He's… angry. You can see it in his eyes."
"But why? What's wrong with Young Master Zhu?"
A bolder whisper, sharper than the rest: "Don't you know? Li Ziqing went into the VIP lounge earlier—with some old man. And they arrived in a Bugatti Veyron. Maybe that's why."
A scoff, quickly followed by nervous laughter. "You think those rumors spreading on Renren last week were true?"
"Shhh!" Someone hissed, glancing around nervously. "Don't you remember what happened to Ma Hua? Li Ziqing isn't that timid little rabbit anymore. She knows how to bite back—and if she does, you'll regret it. True or false, don't speak those rumors aloud."
The murmurs died almost instantly, the crowd falling into an uneasy silence.
Not far away, Tian Jia stood stiffly, her nails digging into her palm as her eyes followed Zhu Jinyan. Anger simmered in her chest, boiling hotter with every whisper she overheard. She wasn't blind—she had always known of Zhu Jinyan's feelings for Li Ziqing. But last year, when Li Ziqing had rejected him so bluntly, Tian Jia had taken it as the end of the matter. Zhu Jinyan himself had stopped approaching Li Ziqing altogether, and a year's distance had made the memory fade.
Yet now—one glimpse of Li Ziqing entering the VIP lounge and Zhu Jinyan was unraveling, driving like a man possessed. Tian Jia's lips curled, her chest tight with a bitterness she could barely contain.
"She really has no shame," Tian Jia muttered under her breath, her voice low but dripping with venom. "Walking in here with another man, parading herself like that… and now Jinyan is—" She cut herself off, teeth clenched.
Her friend beside her frowned, tugging her sleeve. "Tian Jia, keep your voice down. Don't get yourself into trouble."
But Tian Jia's eyes never left the track where Zhu Jinyan stood, tall and cold as frost, his expression unreadable. Her fingers twitched with the urge to strike Li Ziqing across the face, to shatter that calm façade the girl wore so easily.
"She rejected him once," Tian Jia whispered harshly, her jealousy twisting deeper. "She doesn't deserve to even be in his line of sight. And yet…" Her nails bit harder into her skin. "And yet, he still looks at her like that."
Her friend suddenly said, "You know how people change, Jia. Li Ziqing isn't the same timid girl from before. And Young Master Zhu…" She lowered her voice, stealing a glance at Zhu Jinyan's tall figure near the track. "His feelings for her have never really gone away. If she decides to use that…"
Her friend's words had barely left her lips before Tian Jia whipped her head around, eyes flashing. "She dare?"
Her friend hesitated, whispering quickly, "I'm just saying to be careful. People say she's different now. Smarter. Sharper. Even Ma Hua learned the hard way not to cross her."
"Ma Hua was an idiot," Tian Jia snapped, her voice cutting like glass. "Li Ziqing just got lucky. She thinks she's clever, walking in here with some old man in a Bugatti, like she belongs.
Her friend bit her lip, unsure whether to respond, but Tian Jia wasn't finished. Her gaze burned toward the VIP lounge, her hands curled into fists.
"If she dares to come closer to Zhu Jinyan?" Tian Jia muttered, her words low but sharp enough to slice through the noise of the crowd. "Then she better be ready. Because this time, I won't stand by and watch."
Li Weiqiang, who had been standing not far from the two girls, overheard every word. His lips curled into a pleased smirk. Yes, he thought darkly, this is exactly what I want.
Meanwhile, Zhu Jinyan cast yet another glance toward the VIP lounge entrance, his brows furrowing deeper with every passing second. Why is she taking so long? The thought burned in his chest. With a sharp huff, he turned away in frustration—only to freeze when a voice rose behind him.
"Look—Li Ziqing is back. And she's with two other men."
Zhu Jinyan's head snapped around instantly, his gaze locking on the lounge gate. There she was—Li Ziqing—walking out with an elegance that commanded the crowd's attention. Her every step was calm, measured, as if the chaos around her could never touch her. But Zhu Jinyan's relief was instantly consumed by fury when he saw the two men at her side.
One leaned close, speaking earnestly to her, while the other followed just a step behind, wearing an arrogant smirk that made Zhu Jinyan's blood boil. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, and his hands trembled from the storm surging within him.
"Miss Li, you should reconsider," Zhou Yichen was saying anxiously. His voice low and sincere. "Ruan Zeyuan is no ordinary opponent. He's a seasoned racer—he competed in national tournaments back in our university days."
For the past few minutes, Zhou Yichen had been trying desperately to dissuade her. He regretted, more than anything, ever inviting Ruan Zeyuan to Wuhan. What had begun as a meeting had turned into a dangerous spectacle, and now Li Ziqing was at the very center of it. His concern wasn't limited to the manipulative trap that Ruan Zeyuan had laid—it was for her safety.
The Grand Ascot Club's private track was infamous. Twisting bends, razor-thin margins, and brutal straights had earned it the reputation of being one of the most challenging courses in the country. It had hosted several national tournaments and was built for professionals—not amateurs. Even Zhou Yichen, who had been driving for seven years, doubted his own ability to complete it without serious risk.
Butler Yao, walking close by, also stepped forward with urgency. "Yes, Miss Li," he implored, "why not let me race in your place? I trained in advanced driving at the Royal Butler Academy. Unless Mr. Ruan is competing as a professional, I am confident I can face him on equal ground."
But Li Ziqing only smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with calm defiance. She stopped, turned slightly toward the two men, and spoke in a voice both soft and unyielding.
"Enough. Both of you, stop worrying. Do you really think I'm foolish enough to throw away my life on something suicidal? Relax. I never step onto a battlefield unprepared." Her lips curved, and her gaze swept toward the track where Ruan Zeyuan walking. "So just stand back—and watch the show."
With that, she strode forward, her silhouette cutting through the floodlights like a blade.
Ruan Zeyuan, catching her words, felt a flicker of irritation. Her composure, her confidence—it was grating. He let out a short, dismissive laugh, his expression twisting with scorn. So she's eager to jump into the pit herself? Very well.
He lazily walked ahead and smirked. "Since you insist, little girl," he muttered under his breath, "don't expect me to show any mercy."
Soon they reached the viewing stand overlooking the track. The floodlights illuminated the asphalt below, sharp shadows cutting across the curves like blades. The low growl of engines in the distance echoed through the grandstand, but here, the world seemed to pause, all attention drawn to the confrontation unfolding.
Ruan Zeyuan stepped forward with a languid air of superiority, gesturing toward the sprawling course ahead. "Miss Li," he began smoothly, "since you're already here, allow me to introduce you properly to the Ascot track. This is not your average playground for hobbyists. The circuit spans nine kilometers in a single lap—longer than most professional tournament routes. It has seven hairpin turns, each sharper than the last, designed to test reflexes to the limit. See there?" He pointed toward the far end where floodlights caught a steep incline. "That is the synthetic mountain curve. One mistake there, and the car doesn't just spin out—you're airborne. It's claimed more than a few engines in its time."
He let the weight of his words settle, then continued, his tone dripping with challenge. "This course was designed for seasoned racers, not casual drivers. Even professionals leave here humbled."
Zhou Yichen drew in a sharp breath. His eyes widened, a flicker of unease flashing across his face. He had known the track was difficult, but hearing it laid out so clearly chilled him. Seven hairpins. A synthetic mountain. Nine brutal kilometers. Even with his seven years of driving experience, he couldn't guarantee his safety here. He turned instinctively toward Li Ziqing, expecting at least a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
But she stood calmly, her hands at her sides, her expression composed. A subtle smile curved her lips as if the danger being described belonged to someone else entirely, not her.
Ruan Zeyuan's confidence faltered for a fraction of a second. He had expected her to pale, to protest, to finally reveal her inexperience. Instead, her serenity infuriated him. His jaw tightened before he forced a mocking laugh.
"You are either very brave, Miss Li, or very foolish," he said with a low groan. "You still have a chance to walk away. The gate is right there. All it would take is a simple apology, perhaps a bow, and this entire ordeal would be over. You'd lose nothing more than Zhou Yichen and a shred of pride. Trust me—it is a small price compared to your life."
He smirked, certain he had cornered her with reason.
Li Ziqing tilted her head slightly, her gaze lifting toward the track that glittered beneath the floodlights like a coiled serpent. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but carried with cutting precision.
"Mr. Ruan, do you always waste so much breath warning your opponents? Or is it only when you're afraid they might surprise you?"
Her words struck like a blade—calm, deliberate, impossible to deflect. She turned her eyes back to him, the faintest glimmer of amusement in their depths.
The silence that followed was taut as wire. Zhou Yichen stared at her in disbelief—half terrified, half awed—while Ruan Zeyuan's smirk faltered just enough to betray his irritation.
She had not only refused to back down—she had challenged his arrogance head-on.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like a sudden gust of wind.
"What are they talking about? Challenge? Opponent?"
"Are you dense? Don't you get it? They're talking about a race."
"What? Li Ziqing… is going to race?"
"That can't be right! I've never even heard of her driving a car, let alone racing on this track!"
Li Ziqing's brows furrowed slightly when she heard her name being murmured from all directions. She turned her head, her eyes sweeping over the crowd—and froze for half a heartbeat. Familiar faces stared back at her. Her schoolmates.
A ripple of recognition passed between them. She also caught sight of Li Weiqiang, half-hidden in the back, trying desperately to bury himself within the crowd. But Li Ziqing's gaze only stayed on him for a moment before she completely ignored him.
Ruan Zeyuan noticed the shift and arched a brow, feigning casual curiosity. "Oh? So you all know each other?"
One of the boys in the crowd puffed his chest proudly. "Of course. She's our school's beauty—how could we not know her?"
A smirk tugged at Ruan Zeyuan's lips. He turned back to Li Ziqing, his tone laced with mockery. "How fascinating. You even have an audience of familiar faces. Wouldn't it be humiliating if you lost in front of them? Your carefully polished image as the campus belle… it would crumble."
Li Ziqing's answering smile was cool, almost dismissive. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Ruan. But we are merely strangers, aren't we? Their validation—or lack of it—has no weight in my life."
Her gaze slid past him toward her Bugatti Veyron parked elegantly under the floodlights. Her voice was calm, unhurried, but cutting. "Now, let's finish this. It's already close to nine, and I'd prefer to be home. Where's your car, Mr. Ruan?"
Ruan Zeyuan's eyes glinted with mischief. "My car?" He let the words linger before lifting a finger, pointing toward the far end of the track. "It's over there."
All eyes turned. A low hum carried across the night air. At first, the vehicle approaching seemed unremarkable, a silhouette gliding closer under the floodlights. But as the car drew nearer, details sharpened—the low-slung frame, the sculpted aerodynamics, the gleaming body in a deep sapphire blue. Gasps erupted like firecrackers among the spectators.
"That's—no way! Is that… a Koenigsegg?"
"Not just a Koenigsegg. Look at the tail design. That's the Jesko Absolut!"
"You mean—the one valued at nearly twenty one million Yuan? One of the fastest hypercars in the world?"
"God, I've only ever seen it in magazines. And he actually brought it here? For a street race?"
"He's insane! That thing's practically a rocket on wheels."
"Forget insane—it's terrifying. With that car, no one in their right mind would dare challenge him."
"Li Ziqing's doomed today."
"Of course—no novice can survive a race like this."
"Doesn't she realize how dangerous it is? This could cost her her life."
Zhu Jinyan, standing a short distance away, watched the unfolding scene with a rigid jaw. He knew the track's reputation all too well—its blind corners, punishing straights, and the way it spared no hesitation in claiming the unskilled. Every rational thought in him recoiled at the idea of Li Ziqing sitting behind the wheel. And yet, buried beneath that bristling concern, another current burned hotter—the memory of her tears, the humiliation she had once brought him, and the complicated knot of resentment and something else he had never untangled.
From the sidelines, Tian Jia's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and deliberate. "This Li Ziqing is nothing but an attention seeker. Why can't she behave like a normal girl her age?" her voice only enough for Zhu Jinyan to hear.
He spun on her like a spring uncoiled. His eyes flashed with disdain.
"And you are any better?" he snapped. "Weren't you the one who practically begged to ride with me during the last race?"
The bluntness of the accusation struck Tian Jia squarely. Her carefully maintained poise faltered, her lips parting in shock.
"I—I only said that because—Jinyan, how can you accuse me like this? I'm your—"
"Shut up."
The command fell like a blade, cold and final, silencing her at once. Zhu Jinyan no longer spared her a glance; his gaze was locked on the girl under the floodlights, Li Ziqing, her calm presence igniting something inside him he had tried to bury. She looked untouchable, yet dangerously fragile, as though one wrong move on that track could shatter everything.
He strode forward, each step purposeful, until he stood between her and the murmuring crowd. His voice, when it came, was rough with fury, yet threaded with something that betrayed him.
"Li Ziqing—have you lost your mind? Do you want to die out there?"
The protective edge hidden in his anger made Tian Jia's breath catch. Her nails dug into her palms until her knuckles whitened. A year—an entire year—had passed. She had convinced herself that Zhu Jinyan had moved on, that Li Ziqing was nothing more than a shadow in his memory. But the way he spoke now, the way his eyes seemed to betray concern that bordered on tenderness, tore through that illusion.
A cold panic coiled in Tian Jia's chest. If Zhu Jinyan still carried even a flicker of feeling for that girl, then everything she had worked for—her father's carefully placed investment, her transfer into his school, the social footing she had been trained to secure—would unravel in an instant.
Her eyes turned red and hands trimballed as she thought of her fathers fury.
Li Ziqing stiffened when she sensed a sudden presence before her. Her first instinct was wariness, and she instinctively lifted her gaze. A face came into view—familiar, though distant, as though drawn from a memory long buried. For a moment, she could not place him. She studied his features. Then, like a thread snapping taut, recollection struck.
In her previous life, this boy had stood before her once before, during her first year of middle school. Back then, he had nervously confessed his feelings, a clumsy proposal delivered with the earnestness only youth could carry. Yet her younger self—naïve, self-conscious, and fearful of ridicule—had mistaken his courage for mockery. She had believed he was playing a cruel prank on her, humiliating her in front of others. Tears had burned her eyes as she fled, leaving him standing alone.
From that day on, he had never approached her again. Even when their paths crossed in corridors or at the school gate, he had averted his gaze, choosing silence over confrontation. It was as if he had erased her from his world.
Li Ziqing's expression remained composed, but a flicker of unease stirred within her. She remembered what she knew of him—his family background, the wealth he came from, the arrogance that seemed to follow boys like him as naturally as their shadows. Such young men were rarely sincere. They carried inflated egos, accustomed to admiration, unchallenged in their desires. To them, girls were often nothing more than ornaments, conquests to boast of when the night grew long and the wine flowed freely.
Her lips curved into a faint, poised smile as she spoke, her voice clear and deliberate.
"Zhu Jinyan, are you here to race?"
Zhu Jinyan froze, momentarily disarmed. Her words were simple, almost casual, but the tone—measured, confident—struck him like a blow. He remembered vividly how, after last year's incident, she could not even look in his direction, how she avoided him with the timid skittishness of a frightened bird. Yet the girl standing before him now bore no resemblance to that version of Li Ziqing. This one radiated self-assurance, her eyes steady, her presence unshakable.
He found himself nodding before he even realized it.
Li Ziqing inclined her head gracefully. "Good. Then do me a favor. When I race, be my strategist. You must know this track better than most. Help me win."
For a heartbeat, Zhu Jinyan could only stare at her, caught between disbelief and awe. A strategist? For her? He had come here expecting resistance, perhaps a desperate plea for her to reconsider. But she had turned the tables, pressing a request onto him as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His lips parted to respond, but nothing came. Instead, he simply nodded again, still locked in her gaze, his expression blank with shock.
Li Ziqing's smile deepened, calm and unreadable, before she turned away without another word. Her figure moved gracefully toward the participants' changing lounge. It wasn't until she had completely vanished from sight that Zhu Jinyan seemed to wake from his daze.
"Be her strategist?" he muttered to himself, incredulous. "Is she really serious about this race? But it's dangerous…" His voice rose sharply at the last word, but the girl he called after had already disappeared behind the lounge doors.
The crowd around him exchanged glances but remained silent. Not a single person dared to mock or comment. Instead, a hushed reverence filled the air. To ask Zhu Jinyan—of all people—to be her strategist was a boldness that demanded admiration.
Twenty minutes later, the atmosphere on the track had shifted. Li Ziqing and Ruan Zeyuan sat in their respective cars at the starting line, engines purring with restrained violence. Under the floodlights, the polished chrome and sleek contours of their machines gleamed like predators ready to strike.
Ruan Zeyuan had gone to great lengths for this match: a referee had been appointed, cameras positioned along the course, and live streams prepared for the audience on-site. He leaned back in his seat, smirk tugging at his lips, and cast a sidelong glance at Li Ziqing.
"Get ready to lose," he murmured under his breath.
Li Ziqing, however, did not so much as acknowledge him. Her eyes remained forward, her focus absolute. What he could not know was that, in the changing lounge, she had already activated the Phantom Wheel Mastery coupon. Still, as she settled behind the wheel, her fingers curling around the steering wheel for the first time, a sliver of hesitation flickered within her.
This was her first time—her first time in either life—truly sitting in the driver's seat. In her past life, she had never owned a car, not even at the end, let alone driven one. And now, reborn, she was only fourteen, far too young by law or custom to be racing on such a treacherous track.
But the moment she slid the key into the ignition and the engine roared to life, everything changed. Knowledge flowed through her veins, as though it had always been there. Every technique, every maneuver, every calculation etched itself into her muscles and mind. Her body no longer felt like that of a novice—it was as if she had been born to race.
[Ding… Host, do not worry. You are now a master of every car, every supercar in the world. This track is child's play for you. Even in the international racing arena, no one will be able to stand against you.]
The system's voice rang with unshakable certainty.
Li Ziqing's lips curved faintly, her confidence reinforced. "Of course, I trust you, System," she whispered.
Outside, Zhu Jinyan stood on the strategist's stand, headset clipped in, eyes fixed on the massive 2D digital map of the track glowing before him. He had asked earlier, almost pleaded, to ride alongside her and guide her directly in the car. But Li Ziqing had refused, insisting she race alone.
Now, he had no choice but to watch from a distance, communicator in hand, every nerve stretched taut. This was his first time standing in the strategist's position rather than behind the wheel himself. The unfamiliarity gnawed at him, but beneath it all was fear—not for himself, but for her.
Don't do anything reckless, Ziqing… please, he thought, his eyes locked on her car.
Not far away, Zhou Yichen and Butler Yao watched with anxious silence, their hearts gripped by worry. Both found themselves unconsciously praying—for the first time in years—not for victory, but for Li Ziqing's safety.
And as the crowd quieted, waiting for the flag to drop, the night air seemed to thrum with the weight of what was about to begin.
As the referee raised the flag, the atmosphere grew electric. Every eye in the grandstand locked onto the two cars waiting at the starting line, engines snarling like caged beasts. The countdown began, each number echoing like a drumbeat in the silence.
"Three…"
The roar of the engines intensified.
"Two…"
The spectators leaned forward, breaths caught in their throats.
"One…"
The flag dropped.
With a thunderous roar, the Bugatti Veyron and the Koenigsegg Jesko Absolute launched forward, tires screeching against asphalt, smoke curling behind them like battle standards. The sheer force rattled the air, and the grandstand erupted in cheers.
Ruan Zeyuan shot ahead with practiced ease, his Jesko gliding down the straight like a predator in pursuit of prey. His confidence radiated in the smooth precision of his handling—he knew this track, knew its secrets, and victory, to him, already felt inevitable.
Beside him, Li Ziqing was a study in contrast. Calm, collected, her expression unreadable, she held the wheel with one hand while the other shifted gears with crisp precision. The midnight-black Bugatti surged forward under her command, its deep growl splitting the night as it climbed to 100 km/h within seconds. The crowd gasped; few had ever seen such cold composure in someone so young.
Then she pressed the accelerator again. The car leapt forward like a released arrow, pushing toward 160 km/h.
In her headset, Zhu Jinyan's voice cut through the roar of the engine, taut with nerves.
"Li Ziqing, do you copy?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Loud and clear."
"There's a left turn coming up at approximately eight hundred meters," he warned quickly. "After that, expect rolling terrain, then a one-point-two-kilometer straightaway. And remember—the seven hairpins are waiting beyond that. Do not take them lightly."
"Understood." Her reply was calm, clipped, as though she were discussing a school exam rather than a lethal race.
The Bugatti's speedometer ticked higher—170… 180 km/h.
"Li Ziqing!" Zhu Jinyan's voice rose in alarm. "The turn is approaching fast! Reduce speed now!"
But she did not ease up. Her eyes stayed locked on the shadowy curve of the track ahead, pupils sharp under the dim floodlights. Her grip tightened on the wheel, every nerve in her body thrumming with focus.
"Are you even listening to me?" Zhu Jinyan's voice broke with frustration. "You won't make it at this speed! You'll crash!"
The grandstand rippled with horrified gasps as the Bugatti thundered toward the curve, its engine screaming at nearly 200 km/h. Faces paled, hands clenched against railings.
"She's mad!" someone cried.
"She's going to kill herself!" another voice shouted.
Yet inside the car, Li Ziqing's expression didn't flicker. Her breathing was steady, her gaze unwavering, as though the world outside—the panic, the shouts, even Zhu Jinyan's frantic commands—no longer existed. It was just her, the car, and the merciless turn waiting ahead.
___
Thank you for your patience and support everyone. Infact many of my old readers has sent me the power stone, here I would like to give shoutout to my new reader Khandaker_Sohel for your support. Thank you 🥰🙏😊❤️