Chapter 101: The Ill-Fated Monte Carlo

Charge! Mo Shu slammed the accelerator to the floor once more. A super-high leap—this was his signature launch move! Only this time the landing was not quite perfect. The car smashed every distance indicator along both sides of the road, swerved left and right, and finally veered awkwardly off to the side. “Team doctor! Hurry!!” Before the driver or navigator had even stepped out to greet the crowd at the finish line, Wang Yining’s sharp cry of alarm poured straight into every ear. Wang Yu dragged the doctor running across the track and hauled Mo Shu—face already streaked with blood—out of the car. Mo Shu kept his eyes closed, lips turning blue, gesturing desperately with his hand while speaking to Wang Yu. “My Mo Shen, why do you have to do this again?” Wang Yu’s voice cracked, hot tears sliding down his cheeks. Mo Shu could no longer speak; the pain in his eyes was unbearable. He simply closed them tightly, hoping for some relief. The doctor forced his own shaking hands to steady and pushed a painkiller syringe into Mo Shu’s vein. “Hold on a little longer—the medicine will take effect soon.” He set the syringe aside, pulled the conspicuous silver needle free, and began disinfecting and bandaging Mo Shu’s wounds. Phew… Mo Shu let out a long breath, but still gripped Wang Yining’s right hand with all his remaining strength, the vise-like force whitening the skin on the back of her hand. The spectators, curious despite the security guards’ protests, pressed forward. After all, this was a driver few had seen in person; they still had no idea what had happened to Mo Shu’s car. Yet from the scene unfolding before them, Mo Shu did not seem as villainous as rumor claimed. His sheer spirit and unyielding will had earned quiet admiration from many in the crowd. A racer driving himself to exhaustion purely to finish the race and earn results—why would he waste energy setting traps for opponents in such pointless ways? Some spectators were already beginning to question the earlier rumors. “Hello, I’m a doctor. Do you need help?” a kind-hearted spectator called from the other side of the track barrier. “Oh, thank you, no need. The team doctor has already given our driver a quick check. He should feel better soon.” Wang Yu sounded surprised. All day he had endured nothing but blame from bystanders; suddenly hearing genuine kindness left him momentarily at a loss. “Really? Could you tell me if he was hurt in an accident?” The doctor, seeing Wang Yu open to conversation, immediately turned gossip-hungry. “No, not an accident. It’s a long-standing case of trigeminal neuralgia.” Wang Yu answered. “How strange. I’m a professor of neurology. I can have your driver visit my research lab later.” The doctor produced a business card. Wang Yu, ever the polite one, accepted it with both hands and checked that the man was indeed a doctor. “Wow! Dr. Robert Schmidt, Dean of the Medical School at Lyon University, PhD supervisor at the Life and Health Research Center—quite an impressive title.” “Thank you, Dr. Schmidt. We’ll definitely pay you a visit if the opportunity arises. Sorry I didn’t bring a card today; we’re still in the middle of the race!” Wang Yu’s courteous demeanor made the doctor wave his hands in embarrassment again and again. How were the Chinese so polite? Indeed, people from the land of etiquette must weigh every word before opening their mouths. Wang Yu and the doctor were still chatting when Mo Shu suddenly shot to his feet. A murmur of relief swept through the crowd—this kid looked unharmed, his movements still lightning-quick. But then Mo Shu shouted, “Danger!” Wang Yu glanced around. It was not danger—it was far worse. They had rushed to help Mo Shu and completely forgotten they were still in the middle of the track, barely past the finish line. When a race car crosses the line, drivers usually floor the gas for a spectacular jump to earn cheers. That was why the ERC placed the finish line at ideal takeoff spots—either a natural slope or an artificial ramp—so the landing zone remained hidden from the drivers. At this moment, whether Mo Shu’s car was stalled by the roadside or Wang Yu and the others stood on the track, every one of them faced the terrifying risk of being struck and crushed by the next car’s landing. Retreat was urgent. Wang Yu seized his teammates and broke into a sprint toward safety. Mo Shu, meanwhile, threw himself back into the car as fast as he could and floored the accelerator, racing for a safer distance so the following cars would have room to brake. But just as the engine roared to life, the spectators behind them erupted in cries. A high-RPM engine scream followed, and the second car over the line had already leaped into the air. Ai Chi Xiang—no one else. Since the ERC’s inaugural season, Mo Shu had been first off the line in nearly every race; Ai Chi Xiang had trailed closely behind. “Damn it! What’s that car up ahead?!” Ai Chi Xiang’s navigator spotted the danger first. Ai Chi Xiang froze. In mid-air there was no steering, no braking. From the looks of it, landing would mean total destruction and death. “Quick! Quick! Quick—dodge!” No matter how loudly Ai Chi Xiang screamed with bulging eyes, the car in the air had no way out. Fortunately Mo Shu’s vehicle had already pulled ahead, even if its speed could not match the “flying car” for long, at least there was still a sliver of hope. Everyone at the finish—spectators and ERC officials alike—held their breath in absolute silence, praying nothing worse would happen. “Faster! Faster!” Mo Shu wished he could fly too. He could not see what was happening behind him, so he pressed the accelerator and drove with all his strength. “Boom!!” Ai Chi Xiang’s car slammed back to the track. The suspension hit bottom with a jarring thud, and the car just missed disaster by a hair. “Oh! Thank heaven!” The entire crowd exhaled at once and cheered. But Mo Shu seemed safe—yet Ai Chi Xiang’s car inexplicably began to swerve. “Shit!” Mo Shu’s mind flashed with alarm. Ai Chi Xiang must have panicked and over-corrected on landing, snapping the steering axis under the brutal impact. The car now behaved like a headless fly, weaving wildly across the narrow track. He slammed the brakes, but speed refused to drop. It was over—the brakes had failed. Ai Chi Xiang watched himself barreling straight toward the spectators beyond the track edge, his heart slamming into his throat. “Run!” He thrust his arm out the window, frantically waving for the crowd to scatter. But that dense wall of bodies refused to part. A young couple saw escape impossible. The man simply pulled his girlfriend into his arms, sealing her against his chest as if they might never meet again in the next life. “Crash!” A thunderous roar of metal erupted. Thick smoke and dust swallowed the scene. When the haze cleared, the couple still clung together, trembling, yet their faces lit with disbelief and joy—they were unharmed. Saved! It turned out Mo Shu’s car had swerved across the track and blocked their path. Ai Chi Xiang’s out-of-control vehicle had also been brought to a halt. Tire skid marks stretched more than a meter across the ground, and the two cars now lay in a perpendicular tangle inside the narrow viewing area. Shaken and breathless, Ai Chi Xiang looked toward the other car. He saw only Mo Shu lift the corner of his mouth in a faint smile. No need to thank.