Chapter Twenty-One: Enhanced Modifications

“Mo Shu, your car is ready,” the chief engineer of Stellar Racing Team said, his face etched with exhaustion. In order to ensure that Mo Shu could participate in the main race, he had led the team of mechanics in a ten-hour overnight battle to restore Mo Shu’s car, which had been a wreck after rolling over on its side, back to pristine condition.

“Thank you so much, it must have been tough on you!”

“That’s nothing. You just focus on winning the championship, leave the rest to us!”

Mo Shu pressed his palms together in a gesture of gratitude, thanking them repeatedly. He knew all too well that without these team members, no matter how masterful his driving skills were, a weak car would still be useless.

Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he hurriedly turned to the chief engineer. “Can you help me with one more thing?”

Of course, lending a hand was no problem; after all, they were on the same team. But when Mo Shu pushed the car onto the lift and raised it again, the chief engineer grew anxious and flustered.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning another major overhaul right before the race?” The chief engineer recalled the time during the qualifiers when Mo Shu had modified Wang Yining’s car.

“Just a minor adjustment…” Mo Shu reassured him, then grabbed a work lamp and, in a flash, slid beneath the car.

...

“Mo Shu! Where’s Mo Shu?” Wang Yu burst into the garage, frantic and disheveled, darting about like a headless chicken.

The main event of the GTCC was about to begin, but at this crucial moment, Mo Shu was nowhere to be found.

On the Floating Harbor International Circuit, nineteen cars were lined up in formation, engines revving, all but ready to go. Only Mo Shu’s number fifteen slot stood empty.

The grandstands remained packed, and the VIP seats on the podium were filled with important spectators.

“Black Mirror did well in the qualifiers. Looks like Mo Shu is withdrawing,” Zhao Kunlun sneered. It was the first time he had shown up at the track in days—likely because of the golden-haired, blue-eyed Western woman seated to his right.

Zhao Kunlun sidled up to her from time to time, ingratiating himself with whispered words. But the woman remained aloof, her expression cold and proud. She only nodded occasionally, her frosty smile a striking contrast to Zhao Kunlun’s obsequiousness.

Her name was Wilmine. Her age was a mystery—she looked about thirty—but she was a legendary independent sponsor in the world of international racing.

Why “independent”? Because Wilmine had never registered any company or institution in any country. All her sponsorships were made in her own name. Nearly a third of the world’s most famous drivers and teams had, at some point, received her support.

This, of course, raised questions. Racing sponsors were almost always major corporations, eager to boost brand awareness, expand their influence, and drive up sales by supporting drivers and teams.

So what was Wilmine’s motive?

Personal fame? A woman with such wealth had countless ways to become famous.

To make more money? Yet she ran no company and sold no products.

If neither fame nor profit was her aim, the only explanation seemed to be personal passion—though that rationale felt tenuous at best.

Thus, speculation abounded. Many believed that the real reason behind her financial largesse could never be made public. The media had even trailed her for years, trying to uncover her secrets, but always came up empty-handed.

Only once had a media outlet managed to surreptitiously film her late at night in a South Asian country, meeting with six others. The video, however, lasted just nine seconds before going dark.

Those nine seconds proved nothing, but they did spark another wave of wild predictions in the global press.

The most extreme claimed that Wilmine was trying to buy her way into controlling the world of racing, and that the six she met with in secret were the drivers known as the “Six Champions of the Realms”—the most illustrious names in racing today.

It was all unfounded, of course. But conspiracy theories, after all, are the stuff of idle chatter and post-dinner conversation. The world needs them, racing fans need them, and even Mo Shu needed them a little; many had first learned of the “Six Champions of the Realms” through these internet rumors.

“Old Wang, I’m right here!” Mo Shu crawled out from under the car, his hands and forehead smeared with grease.

Wang Yu grabbed him in a panic, hurriedly shoving him into his racing suit. “My god, if you don’t get on the track now, you’ll be disqualified!”

“I’ve got time, I’m right on schedule…” Mo Shu replied cheerfully.

“At a time like this, why are you still tinkering with the car?” Wang Yu grumbled, chasing after Mo Shu to help adjust his suit.

Mo Shu, however, was in no hurry to rush to the track. Instead, he calmly switched on the test bench and had the newly modified car driven onto it.

“You…” Wang Yu was about to faint with exasperation.

“Relax, give me five minutes. I want you to see what I’ve accomplished.” Mo Shu pointed proudly at his car.

The engine roared to life and the test bench whirred. Wang Yu was in no mood to watch, pacing anxiously as if walking on hot coals, urging Mo Shu to hurry to check in.

On the test bench’s screen, every data readout—from horsepower to torque—remained steady, fully compliant with racing standards. Everything was as normal as could be.

“Why are you showing me this?” Wang Yu stared at the numbers he’d seen a thousand times, on the verge of losing his mind.

Mo Shu pressed a finger to Wang Yu’s lips and snapped his fingers at the chief engineer with his other hand.

Wang Yu batted his hand away furiously, practically dragging Mo Shu out of the garage. “You have to get on the track—”

Suddenly, Wang Yu’s outburst was cut short. The mechanics watching nearby were left gaping in astonishment, and the chief engineer at the test bench was utterly dumbfounded.

Only Mo Shu still wore a confident smile.

Wang Yu let go of Mo Shu and leaned over the test bench. The waveform graphs for every metric surged upward with the engine’s growl, stabilizing at nearly twice their original height after thirty seconds.

Wang Yu stood stunned for a moment, then erupted again, “You changed it like this? It’ll never pass inspection! Your results won’t count!”

But when he switched to the configuration screen, he was struck speechless.

Every modified part was within the competition’s regulations.

How was this possible?

Not just Wang Yu, but all the mechanics were astounded. Thank goodness Mo Shu was a driver—if he became a mechanic, their jobs would be at risk!

Mo Shu stepped up, gently pushing Wang Yu’s jaw shut as it threatened to hit the floor, and declared with pride, “Well? Impressed now, Old Wang?”

“Tell me now, how did you do it?”

“Yes, tell us!” the mechanics chimed in, eager to learn.

Mo Shu was no miser. He waved his hand with the air of a general surveying the battlefield, his eyes shining like a descended god. Solemnly, he announced, “That’s a secret!”

“Boo—”

Everyone jeered in unison.

Mo Shu caved. The “enhanced modification parts” skill from his system was something he couldn’t possibly reveal. Even if he did, no one would believe him. He hurried to explain that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to share—he truly had his reasons, and he hoped they’d respect his privacy.

“Heh, Master, we’re just joking!”

“Yeah, don’t take it seriously, Mo Shu!”

“Mo Shu, you’re amazing!”

As the laughter continued, a man in an official’s uniform burst through the door, shouting, “Which one of you is Mo Shu? Are you racing or not? If not, get out!”

“...”