Chapter Sixty-Seven: The God of Speed Bears His Name for Good Reason

“Whoosh!”
Where’s the car?
The cameraman for the ERC official broadcast team was stunned. He had framed Mo Shu’s race car in the shot well in advance, but as soon as Mo Shu took off, the cameraman’s lens couldn’t keep up.
“Hey, Camera 1, what’s going on? All I see is scenery—where’s the car? Who’s on Camera 1?” The broadcast director’s tone was sharp with displeasure.
“Camera 1 is the one you assigned, sir—it’s Charlie,” the director’s assistant quietly reminded him.
Charlie was a veteran, with at least eight or nine years of experience in live sports broadcasting. How could he make such a rookie mistake and lose track of the driver? The director’s expression said it all—he didn’t believe it.
“Director, it’s me, Charlie, Camera 1. I don’t know what happened. That car just vanished like a flash. I’m sorry, sir,” Charlie apologized incredulously over the team intercom.
“All right, forget the front for now, just keep shooting the scenery. Camera 2, you’d better stay on him—the car is about to enter your sector!” The director was seasoned; motorsport broadcasts moved at a breathtaking pace, and every moment counted.
“Camera 2, the car’s in your frame now. Stay on him—I’m switching to your feed!” the director barked.
Vrrrrrrr—
Mo Shu’s car was closing in at astonishing speed.
“Hey, Camera 2, why are you shaking? No, no, no—damn!” The director was frantic, watching as Camera 2, too, lost Mo Shu.
“Director, this is George on Camera 2. That car is just too damn fast—I can’t keep it in frame!” George explained anxiously over the intercom.
George was also a veteran, perhaps even more experienced than Charlie. For world-class racing events, George was the broadcast team’s go-to guy.
Now it was the director’s turn to be stumped. Two seasoned professionals had both failed to keep up—not even for a routine ERC event, much less an air show.
It didn’t take long for the whole production team to realize the problem wasn’t with the innocent cameramen at all.
Why? Because none of the camera operators could keep the car in a steady shot!
The real culprit behind the repeated broadcast failures was the driver of that car—Mo Shu.
To ensure a flawless broadcast for ERC’s season opener, the official team had set up nearly fifty camera positions for this inaugural race. Beyond the usual fixed points, they had cameras in the air, on the ground, and even in the water—every advanced technology they could muster.
But alas, of nearly fifty positions, only a few wide-angle shots caught a fleeting blur of Mo Shu; the rest couldn’t keep up at all.
“Director, this is Camera 43. I can get live coverage of the car,” volunteered the operator on Camera 43.
“Savior!” The director switched to Camera 43 without hesitation.

...

On screen, Mo Shu’s car was smaller than a thumbnail, racing along a narrow path through withered scrub. If not for the rolling clouds of dust trailing behind, the director might have missed it entirely.
“Camera 43, can you zoom in a bit?” the director pleaded.
“Uh… sorry, sir, I can’t. This is the wide shot from the blimp—it’s the best I can do to catch the car at all,” the operator replied regretfully.
“What about the two helicopter cameras? Tell them to keep up!” the director demanded, voice rising with frustration.
“The helicopters, sir… The ones we hired top out at 170 kilometers per hour—they couldn’t keep pace either,” the assistant explained timidly.
The director was so angry his cheeks puffed up like balloons.
“Tomorrow! Tomorrow I’ll have them bring in two military choppers—I refuse to believe we can’t keep up with him!”
The broadcast team had failed to deliver on the very first car of the opening race—never mind the viewers at home, glued to their screens, waiting for the action.
“Did we get the time wrong? Hasn’t the race started? Where’s the car? All I see is scenery!”
“There must be a transmission problem—they’re just showing nature shots.”
“No, look, sometimes you catch a glimpse of the car’s shadow.”
“Tsk, must be lousy camerawork—can’t even catch the car on film.”
“But it was fine in previous years!”
“Maybe they changed crews—ERC must be too stingy to pay for good people now. Cheapskates.”
Meanwhile, the fans of the Divine Team—the ‘Disciples of Divinity’—were none too pleased either. The first stage of this opening race was over 20 kilometers long, yet aside from the start, there were barely five shots of Mo God in total. Was this foreign broadcast crew deliberately slighting them? How could they dream of raising their profile like this?
“What the hell? I didn’t even see Mo God run!”
“The organizers are biased, the broadcasters are biased—so much for fair play!”
“If I see Carbon Black Gold and Munich Light get normal coverage, I’ll fly straight to Switzerland and confront them myself!”
“Divine Team’s Little White Rabbit reporting in—demanding the officials livestream themselves eating shit!”
“Divine Team’s Carrot here too—same as ever: if the official eats, I’ll livestream cooking it for him!”
The internet was in an uproar—but, in truth, the fans’ indignation was premature. Mo Shu hadn’t even crossed the finish line yet, and in the ERC, results spoke for themselves.

...

At this moment, everyone awaited the shot of Mo Shu crossing the finish. At present, aside from the race officials and the broadcasting team, no one truly grasped how monstrous Mo Shu’s speed was.
Whoosh—the same uncanny blur swept past; what people saw was not a car, but a streak.
7.0965 minutes! The timer stopped at that number.
The world fell silent. No more complaints about the broadcast. No more accusations of foul play.
The eight major factory teams gasped in unison at the number.
Even Wang Yu and Russlein couldn’t help but rub their eyes.
Across the globe, every viewer watching the race was left thunderstruck.
At the Swiss stage’s SSS first sector—a full 24.53 kilometers—Mo Shu completed it in just seven minutes, averaging 210 kilometers per hour.
Seven minutes—what did that mean? The world’s best rally drivers—or rather, once the best—would have needed around twelve minutes to cover that distance.
“A god…”
A fan in the stands muttered, rousing many from their daze.
Everyone looked at the scoreboard. The officials hadn’t altered the result. It seemed the time would stand.
“A god! A being beyond compare!”
All at once, regardless of nationality, the crowd erupted in cheers.
Worthy of the title, God of Speed—Mo Shu’s arrival would surely reshape the landscape of world motorsport!
The fans of the Divine Team began celebrating wildly.
“Mo! God!”
“Long! Live!”