Chapter 72: An Unexpected Press Conference

What exactly should be done about the Black Mirror? Mo Shu was at a loss; he truly had no intention of going out, so he called Wang Yining and relayed his conversation with the Black Mirror to her. Though he couldn’t see her expression, Mo Shu could sense that Wang Yining was probably feeling anxious on the other end. He guessed she might be worrying about the fate of her brother and father—those two always seemed to be entangled in all sorts of messy affairs.

When he hung up, Mo Shu glanced at the time. 22:53.

As a driver in the midst of the racing season, he should have been asleep by now. But tonight, sleep eluded him; besides his unease about whether he could compete tomorrow, a faint excitement stirred within him. He couldn’t tell if this thrill was due to the imminent arrival of the Black Mirror, or perhaps the old friend Ruslein had mentioned who would be calling, or maybe it simply came from within himself. After all, Mo Shu had navigated countless hardships to get to where he was in the racing world, and that indomitable spirit in his veins was undoubtedly his core strength.

The stronger the challenge, the stronger he became—that was Mo Shu’s fiercest talent.

No matter what, he had to sleep. Forcing himself to calm down, Mo Shu slipped under the blanket and closed his eyes. He finally managed to reach a drowsy state when his phone vibrated and the screen lit up, undoing all his efforts.

Annoyed, Mo Shu picked up the phone and glanced at it—it was from Ruslein. The message was brief.

“Be sure to get up early tomorrow.”

...

Bang bang bang! Bang bang bang!

A raucous knocking at the door nearly made Mo Shu bolt upright from bed.

What time was it? Had he overslept? He checked his watch in a panic.

5:35 AM.

What was going on? Ruslein had said to get up early, but not this early—the race didn’t start until ten.

“Mo Shu! Wake up!” It was Wang Yu again. Why was it always him who came to wake him up? Mo Shu struggled out of bed.

“Get ready, the press conference starts at seven,” Wang Yu said, tossing a suit he had somehow procured onto the sofa, urging him repeatedly.

“What press conference? There’s a race today. Even if I can’t run, Wang Qing and Geng Hua still have to compete.” Mo Shu never liked crowded events.

“Tsk, Ruslein arranged this specially for you, so stop whining and get dressed. Come down and help me.” Wang Yu was impatient, beginning to pull at Mo Shu’s pajamas.

“Hey, stop it, hahaha.” Mo Shu burst out laughing as Wang Yu’s cold hands touched him.

“Hurry up,” Wang Yu persisted, hands still busy. As the saying goes, brothers stick together for life.

But the door was open, and Wang Qing happened to walk by.

Crash...

A handful of sunflower seeds fell to the floor.

“Brother, you… you two…” The playful scuffle between friends startled Wang Qing so much she dropped her seeds.

“Uh…” Mo Shu grabbed his clothes to cover himself, while Wang Yu wiped his brow and stooped to pick up the seeds one by one.

“It’s not what you think,” Wang Yu explained.

“Wang Qing, don’t tell your sister Yining, please,” Mo Shu’s mind flashed with unpleasant images.

Wang Qing laughed, taking the seeds her brother had gathered for her, and teased, “Brother Mo Shu, Sister Yining can’t be bothered with you now—she’s already at the press conference. They say an important figure is coming today.”

“What important figure?” Mo Shu knew it must be the result of Ruslein’s call.

“I only heard they’re very impressive. We’ll see when we get there,” Wang Yu said, clearly eager, though neither Ruslein nor anyone else had disclosed any details.

Was this “important figure” the turning point in the Black Gold Oil slander incident?

Mo Shu was secretly delighted. He hurriedly dressed and ended up dragging Wang Yu out of the room with him.

The press conference was downstairs, held in the hotel’s largest conference center.

It was still early; the press conference would begin at seven, and reporters usually started arriving around 6:15.

But every journalist’s desk was already neatly set with writing paper, a bottle of water, and a small tray of Western-style snacks.

Ruslein had clearly thought everything through—since the reporters had been roused from their beds at dawn, the racing team naturally had to show some courtesy.

Mo Shu looked around for Ruslein but was stopped by a voice with an English accent as thick as Ruslein’s.

“Excuse me, are you Mo Shu?” The accent was odd but sounded polite.

“Yes, may I ask who you are?” Mo Shu estimated that the speaker was at least a man in his sixties, and addressed him respectfully.

“Heh, I’m your reinforcements. Not bad—Ruslein picked a fine young man! You look spirited!” The elderly man was somewhat stooped, but his voice was still rich and bright, with a Germanic accent.

So this was the important figure? In local parlance, he was just an old grandpa. Even if he was a veteran of racing or high up in the global motorsport association, surely he should be retired at his age.

Still, Mo Shu didn’t underestimate him. He remembered how a master in the comedy world once said, “Beyond every mountain, there’s another; behind every talent, someone greater...” Wait, that wasn’t the phrase. It should be what the Monkey King said in the classics: “You can’t judge a person by their appearance, nor measure the sea with a bucket.”

Though Mo Shu had his doubts, his face showed none of it; courtesy was essential, and he warmly chatted with the old gentleman.

“Heh, I’m off to chat with young Ruslein. You go about your business,” the old man said, then turned and strode away with surprising agility.

After all, they were from different generations, and the old man probably felt there was no point in awkward small talk.

As soon as he left, another foreign brother strode into the conference center.

Mo Shu saw the man had a camera slung over his shoulder and a tripod in hand—he must be a journalist.

Were people already arriving? Mo Shu checked the time.

Indeed, it was a little past six.

Where was Ruslein? Where were Wang Qing, Wang Yu, Geng Hua, and Wang Yining? Aside from hotel staff, no one else was present. Mo Shu craned his neck, scanning the room.

“Hi, Shu, great to see you!” A female reporter entered with her cameraman, greeting Mo Shu warmly.

“Thank you, the pleasure’s mine!” Mo Shu hurried to invite her to sit.

“Hey yo man, your performance yesterday was awesome!” Before he could finish welcoming her, a Black reporter and his cameraman took their seats.

“Thanks for the compliment!” Mo Shu quickly responded with a fist bump.

“Wow! Mo Shu, good morning!”

“Mo Shu, I’m rooting for you!”

“The god of speed, I’m already your fan!”

More and more journalists poured in, a crowd surging around him, nearly everyone wanted to greet him, and Mo Shu struggled to keep up.

Then a middle-aged female reporter with chestnut hair approached Mo Shu, whispering mysteriously, “I heard your team invited Wilmin today—is that true?”

What? Wilmin? Mo Shu was completely bewildered. Why would Ruslein invite that wicked woman here?