Chapter Ninety-Eight: Bad Reporter

After taking the lead in the SS1 stage, Mo Shu had found his rhythm again. The mixed ice-and-asphalt road conditions of the Monte Carlo rally no longer felt quite so treacherous to him. Even that day's ERC event headline had been marked in striking red artistic lettering: "The Gods Racing Team and the phenomenal driver Mo Shu have clearly found the balance between chaos and speed!"

"Haha! I like that assessment!" Mo Shu munched loudly on a bag of potato chips while the French sports news played on the television, the segment ending with a highlight reel of his six stages from today.

"As a professional driver, you really shouldn't be eating that kind of food during a race—full of additives and fattening to boot." Wang Yu had fully recovered his health, and along with it, his meticulous engineer's demeanor.

"I'm just celebrating keeping the lead on day one. Won't happen again." Mo Shu brushed it off, then grabbed an open bottle of carbonated soda and took several big gulps.

What could anyone do? Wang Yu was not only the team manager but also Mo Shu's childhood friend. After knowing each other for so many years, they both had each other's temperaments completely figured out. At this point, no matter how scorching and fierce Wang Yu's glare was, it had completely lost its lethality.

Wang Yu craned his neck thoughtfully, considering whether he should get Wang Yining involved to sort this out.

"Hurry, change the channel!" Wang Yining practically burst through the door at just the right moment.

Wang Yu was overjoyed to see the ultimate weapon for reining in Mo Shu.

"Wang Yining, your man is eating chips and drinking soda in the middle of the season. Do something about him." Wang Yu tried to salvage the dignity he'd just dropped on the floor.

"Oh, change the channel, change the channel—quick, change it!" Wang Yining acted as if she hadn't heard him at all, found the remote on her own, snatched it up, and started pressing buttons.

Ignored. Humiliating. Utterly humiliating.

Wang Yu let out a sigh, got up, and planned to leave the room. He needed some peace and quiet.

But the program that came on after Wang Yining changed the channel glued him right back to his seat.

Ai Chixiang, of all people, was on television.

And what was airing was none other than the massively popular interview show "The Martin Tonight Show," created and hosted by Martin, the hottest talk show host in all of Europe.

"Tsk tsk, look at that face of his." Wang Yining couldn't fathom why Martin would invite a guest as unattractive and gloomy in demeanor as Ai Chixiang for an interview.

This Martin had always been famous for his "poison tongue." Many international celebrities had experienced his sharpness firsthand. They all waited to see whether Ai Chixiang would get pushed too far and lose his cool on air. They were ready for a good show.

But after quite a while, the three of them were surprised to discover that Martin wasn't focusing tonight's discussion on Ai Chixiang and the Carbon Black Gold team at all.

What they were talking about most was the Four Great Gods, whom Carbon Black Gold already regarded as their formidable rivals.

No way—were they getting free publicity without paying a cent?

Wang Yu secretly felt a bit fortunate. Although this show wasn't well-known in China, it was practically a household name across Europe. Countless people and groups desperate for fame would kill to bask in the glow of "poison tongue" Martin's attention. This "blessing" had come far too suddenly.

"For the next segment, let's all enjoy a video together and witness just what kind of shameless scoundrel Mo Shu, the so-called God of Speed of the Gods Racing Team, really is!" Martin's words nearly made Wang Yu spray the warm water he'd just drunk from his mouth.

As the saying goes, well water and river water should not mix. What had the Gods Racing Team done to offend Martin, to warrant this completely baseless slander?

After a short commercial break, the video played.

The first shot was a close-up of Mo Shu stopping reporters from taking photos after his rollover this morning.

Clearly, someone had deliberately set out to destroy Mo Shu's image in the eyes of the fans.

Then came an even more baffling sequence: a laughing Mo Shu high-fiving locals. Next, Mo Shu crouched alone on the ice as if studying something, then looked up toward the direction from which the racing cars were about to approach, muttering a few words to Wang Yining. Afterward, Mo Shu led a few people to quietly hide in the woods and watched coldly as Ai Chixiang had his accident. Finally, there were scenes of everyone celebrating boisterously.

The entire video, taken as a whole, undoubtedly gave viewers the impression that Mo Shu had set a trap, deliberately causing Ai Chixiang to crash. Even more cleverly, the footage conveyed a voyeuristic, secretly-filmed quality.

The video ended there, and the studio lights came back up.

Martin said with relish: "Perhaps many viewers at home are fans of the Gods Racing Team, but unfortunately, after your idol had his accident, not only did he fail to warn the cars behind, he went out of his way to make sure other competitors fared even worse than he did. The truth is as shocking as this. Sportsmanship decays and dies bit by bit in exactly this way. Especially that arrogant, conceited, cluelessly smug face of Mo Shu's when he stopped the reporters from filming—it makes even me, someone who was originally uninvolved, feel deeply embarrassed."

After that assessment, the studio audience actually broke into thunderous applause. Some even whistled, hoping Martin would pour on even more venom.

People just love watching a spectacle and stirring the pot—that kind of audience has existed in every era, in every country.

Even Mo Shu, watching at home in front of the TV, found himself blushing furiously.

Martin really had a sharp tongue. How had he managed to make Mo Shu himself feel like he'd done something wrong?

And that video—turning black into white, quoting out of context—it was clearly edited deliberately to mislead the audience.

It seemed the title of "uncrowned king" for journalists still carried weight in this day and age. In an environment of free speech, the power of the discourse was in their hands. When you ran into a journalist with no morals, you often just had to count your losses and bear it.

"Ai Chixiang! We saved you from danger, and instead of gratitude, you repay kindness with enmity. On top of racing, you're playing games with public opinion." Wang Yining gritted her teeth in fury.

Meanwhile, on the television, Ai Chixiang, sitting beside Martin, had a face as dark as iron. Surely his heart was anything but at ease, too.

After the race, the team boss had arranged for him to appear on the show, saying it had been paid for.

Ai Chixiang figured he'd just go along with it. What he hadn't expected was how excruciatingly awkward it would be on set.

If he'd known he was walking into a public denunciation session aimed at the Gods Racing Team, Ai Chixiang would have died before showing up.

Though he was a rough, petty, and not particularly upstanding sort of man who repaid every slight, he still couldn't fully become the kind of villain who repays kindness with malice.

Besides, the very reason Ai Chixiang had been able to finish the SS1 stage cleanly and rank second overall today was largely thanks to Mo Shu's help in getting out of danger.

If he'd gotten no result in the SS1 stage, today he would very likely have faced the humiliating position of last place overall. And to put it more broadly, recovering the dozen or so minutes he'd fallen behind might well have been nearly impossible for the rest of the Monte Carlo round.

Martin was still rattling on endlessly, shredding Mo Shu's reputation. Could it be that the boss had said he paid money precisely for this purpose?

Ai Chixiang's mind was conflicted. He sort of wanted to speak up for Mo Shu. He wanted to tell the audience the truth.

Again came the critical moment, the words caught in his throat. Ai Chixiang felt his pounding heart pressing against his larynx.

What should he do? Speak or not?

Ai Chixiang wanted to beat that damned Mo Shu fair and square!

But—but how would he explain it to the boss? How would he explain it to Wilmin?

Right, Wilmin—he couldn't afford to cross her...

......

In the end, Ai Chixiang gave in to cowardice. He abandoned the thought of repaying Mo Shu.

"Mr. Ai, what do you think of my comments?" Martin, maybe parched from all that talking, quickly tossed the question back to his guest.

Ai Chixiang froze for a moment. With his mind so tangled up just now, he'd barely heard the latter half of what this foreigner had said.

But badmouthing someone—that was easy enough.

"Mr. Martin, I believe you've spoken most reasonably. To use an old saying from our China: the people's eyes are sharp!" Ai Chixiang's usual venomous, cunning expression crept back onto his face, and he grinned crookedly in agreement with Martin.