Chapter 96: Admit Defeat or Not?

“Young Master Sun, Ivanov seems very agitated. Perhaps it’s not about the race itself. You’d better have a good talk with Mr. Yang; he knows a lot,” Sister Zhong approached to greet Sun Zhaoxing.

Sun Zhaoxing recognized her—once a female racer over a decade ago, she had since left the racing circuit governed by the district committee, transforming into a high-level manager. Now in charge of this racetrack, she earned an annual salary in the tens of millions. She maintained close ties with these proud second-generation heirs and was a prominent figure in Jiangzhou. Her influence even surpassed that of the heirs themselves.

“I know. There are some matters beyond your control,” Sun Zhaoxing said, turning to look at the two men standing in the pouring rain, cursing, “What the hell are those two doing standing outside in this downpour? Have they lost their minds?”

Yang Changfeng didn’t continue provoking Andrei Ivanov. He was no fool; he was very intelligent and fully aware of where he was. If he wanted to throw a punch, Ivanov would never choose to do so on domestic soil—he knew that would be suicidal. Didn’t he consider Sun Zhaoxing’s status? To make a move here was to invite imprisonment at the hands of the Suns.

“You must be cheating,” the matter returned to its original course. Andrei shook his head, disbelief etched across his face. He couldn’t accept that Yang Changfeng had won again, and in such a soul-crushing manner.

Yang Changfeng had only one question for Andrei: “I just want to ask you—do you accept it or not?”

Andrei did not.

Yang shrugged, spreading his hands with a smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to completely crush your confidence. Don’t worry; as long as you don’t give me a chance to strike, I won’t take you out. Why not watch the replay? I think you’ll learn a lot.”

Andrei’s eyes gleamed with stubborn defiance and bewilderment. He snorted coldly, “Of course. I will find proof of your cheating.”

Back in the stands, Yang Changfeng received nods and greetings from the majority. A master like him was someone worth befriending. But the second-generation heirs had their pride; they wouldn’t grovel. A friendly attitude was enough—they still had many dealings ahead.

Only Lan Yiheng bore genuine hatred toward Yang Changfeng, and the two men from across the shore eyed him suspiciously.

“Impossible. There is no such godlike person in this world,” the elder brother, despite having prayed silently long ago, stubbornly adhered to this belief, conveying it firmly to Mary Sue.

Mary Sue cursed inwardly but smiled gently, half-joking, half-serious: “Yeah, right. How could there be such a formidable expert on the mainland? They must have conspired to cheat, trying to surprise us, right? I remember the best racer from the island nation can’t even get such results on this track, right? They’re mainlanders—how could they be so strong?”

What idiots. We eat tea eggs with shells on and only dare buy instant noodles at New Year’s, while you guys have already reached the level of generating power from love.

Andrei watched the replay of the Raptor overtaking him in less than fifteen seconds.

Though an outright enemy, he had one trait—if he truly lost, he wouldn’t dispute it.

He watched the fifteen-second video three or four times.

Silently closing the computer, Andrei stood, trembling as he took a few steps, seemingly wanting to leave the stands.

No one mocked him. Losing to a godlike competitor was still an honorable defeat. Andrei remained Andrei—a genius master none would wholly dismiss over a single race’s outcome.

But he had denied himself.

Could a human possibly beat such an opponent?

Could anyone?

From then on, Andrei truly fell into despair. From that moment, his love and profession—racing—filled him with dread. Whenever he saw a racecar, he recalled those fifteen seconds.

He reached a step but failed to lift his foot, falling hard to the ground. Shouts erupted as people rushed over. He was unconscious, the collapse a result of mental exhaustion after his will broke. The fall itself was not serious.

The racetrack had a professional medical room and rest area, nestled behind the stands within a small resort surrounded by trees—a picturesque blend of mountains and water.

In this heavy rain, the second-generation heirs certainly wouldn’t return home.

Sister Zhong handed over three keys. Yang Changfeng and the other two each received one. These were keys to small villas in the resort area. From now on, the three would be guests of honor at the racetrack.

Yang Changfeng declined. Seeing Maswei looking lost, he approached to greet her. “What’s wrong with you? Does it embarrass you that your guy lost to a foreigner?”

Maswei smiled bitterly, shaking her head softly. “I just started acting, but I’ve always loved watching races. Mr. Andrei has been my idol. I admired him greatly. Today, my idol’s aura shattered—I don’t know whether to feel sad or regretful. My heart is complicated.”

This was like bursting the girl’s beautiful bubble, deflating her colorful balloon of dreams.

Yang Changfeng felt a pang of guilt. After some thought, he handed the villa key to Maswei. This way, he accepted the goodwill of these heirs, sparing them embarrassment from rejection, yet avoided mingling too closely with them—a perfect compromise.

One must have self-awareness. Yang Changfeng could never fully blend with these wealthy peers; he instinctively disliked them. Accepting their keys gave them face, but if he took the keys and didn’t stay, it would be wasteful and obvious. Distance required strategy.

Maswei was startled, hastily returning the key and backing away, waving her hands repeatedly. “I can’t accept this, Mr. Yang. It’s too valuable—I don’t dare.”

“Consider it a favor. Come here to relax when you have time. And make good films, okay? If you get the chance, shoot some decent historical movies. Think of it as a small gift from me, a fan’s present—though I’m not really your fan,” Yang Changfeng tossed the key back, stretched lazily, and smiled. “Gentlemen, isn’t it time to get down to business?”

His words carried a double meaning, drawing sideways glances.

They weren’t paparazzi. The brief matter between Yang Changfeng and Chen Aijia had long been forgotten. Who still remembered that Yang was the so-called legendary boyfriend of Chen Aijia?

Sun Zhaoxing, however, knew full well that their “business” likely meant dealing with a high-ranking executive in the company.

“What do you mean by business? This isn’t business,” Sun Zhaoxing said, feeling relaxed and in a joking mood, pretending to scold Yang Changfeng.

Yang laughed heartily. “What kind of business is this? Didn’t you see I came here to help you save face?”

Then, in a low voice, he asked, “So, how about that show-off? Tell me—do you submit or not?”

Sun Zhaoxing was stunned, then burst out laughing, mock-scolding, “You’re a real talent, damn it. Yes, I submit—completely and utterly!”