F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

Chapter 100 Zantford Carnival Night

Sunday evening, Amsterdam.

Max Verstappen won the championship on home soil. For all the racing fans in the Netherlands, it was more exciting than the New Year. The streets and alleys were filled with revelers, and beer foam and orange ribbons flew in the air.

At this moment, Lin Feng was lying sprawled on the hotel bed, holding his phone and frowning as he searched for terms on Google.

The search bar prominently displayed the question: "Can a person die suddenly from strenuous exercise when they have a fever of 40 degrees Celsius?"

The webpage popped up a bunch of medical warnings, all of which were just empty advice like seeking immediate medical attention and absolute rest.

Lin Feng irritably tossed his phone aside. The system's punishment this time was too harsh; his mind was filled with thoughts of next week's Monza match, and he even had no appetite for dinner.

"Bang bang bang!"

The hotel room door was suddenly pounded on with a deafening roar.

Lin Feng rolled over and called out irritably, "Who is it? I'm sleeping!"

"Sleep for whoever wants to sleep! Get up and party!" Lando Norris's excited shout came from outside the door.

Lin Feng reluctantly climbed out of bed and opened the door.

Standing outside the door were not only Norris, who was wearing a flashy floral shirt, but also Verstappen.

The Dutchman, who had just won the championship, changed into casual clothes. Although he looked fairly energetic, his expression was quite helpless.

"What are you two doing? Selling beer or checking up on people?" Lin Feng leaned against the door frame and yawned.

"Max has booked Amsterdam's biggest nightclub tonight to celebrate!" Norris grabbed Lin Feng by the neck and practically dragged him towards the door. "Hurry up and change your clothes. Boss Max is paying for everything. Not going is disrespecting the champion!"

Verstappen shrugged and spread his hands: "I actually prefer to go back to Monaco to play games, but Kelly and the sponsors insist that I throw a party. You were pretty good at defending Carlos today. Come on, let's go grab a couple of drinks."

As the host, Verstappen personally came to invite him to dinner, and although Lin Feng was troubled by the Monza matter, he really couldn't refuse.

"Okay, wait two minutes while I change my pants."

Half an hour later, the three of them arrived at a top nightclub in downtown Amsterdam in Vestapan's private car.

As soon as he entered the gate, the deafening electronic bass almost gave Lin Feng a heart attack. Multicolored laser lights swept across the dance floor, and the various smells in the air temporarily rendered his sense of smell ineffective.

Norris is like a fish in water; he's completely at home in these kinds of situations.

He greeted Verstappen, then immediately squeezed into the crowd and headed towards the DJ booth. Within two minutes, he was headbanging wildly to the rhythm.

Verstappen's team had already arranged the VIP seats with the best view in the entire venue.

Lin Feng followed Verstappen to a booth and sat down. The waiter immediately brought out several large bottles of expensive Ace of Spades champagne and various drinks, and the table was filled with fruit platters and snacks.

Logically speaking, in this place of revelry, two hot-blooded young racers should at least have a drink to relax.

However, the style of these two people was completely out of place in the nightclub.

Verstappen poured himself a Red Bull, held the cup, stood ramrod straight, legs together, hands on his knees, and looked as serious as if he were attending a FIA hearing.

Lin Feng was preoccupied with his 40-degree fever and resolutely refused to touch alcohol. So he poured himself a glass of ice water and, imitating Verstappen, sat up straight and looked blankly at the chaotic crowd dancing in the dance floor.

Thus, a bizarre scene unfolded in the noisy nightclub booth.

Two top racing drivers, whose combined net worth is over 100 million euros, sat side by side on the sofa, each holding a Red Bull and an iced water, like two well-behaved children just starting elementary school.

"Max!" Lin Feng couldn't stand the awkward atmosphere any longer and shouted at the top of his lungs, drowning out the music, "Do you usually just sit there when you come to nightclubs?"

Verstappen turned around and yelled back, "I don't like this place! It's too noisy! And the music they're playing is so chaotic, it's affecting my touch!"

"So what do you usually do on your days off?"

"Play simulators! Lin, let me tell you, if you're racing Spa in iRacing, you have to push your braking point back five meters at Turn 1, and then downshift early to use engine braking. That can make you 0.05 seconds faster!" Verstappen's eyes lit up the moment he mentioned the game, and he started explaining tactics to Lin Feng in a booth at the nightclub.

Lin Feng rolled his eyes. Did this guy have some kind of racing compulsion?

Just as the two were staring at each other and chatting about the track data, two people suddenly walked over from outside the booth.

"I was wondering why it looked like a technical seminar from a distance. Turns out it was you two."

A mocking British accent came through.

Lin Feng looked up and saw Lewis Hamilton and George Russell.

Hamilton was dressed in a high-end designer outfit with a sophisticated cut and a sparkling necklace, exuding an aura of effortless superstar confidence.

Russell was dressed in a neat light blue shirt, with the top button fastened neatly to the collar. He didn't look like he was there to go clubbing; he looked more like he was there to attend an executive meeting.

"What are you doing here too?" Verstappen shifted his position to make room for them.

"Lando texted us saying you were paying, so of course we had to come and freeload a drink." Hamilton chuckled as he sat down, picked up the champagne bottle on the table, and poured himself and Russell a glass each.

Russell, holding his glass, glanced at the iced water in front of Lin Feng and the Red Bull in front of Verstappen, and couldn't help but complain, "Guys, come on, this is a celebration party. The way you two are sitting here makes it look like you're waiting in line for the dentist. Lin, you came in fourth place today, aren't you going to have a drink to celebrate?"

"I won't drink. I plan to abstain from sex next week," Lin Feng replied irritably.

Russell chuckled upon hearing this: "Oh, I get it, it's because of your boastful remarks in the media area, right? Lin, you're public enemy number one in Italy now. I just checked the news, and Ferrari fans have already started an online poll to discuss how to mess with you in Monza next week."

Hamilton took a sip of champagne, laughed, and patted Lin Feng on the shoulder.

"It's good that young people are energetic. But Monza is a really weird place. When the fans there get enthusiastic, they can praise you to the heavens, but when they hate you, they can really curse you into depression."

"Let them boo, I'll just turn up the volume in my headphones," Lin Feng waved his hand dismissively. His current problem wasn't the boos from the fans, but the 40-degree fever the system had given him.

As long as his fever subsides, he'd accept anything, even boos or being forced to run naked on the track.

With Hamilton and Russell joining the team, the atmosphere in the booth finally stopped feeling like a dental clinic.

Russell was a natural entertainer, and he started telling stories about Toto Wolff's embarrassing moments of throwing tantrums and smashing headphones in the repair area, while also perfectly mimicking Toto's heavily Austrian-accented English.

"No, Michael, no! That was so notright!" Russell imitated Toto's classic scene, even slamming his hands on the table.

Verstappen and Hamilton exchanged a glance and couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Lin Feng watched as these guys, who usually fought tooth and nail for a fraction of a second on the track and were practically ready to knock each other off the track, now, fueled by alcohol and music, let down their guard and laughed at each other like ordinary young men, making jokes without any limits.

His nerves, which had been tense all night, finally began to relax at this moment.

"Oh well, I'll deal with whatever comes my way," Lin Feng told himself, trying to reassure himself. "So what if I have a fever? I can just drink more water. I'll try not to think about it today."

He picked up the glass of ice water on the table and clinked it against Russell's champagne glass.

"Respectfully, Monza," Lin Feng said with a smile.

"Respectfully yours, Toto," Russell replied in a serious tone.

Several cups clinked together, making a crisp sound.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, in Los Angeles, USA.

Wearing comfortable loungewear, Gu Ailing was leisurely eating breakfast in a wicker chair, holding a cup of black coffee in one hand and a slice of toast with avocado in the other.

There was no training scheduled for today, so she could finally sleep in.

She took a bite of toast, picked up her phone from the table, and habitually opened Instagram, ready to browse domestic and international sports news.

As soon as I refreshed the page, it was flooded with F1-related news, after all, yesterday's Dutch Grand Prix was a hot topic.

Gu Ailing swiped the screen twice, and suddenly, a post caught her eye.

The post was published by a well-known sports gossip media outlet that frequently collaborates with F1, and the accompanying headline was very eye-catching: "[Zander Ford's Post-Race Party! F1 Stars' Nightclub Party!]"

"Hey, these guys went clubbing?"

Gu Ailing raised an eyebrow and clicked on the set of photos.

The first photo is of Lando Norris. This guy is wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses, standing on the DJ booth, holding a bottle of champagne and spraying it wildly, and the atmosphere below is extremely high.

The second photo is of Hamilton and Russell, both holding wine glasses and striking very cool poses for the camera, looking like the center of attention at the party.

Gu Ailing smiled and shook her head, saying that this was very much in line with their personalities.

Then, she scrolled to the third photo.

This photo was taken in a VIP booth at a nightclub.

On the left side of the photo, Russell is gesturing wildly and saying something, while Hamilton is laughing beside him.

Meanwhile, Lin Feng and Verstappen are sitting prominently in the center of the right side of the photo.

After Gu Ailing clearly saw the posture of the two people in the photo, she almost spat out the mouthful of coffee she had just drunk.

Against the backdrop of this dazzling, decadent nightclub, the two sat side by side on a large leather sofa.

Verstappen is holding a can of Red Bull.

Lin Feng was holding a glass of plain water.

Both of them stood with their legs together and their hands neatly placed on their knees. Their backs were ramrod straight, and they weren't leaning against the sofa back at all.

The funniest thing was the expressions on their faces. While everyone around them was partying with the music, their faces were full of seriousness, earnestness, and even a hint of barely concealed awkwardness and despair.

The scene didn't resemble two multi-million dollar racing stars partying in a nightclub at all; it looked more like two elementary school students who had made a mistake, sitting outside the headmaster's office, waiting for a stern lecture.

What's even more amazing is that the number of comments under this photo has already reached several thousand.

[Hahaha, help! Why do Max and Lin look like they were kidnapped and taken to a nightclub?]

If someone points a gun at their head, make them blink.

Is that glass of plain water in front of Lin Feng? He's drinking water in a nightclub? Is he trying to maintain his health?!

These two are a breath of fresh air in the nightclub; I have a feeling they're about to pull out their laptops and start doing math problems.

Looking at these comments, and then at Lin Feng's expression in the photo, which seemed to be detached from worldly affairs and ready to enter a state of meditation at any moment, Gu Ailing laughed so hard in the rattan chair that tears almost streamed down her face.

"How can this guy act so miserable just from going to a nightclub?"

After she finished laughing, she put down her coffee cup and long-pressed the photo to save it to her phone's album.

Then, she opened WeChat, clicked on Lin Feng's chat box, and sent him the photo.

Considering it was already past midnight in Europe, Lin Feng was probably still at a nightclub or had just returned to his hotel. Instead of making a phone call, she pressed the voice button and recorded a voice message filled with laughter.

"Good morning, Mr. Lin. I heard you went to a nightclub in Amsterdam last night?"

She paused, then her tone became extremely teasing.

"But looking at this photo, are you and Max going to a nightclub for a party branch meeting? You're sitting so upright, you're practically wearing a red scarf on your chest. And drinking plain water in a nightclub in the middle of the night, your old-fashioned cadre style is getting more and more conservative. Next time you go out, loosen up a bit, don't act like you're being forced at gunpoint, I feel embarrassed for you, hahaha!"

Sending complete.

Gu Ailing looked at the green bubble on the screen that said "sent," and in a great mood, picked up the rest of the toast and took a big bite.

Far away in Amsterdam, Netherlands.

Lin Feng, who had just come out of a nightclub and was sitting in the back seat of a taxi on his way back to the hotel, felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He rubbed his ears, which were tingling from the subwoofer, and took out his phone.

When I opened WeChat, I first saw the candid photo of myself sitting upright in the booth, and then I listened to Gu Ailing's voice message.

After listening to that mocking voice message, Lin Feng looked at his own expression in the photo, which seemed to be pondering the origins of humanity and the universe, and helplessly covered his face with his hands.

"These unethical media outlets, of all things to film, they had to film this—"

Lin Feng sighed deeply and replied to a message through gritted teeth while staring at his phone.

[I was thinking about the chassis tuning data for Monza next week! How can a sparrow know the ambitions of a swan! You're a woman who doesn't understand racing!]