F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

10:00 AM local time in Saudi Arabia.

Inside the Hilton Hotel's luxury suite, heavy blackout curtains completely blocked out the harsh desert sunlight.

On the large bed, Lin Feng was fast asleep, wrapped in a blanket.

"Buzz—Buzz—Buzz—"

The phone, lying on the bedside table, vibrated wildly, slowly shifted, and finally fell to the floor with a thud.

Lin Feng frowned, rolled over, stretched out a hand and groped around on the ground for a while before finally grabbing his phone and pressing the answer button.

"Feed..."

"My goodness! You finally answered the phone! How could you be so carefree? The sky is about to fall and you're still sleeping!"

A male voice, almost cracking with urgency, came from the other end of the phone.

Lin Feng was stunned for two seconds before his muddled brain finally started to function.

He took his phone away and glanced at the caller ID on the screen—"Agent Zhou Kai".

He then suddenly realized, oh right, he also has an agent.

It's no wonder Lin Feng has a bad memory.

Before winning the championship last night, he was just a fringe substitute in Ferrari's youth academy who rarely even touched a simulator.

Although Zhou Kai is his agent, he also manages several domestic F4 and rally drivers. Zhou Kai usually focuses on those domestic drivers who can immediately generate revenue, and he rarely calls Lin Feng more than a few times a year. Lin Feng has long been used to this hands-off approach.

"Brother Zhou, what happened?" Lin Feng rubbed his temples and sat up in bed.

"What happened? Check Twitter and Weibo yourself!" Zhou Kai was jumping up and down anxiously on the phone. "Did you meet with James Walls, the team principal of the Williams racing team, in the hotel lobby around 2 a.m. last night?!"

Lin Feng raised an eyebrow: "We met once, so what?"

"What happened?! Photos of the two of you sitting together drinking coffee and looking at draft contracts have now dominated the front pages of authoritative global motorsport media outlets like Motorsport and Autosport! The headlines are getting more and more outrageous, like 'Late-night rendezvous! Chinese rising star dissatisfied with Ferrari's substitute status, wants to transfer to Williams while still winning the championship!' Three of your hashtags are trending in the top ten on Weibo in China!"

Zhou Kai took a deep breath: "Damn it, you're a Ferrari contracted driver now! Sainz isn't even out of the hospital yet, and you're wearing Ferrari's uniform, going to meet the team principal of a rival behind the team's back—that's a huge taboo in the paddock! Ferrari's PR manager has called me over a dozen times this morning, asking what's going on, and I haven't dared to answer!"

Hearing his agent's tense tone, Lin Feng remained completely nonchalant.

He threw back the covers, got out of bed, walked to the window, and pulled back a crack in the curtains, looking at the blinding sunlight outside: "Brother Zhou, what's the rush? I have legs, is it illegal for me to bump into an acquaintance in the hotel lobby and chat?"

"Can you call that a chance encounter? The photo is crystal clear; Worth practically shoved a document in front of you!"

"Let them guess." Lin Feng walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of ice water. "Brother Zhou, you need to change your mindset. I won the championship in Jeddah yesterday, keeping Verstappen firmly behind by fifty laps. Now it's not us begging Ferrari for food, it's them needing me. Sainz will most likely miss the next race, and Vassell needs me to score points. Williams has extended an olive branch, and if Ferrari gets impatient, they'll only offer us better deals. It's a game of strategy, understand?"

Zhou Kai on the other end of the phone was stunned by Lin Feng's remarks.

He suddenly realized that the previously unremarkable nobody in his hands seemed to have transformed into a true veteran of the paddock after an incredible night.

"Okay...okay, I'll handle the PR." Zhou Kai swallowed, his tone quickly changing. "Actually, the reason I'm in such a hurry to find you is because there's something even more important! Lin Feng, we're going to strike it rich!"

Get to the point.

"Your commercial value has exploded!" Zhou Kai exclaimed excitedly, his voice rapid-fire. "Since this morning, my emails and work phone haven't stopped ringing. All the top domestic sponsors have gone crazy! Anta and Li-Ning want to release co-branded racing shoes for you; BYD and NIO have already offered eight figures for your domestic car brand endorsement! And Mengniu, Nongfu Spring, and all the major energy drink brands are lining up to meet you!"

"What's even more outrageous is that Tencent Sports spent a fortune to secure the exclusive post-match interview rights for you. They flew their broadcasting team over from China overnight. This afternoon at 2 PM, in the business conference room downstairs from your hotel, the entire interview will be broadcast live!"

Lin Feng's head spun as he listened to the string of brand names and the densely packed schedule.

"Stop, stop, hold on." Lin Feng rubbed his temples, looking a bit annoyed. "Brother Zhou, go through all the endorsement deals first. Turn down any that require frequent attendance at offline events and take up my training time. I'm a race car driver, not a celebrity. As for the interview with Tencent Sports this afternoon, since you've already agreed, I'll go, but only once. From now until the Australian Grand Prix, I'll decline all media interviews."

"No problem! No problem! You can trust me to handle things, I definitely won't delay your training!" Zhou Kai was now completely obedient to Lin Feng, and after agreeing readily, he hung up the phone happily.

Lin Feng tossed his phone back onto the bed, looked at his bird's nest-like hair in the mirror, and sighed helplessly.

Meanwhile, in Maranello, Italy.

Inside the headquarters building of the Ferrari F1 team in this world-famous red town.

In a lavishly decorated conference room on the top floor, adorned with the Prancing Horse logo, Ferrari's global chairman, John Elkann, sat in a large leather office chair, his face grim.

In front of him, a huge LCD screen was displaying footage of a multinational encrypted video conference.

The image shows Ferrari team principal Frederick Vassell, who is in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.

On the desk were several high-resolution news photos of Lin Feng and James Walls' "secret meeting" in the hotel lobby.

"Fred, is this the genius driver you so strongly recommended to me, the one with absolute loyalty to Ferrari?" Elkann's long fingers tapped heavily on the photograph. "He drove our car, used our strategies, and won a race he never dared to dream of. And less than three hours after the awards ceremony, he was sitting across from team principal Williams, discussing a contract change?"

Vasser on the screen looked equally exhausted; he had just dealt with a barrage of media questions and was now desperately defending Lin Feng.

"John, this is just media speculation. James Walls is an extremely cunning guy. He deliberately intercepted Lin Feng in the lobby, and he deliberately let those paparazzi take these photos. Lin Feng didn't sign anything; he just sat there politely for a while."

"Politeness?" Elkann sneered. "Ferrari drivers don't need to maintain this kind of easily misunderstood politeness towards people from other teams! He's putting pressure on us!"

"But he has the leverage to put pressure on us, doesn't he?" Vassell argued. "John, you watched the game last night too. His recovery, his defense, his absolute composure under pressure—that's something a twenty-year-old rookie simply can't do. His talent is even comparable to Max Verstappen when he first debuted. Carlos's recovery is still uncertain, and we need him in Melbourne. We need to give him a formal contract extension commitment to reassure him!"

The meeting room was silent for a few seconds.

Elkann stood up, walked to the French windows, and looked out at the neatly trimmed lawn and the rows of Ferrari supercars parked there.

"Fred, I admit, his driving last night was amazing. If it were two years ago, I would have given him a full-fledged seat without hesitation. But the timing isn't right now."

Elkan turned around, his gaze extremely sharp: "Charles Leclerc is a core player we developed ourselves, and he has a long-term, lucrative contract. More importantly, as you and I both know, Lewis Hamilton will be coming to Maranello next year."

When Hamilton's name was mentioned, Vaselle fell silent.

Seven-time world champion Lewis Hamilton will join Ferrari next year in a landmark deal personally approved by John Elkann. Ferrari paid an extremely high salary and made commercial commitments to acquire Hamilton.

"Our starting lineup for next year is already locked in: Charles and Lewis," Elkann said coldly. "Ferrari doesn't have any extra official seats for this Chinese kid. We can't let him happen to win a Saudi Grand Prix and disrupt the group's strategic plan that has been going on for years."

"But if we don't offer him a long-term contract, Williams, Alpine, and even Sauber will try to poach him," Vassell anxiously reminded him. "James Walls desperately needs a points-scoring driver to fill Sargent's vacancy, and they're even willing to pay his release clause."

"Then give it to them!"

Elkann abruptly turned around, arrogantly interrupting Vassell, "Ferrari has never lacked talent, nor has it lacked drivers who want to drive for the Prancing Horse. Fred, tell that young driver that Ferrari can generously forgive his recklessness last night."

Elkann paused for a moment, then gave the final instructions: "As a reward, Ferrari will offer him a three-year official reserve driver contract. His annual salary will be increased to two million euros, and he is guaranteed at least two appearances in practice each year. Once Lewis retires, he may have a chance to become a full-time driver."

"A reserve driver?" Vassell's eyes widened in disbelief. "John, you're going to make someone who just won a race and beat Verstappen fifty times a year a reserve driver? There's absolutely no way he'll accept that!"

"If he doesn't accept, he can pack his bags and get out of here once Carlos is discharged." Elkann's tone was resolute and unwavering. "Ferrari will always be superior to any driver. Go do what you have to do, Fred."

The video call was cut off, and the screen went black.

Vasser sat in the room, staring at the black screen, and covered his face in anguish.