F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

The seafood restaurant that George Russell highly recommends is located next to a marina not far from the coastal racetrack.

The open-air terrace extends directly onto the water, with swaying windproof lanterns overhead and waves gently lapping against the wooden boardwalk below.

There was no loud music, only the occasional hushed conversations from the next few tables, making it an extremely private place, clearly a favorite haunt of big shots seeking refuge from paparazzi and avid car enthusiasts.

The four were led by the waiter to a private room closest to the sea.

"So, this is the 'premium seafood' you were talking about?" Lin Feng casually flipped open the heavy, brick-like gold-embossed menu, looking at the astonishing strings of Arabic numerals. "George, I take back what I said before. Just based on this price, I can definitely eat my fill tonight."

"Give me a break, bro, it's on me today." Russell snapped his fingers expertly, calling over a waiter. "Four servings of their signature Red Sea grilled lobster, no butter, just a little sea salt and lemon juice, plus two dozen oysters, and four servings of tuna tartare. As for drinks... we need to maintain our body fat, so four bottles of San Pellegrino sparkling water, please."

Zhou Guanyu closed the menu and helplessly shrugged at Lin Feng: "See? This is the miserable life of an F1 driver. Even after winning the race, they can't even have a sip of ice-cold beer."

"Be content, Guanyu." Alexander Alben, sitting opposite Lin Feng, gave a bitter smile and fiddled with the cutlery on the table. "I don't even have an appetite for water right now. After Logan wrecked that chassis, James's face was as black as the bottom of a pot in the P room yesterday. I even suspect he wants to sell us both to the local camel farm to make up for the loss."

Upon hearing this, Russell and Zhou Guanyu couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Everyone in the paddock knows that although Williams team has received capital injections, spare parts are still tight due to budget cap restrictions.

"Don't be so pessimistic, Alex. At least you finished your races this week, while Logan came back in a medical vehicle." Russell said, naturally steer the conversation towards Lin Feng. "Speaking of which, Lin, I was woken up this morning by a deluge of news online. Your late-night date with James has become the biggest gossip in the entire paddock."

Upon hearing this, Alben immediately sat up straight, his eyes fixed intently on Lin Feng: "To be honest, Lin, when I was with the team today, I vaguely heard the PR people discussing drafting a new contract. Is James really planning to poach you?"

Looking at the three pairs of eyes sparkling with gossip, Lin Feng cut a small piece of fish and put it in his mouth: "What do you think? If it were you, what would you choose?"

"Is there even a choice?" Zhou Guanyu was the first to panic. He put down his fork, his brow furrowed. "Brother, you just won the championship driving a Ferrari! That's a Martian car with the potential to contend for the Constructors' Championship! Williams can't even get into the points zone right now. You'd have to be crazy to give up Ferrari's bright future to help them fill that hole!"

Lin Feng shook his head, put down his knife and fork, and took a napkin to wipe his mouth.

He glanced around, and after confirming that no one else was around, he moved forward slightly.

"Brother Guanyu, you're oversimplifying things. A Ferrari is indeed a great car, but how long can I sit in it?"

Lin Feng looked at the three people at the table and analyzed the current situation word by word: "Carlos only had an appendectomy. Young people recover quickly; he'll only miss one or two games at most. Once he comes back, I'll have to obediently give up the cockpit. Even if team manager Vassell takes a liking to me and is willing to offer me a contract, will Ferrari have a place for me next year?"

Upon hearing this, the three people at the table fell silent.

"No." Lin Feng gave his own answer, tapping the table with his knuckles. "Charles Leclerc holds a long-term contract; he's the crown prince of Maranello. And next year, Lewis Hamilton is coming. Ferrari's two official seats for next year are completely locked in, not even a crack left for me. If I stay here, the only thing I can get is a reserve driver contract, running hundreds of laps of fake data in the simulator every day, and then applauding them in the pit lane."

Upon hearing Lin Feng's analysis, Russell and Alben exchanged a glance, both seeing surprise in each other's eyes.

They originally thought this 20-year-old Chinese rookie would be blinded by a stage victory, but they didn't expect him to be more insightful than many seasoned veterans who had been in the paddock for ten years.

“You’re right, Lin.” Russell nodded. “In this paddock, if you don’t show up on the track often, people will quickly forget you. Even if you’ve won a championship, if you’re away from the cockpit for six months, your competitive form and commercial value will plummet.”

As someone who's been there, Russell knows all too well the value of small teams.

"Listen, I drove for Williams for three whole years," Russell said, sharing his personal experience. "During those three years, I was incredibly slow on the straights and constantly getting lapped. But those three years honed my skills. More importantly, James Walls is a technically savvy team principal. He desperately needs a driver who can bring the car back on track."

Albon chimed in, "Lin, although I hate to admit our car is terrible, James really wants to replace Logan. If you're really willing to come, Williams will definitely give you number one driver treatment. All the upgrade kits and strategic shifts will be geared towards you. Instead of being a spare tire that can be replaced at any time at Ferrari, come to Williams and be the core. As long as you can occasionally get this car into the points zone, your value will only be higher than it is now."

After listening to the two men's words, Zhou Guanyu still felt somewhat aggrieved, but he understood that this was indeed the best option Lin Feng could choose at the moment.

"But how will we explain this to Ferrari?" Zhou Guanyu asked with some worry. "You're still one of theirs. They certainly won't let go of someone who just helped them win the championship so easily."

"This is what's giving me a headache." Lin Feng shrugged, picked up the sparkling water on the table, and took a sip. "I'm still waiting for the final result from Maranello. But I estimate that the best they can offer is a reserve driver contract with a slight pay rise. For Ferrari's management, a Chinese driver without connections is far less important than Hamilton's commercial value. I'm prepared to confront them."

"That's right!" Russell slapped the table, his big eyes gleaming. "Don't talk to the team about feelings. Since you've decided to make a big splash in the paddock, you have to join our inner circle."

As he spoke, Russell pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping the screen rapidly.

"George, you're not going to drag people into your pointless chatter group again, are you?" Alben sighed helplessly when he saw Russell's actions.

"What do you mean by 'completely pointless'? This is an important platform for us drivers to communicate, build relationships, and exchange information!" Russell glared at Albon, then showed Lin Feng his phone screen. "I've already sent the group link to your number. Come on in, I'm the group admin."

Lin Feng, completely bewildered, took out his phone and opened WhatsApp. Sure enough, an invitation link from Russell was lying in his unread message list.

The group name is very simple and straightforward: Grid 2024 (No Team Bosses) (2024 departure grid - team bosses are strictly prohibited from joining).

As soon as Lin Feng clicked "accept" to join the group, his phone started vibrating wildly, as if he had an epileptic seizure.

George Russell: Gentlemen, line up for a welcome! Let us proudly introduce Jeddah's new king—Lin Feng! @LinFeng

The group was silent for about three seconds, and then a flood of messages and emojis came pouring in.

[McLaren-Norris]: Holy crap! Finally in! Lin, that maneuver on the first corner was inhuman! Teach me how to drive a Ferrari like a rally car on cold tires! I'm going to try it out on the simulator tomorrow!

[Red Bull - Verstappen]: Don't even mention that corner in Lando, I still have a psychological aversion to red cars. @LinFeng Welcome, but I won't hold back in Melbourne next time!

[Ferrari-Leclerc]: Hahaha, Max, you're getting anxious! @LinFeng, well done, bro! You saved Ferrari's weekend! But speaking of which, did you go to a Michelin-starred restaurant last night?

[Aston Martin-Alonso]: Welcome to the adult world, rookie. Your defense reminded me of myself in Imola in 2005. Well done, but you still have a lot to learn.

[Mercedes-Hamilton]: Welcome, welcome! We have a new addition to the paddock!

[Alpine-Aokang]: Hey bro, I heard you're going to Williams? Really?

Lin Feng couldn't help but laugh as he looked at the world champions and drivers in the group chat—who were usually so serious in front of the camera but acted like internet addicts in private. He typed a reply on the screen with lightning speed.

[Ferrari-Lin]: Thank you everyone for the welcome. @Max Verstappen Looking forward to seeing me in your rearview mirror in Melbourne. @Lando Norris Drifting is all about talent, you can't learn it. @Charles Leclerc Didn't go eat, I ate dry bread all night at the hotel.

[McLaren Norris]: Damn! That's too arrogant! Max, beat him next game!

The group chat erupted in another round of playful banter.

Lin Feng casually scrolled through the group member list. There were 20 active drivers in total, plus himself as a substitute, making a total of 21 people. Almost everyone popped up in the group and sent welcome emojis, even Yuki Tsunoda, whom he had never met before, sent a "welcome" message.

But Lin Feng keenly noticed that two people remained silent from beginning to end, as if they had disappeared from the group chat.

One is Carlos Sainz.

The Ferrari race car driver who temporarily gave up his seat to Lin Feng because of appendicitis probably felt a mix of emotions seeing a substitute win the championship he had always dreamed of driving his own car.

The other is Logan Sargent, the American driver who is currently still with Williams but is ready to be replaced by Lin Feng at any time.

"The group chat is quite lively." Lin Feng put down his phone, glanced at Alben on the other end, and smiled meaningfully.

Albon clearly noticed the subtle atmosphere in the group chat and sighed, "Logan's probably having a mental breakdown right now. This is F1, Lin. There are only twenty seats here; if someone sits down, someone else has to leave."

"I understand." Lin Feng put away his phone.

……

It's 11 p.m.

After a pleasant dinner, Lin Feng declined Russell's suggestion to go to a local bar for a drink, said goodbye to Zhou Guanyu, and walked into the hotel lobby alone.

The lights in the lobby were still dim, and the daytime hustle and bustle had faded away.

Lin Feng pressed the elevator button and watched the numbers flash.

With a "ding," the elevator doors opened.

Lin Feng was about to step inside when he suddenly stopped.

A man was sitting on a sofa in the lounge area opposite the elevator.

He was wearing the red Ferrari team uniform, his hair looked a little messy, and on the coffee table in front of him was a cup of espresso that had long since gone cold. In his hand, he was tightly clutching a thick brown paper envelope.

It is Frederick Vaselle.

Hearing the elevator, Vasser looked up. His once passionate eyes were now bloodshot, making him look as if he had aged ten years overnight.

He looked at Lin Feng, who was standing at the elevator entrance with his hands in his pockets and a calm expression, and forced a smile that was even uglier than a grimace.

"Good evening, Lin." Vaselle slowly stood up. "You're finally back."