F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

Ten thousand meters above the Pacific Ocean.

A Dassault Falcon 8X, with its orange and black exterior and the "MV1" logo on its tail, is speeding steadily toward Shanghai, China.

Inside the cabin, the luxurious beige leather seats and walnut bar exude an air of wealth.

But at this moment, Lin Feng was sprawled out in a large aviation-grade massage chair, looking completely undignified, like a deflated balloon, sprawled out and utterly dejected.

"Phew—" Lin Feng exhaled deeply and rubbed his stiff facial muscles.

There were no long lenses, no glaring fill lights, and certainly no microphone that was always trying to be shoved into his mouth.

The Netflix crew that made "Race" were absolutely inhuman.

Ever since he mocked Ferrari in Melbourne, these people have been like an extension of him.

During his stay in Suzuka, Japan, Lin Feng had to have three Steadicams set up next to him even when he went to a restaurant to eat a sandwich.

On one occasion, he went to the restroom and, just as he reached the urinal, turned around and saw the cameraman standing at the door with a microphone stick, claiming that he wanted to "capture the most authentic state of physical relaxation of the future world champion."

Forget about physical relaxation, Lin Feng was so startled he almost peed on his shoes right there.

If Verstappen hadn't invited him to fly to Shanghai on his private jet right after the Japanese Grand Prix, he probably would have been followed and filmed by Netflix staff even at the boarding gate.

"You look like a veteran who just came back from the battlefield in Afghanistan, man."

Verstappen, sitting opposite Lin Feng, didn't even look up.

The three-time world champion was sitting cross-legged, wearing noise-canceling headphones, holding a game controller, staring intently at the high-definition portable screen in front of him, his thumb frantically rubbing the controller.

He's playing FIFA soccer.

"Don't even mention it, Max." Lin Feng rolled his eyes in anguish, grabbing a can of sugar-free Coke from the small table next to him. "Those Netflix guys are toxic. I swear, if Paul Martin ever lets the camera shove up my nose again, I'll shove his camera into the exhaust pipe of an Aston Martin for the next race."

Upon hearing this, Kelly Piquet, who was sitting next to Verstappen and flipping through a fashion magazine, couldn't help but cover her mouth and chuckle.

She handed Lin Feng a washed strawberry: "You'll get used to it, Lin. Max was also annoyed by them a few years ago, complaining every day when he got back to the hotel. You're the hottest topic in the paddock now, of course they won't let you off the hook."

Lin Feng took the strawberry, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it a couple of times. "I'd rather not have this kind of hype. Max, I remember you boycotted them for a while before, didn't you?"

Verstappen scored a goal in the game, and while the replay was playing, he took off half of his earphone and raised an eyebrow at Lin Feng: "Yeah, I told them to get lost and stop taking those edited isolated shots out of context. You can also try giving the middle finger to the camera directly. They love watching that. They'll definitely edit you into looking like a gangster boss."

"Never mind then, I'm a respectable person." Lin Feng took a swig of cola and burped.

"A decent person wouldn't embarrass Ferrari in front of the media in public."

A slow, deliberate voice with a thick London accent came from the sofa on the other side of the aisle.

Christian Horner, the leader of the Red Bull Racing team, was wearing a casual knit sweater and holding a steaming cup of English tea, smiling at Lin Feng.

Horner happened to be going to Shanghai today, so he naturally hitched a ride on his driver's private plane.

"Christian, I was just telling the truth," Lin Feng shrugged. "Besides, it was Sainz who started it. There's an old Chinese saying, 'It's impolite not to reciprocate.' I may not have many other virtues, but I'm exceptionally polite."

Horner laughed heartily, gently stirring the teaspoon in his cup. "You're certainly a very polite young man. Well done, Lin. Fifth in Melbourne, sixth in Suzuka, James's been grinning from ear to ear on conference calls these past few days. I heard your Williams business department's phones have been ringing off the hook with calls from Chinese sponsors?"

"It's alright, I can barely afford to buy two more spare front wings for the race car," Lin Feng chuckled. Of course he knew how much money Williams was making, but he wouldn't reveal that to other teams.

Horner put down his teacup, leaned forward slightly, and looked Lin Feng up and down with his eagle-like eyes.

"To be honest, Lin, I really admire your driving style. In the Suzuka corners, you don't use full throttle, but rely on the chassis to slide and hug George's slipstream. This requires not only courage, but also an extremely abnormal racing sense. The fact that you were able to drive that Williams to this position is already the limit."

Horner paused, then dropped the bombshell: "But have you ever thought about what if you were driving an RB20?"

The cabin was silent for a second.

Even Verstappen, who was playing a game, pressed the pause button and turned to look at Lin Feng with great interest.

This was personally recruited by the Red Bull team principal; in the F1 paddock, this is equivalent to a golden ticket to the world champion's podium.

Perez's seat has been precarious, with a long line of young talents vying for the Red Bull number two position stretching from Silverstone in England to Monaco.

If it were any other rookie, they would probably be so excited they'd be incoherent, or even kneeling down on the spot to drag Horner to a lawyer to draft a contract.

However, Lin Feng simply stared at Horner for three seconds.

Then, he suddenly burst out laughing.

"Christian, are you kidding me?" Lin Feng pointed to Verstappen next to him. "Go to Red Bull and sit next to Max? Are you sure you're giving me a racing seat and not an electric chair?"

Horner paused for a moment, then couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth turn up in a wide smile.

Verstappen burst into laughter, nearly dropping his game controller: "Hahaha! Electric chair! Kelly, did you hear that? He called my car an electric chair!"

Kelly laughed heartily, giving Verstappen a sidelong glance: "Who told you to never give your teammates any face on the track? Now look what's happened, even the rookies are afraid of being sacrificed by you."

Lin Feng spread his hands, looking at Horner with an extremely sincere, even somewhat aggrieved, expression:

"Look, even Kelly knows. Being Red Bull's number two driver is a notoriously dangerous job in F1. Pierre and Alex were both carried off that electric chair, weren't they? I'm doing really well at Williams now, James treats me like a treasure. Would I be crazy to go to your place and get lapped by Max?"

Lin Feng's words clearly indicated his refusal.

Moreover, this way of refusing was extremely tactful, praising Verstappen as invincible while also making fun of himself for not wanting to be humiliated, and incidentally complimenting his current employer, Williams.

Horner was naturally a cunning old fox, so how could he not understand the meaning behind Lin Feng's words?

Instead of being angry at being rejected by a rookie, he admired the young Chinese man even more.

He was neither arrogant nor humble, had a clear mind, and most importantly, was extremely confident.

I absolutely love young people who are bursting with confidence.

"You're quite frank," Horner chuckled, shaking his head and taking a sip of his tea. "But if you think Max is invincible, then what are you doing in F1? Just to rack up a few points at Williams?"

Upon hearing this, Lin Feng dropped his playful grin, sat up straight, and looked across the aisle of the cabin to meet Horner's eyes directly.

Those dark eyes held no reverence for top-tier wealthy families, only burning ambition.

"Of course I want to beat him." Lin Feng pointed at Verstappen, "but I don't want to drive the same car as him, in his team, and beat him according to your Red Bull rules. If one day I want to take Max off the top of the standings, I will definitely drive a different colored car and overtake him openly and honestly."

After saying that, Lin Feng turned to Verstappen, grinned, and said, "You agree, right, Max?"

Verstappen put his headphones back on, picked up the controller, and his eyes gleamed with fighting spirit: "Good idea, kid, but you'd better drive fast, or you'll be eating my exhaust fumes from behind."

"We'll see," Lin Feng said leisurely, leaning back in the massage chair.

Horner looked at the two young drivers in front of him, both of whom were equally unruly and yearned for pure competition, and sighed with feigned helplessness.

"Alright, since you like Williams so much, I won't force you." Horner shrugged. "But my door is always open to you. The day you get tired of being eaten alive on the straights, a Red Bull seat is always ready for you."

"Thank you, boss." Lin Feng raised the can in his hand to Horner as a gesture of thanks.

During the next few hours of the flight, Lin Feng and Verstappen played three FIFA matches on television.

Lin Feng's gaming skills were terrible; he was thrashed nine times by Verstappen, which made him so angry that he almost broke the controller on the spot, much to the amusement of Kelly and Horner.

The plane glided smoothly over the Pacific Ocean as night gradually fell.

When the captain's Dutch-accented English came over the cabin intercom, Lin Feng turned to look out the window.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent. Ahead is our destination, Pudong International Airport. The ground temperature is 18 degrees Celsius, and the weather is clear."

Outside the porthole, a vast sea of ​​light, as dazzling as a galaxy, appeared below what was once a pitch-black view.

Those were the neon lights of Shanghai, this megacity, and the intricate network of elevated highways, like golden dragons, winding across this land he knew so well.

Lin Feng pressed his face against the glass, looking at the dazzling night view, feeling a surge of passion slowly boiling in his chest.

After wandering in Europe for so long, fighting his way from go-karting to the F1 paddock, enduring countless scornful looks, ridicule, and the machinations of capital, he has finally returned as a legitimate F1 driver.

"What's wrong, are you nervous?" Verstappen turned off the game console and looked out the window following Lin Feng's gaze. "Playing at home, the pressure is immense. I heard the tickets here sold out in minutes, all to see you."

"Nervous? Are you kidding me?"

Lin Feng sat up straight, stretched out a big yawn, and his bones cracked and popped.

"We've arrived on my territory, Max."