F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

In May, the weather in Britain is like a grumpy teenage girl: gloomy and damp, and prone to sudden, chilly drizzles.

Lin Feng slumped in his gaming chair in his apartment, wearing a large gray hoodie.

Just half an hour ago, he had ended a two-hour transoceanic video call with Eileen Gu.

Lin Feng sighed deeply at his phone screen: "Honey, can you believe it? When I first got off the plane and saw the sky, I thought I had traveled to the set of some old black and white movie."

On the other end of the video call, Gu Ailing, who had just finished her morning exercise, laughed heartily: "Come on, who told you to sell yourself to the British team? Remember to drink more hot water. If you catch a cold, James will probably have to personally make you ginger soup."

The two exchanged a few more sweet nothings like "I miss you" and "See you next time" until Gu Ailing had to go to training. Lin Feng kissed her several times through the screen before reluctantly hanging up the phone.

As soon as I put my phone down, a series of urgent notification sounds came from the Discord voice channel on my computer screen.

Lin Feng put on his headphones, and as soon as he entered the channel, he heard Norris's highly recognizable voice.

"Lin! Did you fall into the toilet? Get back online! Max has already run three laps around Spa to warm up!"

Lin Feng skillfully opened the game "F1 24" and entered the private room.

The room was bustling with activity.

Red Bull's Verstappen is on a scoring spree, Ferrari's Leclerc is tweaking his car, and Mercedes' Russell is humming a pop song out of tune.

"Hey, our Blue Sky Vomiter has finally arrived?" Russell laughed. "Lin, I watched your video. To be honest, that plastic bag has a pretty good load-bearing capacity. What brand is it? I'm planning to recommend it to Mercedes' logistics department."

"George, shut your mouth." Lin Feng rolled his eyes and slowly drove the virtual race car out of the pit lane. "That was James's deliberate revenge. When I win the championship, I'll tie him to the car and make him run a couple of laps."

"Hahahaha," Norris chimed in from the side, "That footage would definitely win an Oscar for Best Documentary. But Lin, before that, shouldn't you sort out your immigration status first? I saw an interview yesterday, and you don't even have a domestic driver's license?"

There was a moment of silence on the channel, followed by a burst of laughter loud enough to shatter the microphone.

"Really? Lin?" Leclerc laughed so hard he almost fell over. "You can only take a taxi home?"

Verstappen suddenly blurted out, "No wonder you were driving so slowly in Miami, were you practicing your lane-jumping skills?"

"What do you guys know?" Lin Feng retorted irritably. "I was just following the law! Unlike you guys, who speed in the Monaco tunnel and nobody cares. I'm going to be a law-abiding citizen. I'm going home to take my driving test in August, and I'll give you a live stream of my parallel parking so you can see what absolute precision looks like."

"No, I'm afraid your driving instructor will have a heart attack because you start too fast," Russell joked. "But seriously, Lin, why do you stay in England? Summer here only lasts three days; the rest of the 362 days are rainy. Look out your window, isn't it all gray and gloomy again?"

Lin Feng turned his head to look at the dense drizzle outside the window with disgust: "Don't even mention it. The underwear I washed has been hanging on the balcony for three days, and the humidity is even higher now than when I washed it. I even suspect that mushrooms are about to grow on my ceiling."

That's because you chose the wrong place.

Mentioning Leclerc immediately energizes him, making him look like a real estate agent promoting a high-end property.

"Lin, listen to me, come to Monaco! Not only does it have the brightest Mediterranean sunshine and the bluest waters, but most importantly, there's no income tax here!"

"What?! No tax?" Lin Feng's hand trembled, and the race car almost crashed into the guardrail.

"Of course!" Leclerc began listing the advantages. "And here, we're your neighbors. Most importantly, driver's licenses are extremely easy to obtain here. As long as you live here, who cares if you have a Chinese driver's license? You can even drive your F1 car to the supermarket to buy milk, and the police will only ask for your autograph."

"Really?" Lin Feng was very interested.

"Really, and there are more beautiful women here than raindrops in England," Norris added from the side. "Even though you have Eileen now, it's not illegal to look at the scenery, is it?"

"Monaco sounds like paradise." Lin Feng stroked his chin thoughtfully. "But I'm afraid that if I go there, I'll lose my fighting spirit because I'll be looking at the sea every day. After all, the pace of life there is too slow, suitable for retirement."

"Come on, you didn't seem all motivated in Miami," Verstappen quipped. "Hurry up, anyone who drops below 1 minute 28 seconds on this lap has to post an unflattering picture of themselves in the group chat!"

So the five people began a frantic battle on the virtual track.

Although it's just a game, once these professional drivers get their competitive spirit kicks in, the scene can still be quite chaotic.

Norris tried to overtake Lin Feng in the paint, but Lin Feng blocked him with a serpentine movement.

"Lin! How did your damn tactics extend from reality into the virtual world?!" Norris screamed.

"That's called tactical continuity," Lin Feng said with a smug smile.

After playing for more than two hours, everyone was a little tired, so they parked their race cars on the side of the road and started chatting.

"Oh, right," Leclerc suddenly remembered something, "next week is the Italian Grand Prix Imola. I heard there's a special event before the race, and it seems to be related to us drivers. Have you heard about it?"

"A special event?" Norris paused, "I only know there's a sponsor's dinner, is there something else?"

Verstappen shook his head: "No news from my side, probably just some boring media events again."

Lin Feng was also completely confused.

At that moment, Russell, who had been slurping his water, suddenly let out a meaningful hum.

"I know a little..."

"Tell me quickly, George! Stop keeping me in suspense!" Norris asked impatiently.

"Well..." Russell deliberately drew out his words, "I can only say that this event is very hardcore, very Italian, and may... perhaps remind some people of the fear of being dominated by gravity."

Lin Feng's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately recalled their previous fighter jet trip: "George, tell me honestly, is the FIA ​​going to take us to an air force base for training? I'm warning you, my stomach hasn't fully recovered yet!"

"No, no, no, it's not an airplane." Russell transformed into a master riddle teller. "It's a challenge about legacy and speed. The official details will be sent out via email on Wednesday night. I've signed a confidentiality agreement and can't say a word more."

"Pah!" Norris spat. "George, you're becoming more and more like those damn bureaucrats! You only say half of what you mean; aren't you afraid your pillow will be warm on both sides at night?"

"Exactly! George, if you don't say something, I'll block your way during practice matches when we get to Imola!" Leclerc joined the chorus of condemnation.

"Your criticism won't change anything," Russell said in an extremely smug tone. "All I can tell you is to prepare a comfortable set of workout clothes and a strong heart. Okay, I'm going to have dinner now, bye!"

After saying that, Russell decisively left the voice channel, leaving a room full of people bewildered.

"This guy definitely did it on purpose." Lin Feng gritted his teeth as he stared at the screen. "The Riddler should be thrown into the Thames to feed the fish."

"Whatever, who cares?" Verstappen was also about to log off. "We'll find out what this is when we get to Imola. Lin, remember to bring your stomach medicine; I have a feeling Russell's smile is up to no good."

"Got it. See you next week, everyone."

Lin Feng turned off his computer, leaned back in his gaming chair, and listened to the pattering rain outside the window.

"Imola... I hope that so-called event will be more interesting than the fighter jets."

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, intending to cook himself a bowl of noodles.

As for the driver's license?

Screw the driving test! Once I win the world championship, who will dare say I can't drive?!