F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

Lin Feng, dressed in a crisp white chef's uniform and wearing a tall chef's hat, stared expressionlessly at the large pile of flour and raw eggs on the cutting board in front of him.

Standing nearby was Alexander Alben, dressed similarly and looking bewildered, holding a rolling pin.

This is the official special event that George Russell mentioned – the F1 All-Star charity live stream: an authentic pasta and pizza making competition.

"George!" Lin Feng shouted to Russell across two control panels, "This is the challenge of speed and legacy you were talking about? Kneading dough here?"

Russell, adjusting his apron in front of the camera, turned around upon hearing this: "Of course! Kneading dough requires extremely fast hands, and pizza represents the heritage of Italian cuisine. Lin, don't complain, show your passion for charity!"

The Weichang Media Center was temporarily transformed into a huge open kitchen.

Twenty active drivers were divided into ten groups and lined up according to their teams. Dozens of cameras were working simultaneously, and all proceeds from the video footage will be donated to local children's charities.

Lin Feng sighed and began to work on the flour in front of him.

He tried to crack the egg into the flour well, but his hand trembled and the egg liquid spilled directly onto the cutting board.

Alben quickly grabbed a rag to wipe it, but ended up getting flour on his sleeve.

"There's too much water, Alex. Add some more flour," Lin Feng instructed.

Alben hurriedly poured half a bag of flour into the container.

Five minutes later, Lin Feng's hands were completely stuck to a sticky, wet, unidentified gel-like substance. He shook his hands vigorously, but the lump of dough remained firmly attached to his skin.

A light blue system notification popped up in my mind.

[Ding! Host detected performing a high-difficulty operation that is not related to driving.]

[Congratulations, host, on obtaining the white title: Dough Destroyer.]

[System suggestion: The host has absolutely no understanding of kneading dough. It is recommended that the host give up resistance and simply eat what's already prepared.]

"Shut up!" Lin Feng cursed inwardly. "You lousy system, you won't even give me a single culinary skill mastery, and now you're spouting nonsense!"

On the other side of the kitchen, the McLaren area had completely turned into a battlefield.

Lando Norris was diligently chopping tomatoes when he got bored. He grabbed a handful of flour and blew it over Oscar Piastrelli's head as he looked down at the recipe.

White flour was spread all over Piastri's face.

The usually shy Australian lad stopped what he was doing, slowly raised his head, wiped the white powder off his face, and glanced at Norris, who was laughing so hard he couldn't stand up straight.

"Lando!" Piastrelli's actions were decisive. He grabbed the remaining flour from the cutting board with both hands and threw it directly at Norris's head.

"Cough cough cough! Oscar! You're serious!" Norris coughed repeatedly, his head covered in flour, and began to fight back.

The two chased and fought each other behind the control panel, flour flying everywhere.

The situation wasn't much better at the Red Bull team's control panel, which wasn't far from them.

Max Verstappen is holding a cleaver and venting his anger at several large onions on the cutting board.

"Why would I do this? I haven't even finished the new game I just bought last night!" Verstappen complained as he vigorously chopped onions.

The pungent smell of onions hits your eyes.

Verstappen put down the cleaver, rubbed his eyes with both hands, and tears streamed down his face.

"Max, are you crying?" Hamilton, who was passing by, stopped with concern.

"I didn't!" Verstappen shouted, his eyes red and tears streaming down his chin. "The problem is with this onion! Where did the organizers buy this onion? It's a biological weapon!"

He continued cutting while tears streamed down his face, sniffling as he cut.

The area featuring the Alpine team deviated somewhat from the main theme.

Pierre Gasly and Esteban O'Connor, both Frenchmen, shook their heads in disapproval as they looked at the traditional Italian recipe on the menu.

"This recipe is wrong." Gasly pushed the tomatoes aside. "We should make a buttered pizza. Food without butter is soulless."

"Agreed." O'Connor pulled out three large blocks of butter from the cabinet. "But we can't find snails, so we can use something else instead. We also need to add some truffle sauce."

The camera cuts to this point, and the commentator says helplessly into the microphone, "It seems that Alpine's two players are planning to give the world a French cooking lesson."

The Mercedes and Aston Martin consoles are next to each other.

Russell was having a great time. He was holding a finished pizza dough in his hand, showing it off to Lewis Hamilton next to him.

"Lewis, watch closely, this is the trick to tossing a pizza. You need to master the rotation of your wrist to make the dough open up in the air."

Russell spoke while confidently tossing the dough into the air.

The pancake spun twice in the air.

Hamilton clapped enthusiastically: "Not bad, not bad, George, you've got it all down."

"That's nothing, watch me toss it even higher!"

Encouraged, Russell used both hands to forcefully throw the dough into the air.

Due to excessive force, the dough did not fall vertically, but instead traced a parabola in the air and flew out of Mercedes' control area.

Fernando Alonso was leisurely walking by with a cup of coffee in his hand, intending to see what other people were doing.

"Smack!"

The pizza crust covered in flour landed squarely on Alonso's head.

The people present looked at each other in bewilderment.

Alonso was startled, but he calmly stopped, put down his coffee cup, and then reached above his head to tear off the tortilla.

Russell stood there awkwardly, his hands still in the catching position: "Uh... Fernando, I'm sorry, I didn't control the angle of the throw well."

Alonso looked at the bread in his hand, then at Russell, and a meaningful smile appeared on his face.

"George, if you went to the circus to perform juggling, you'd be fired on your first day. Take it back and redo it." Alonso tossed the bread back onto Russell's workbench, picked up his coffee, and strolled away.

At the heart of the kitchen, the two Ferrari drivers were displaying unparalleled confidence.

Are you kidding me? This is Italy, Ferrari's home turf.

They believe they have absolute dominance when it comes to cooking Italian food.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz, both wearing red aprons with the Ferrari logo, moved with great flair.

"Carlos, add more mozzarella cheese," Leclerc instructed. "The essence of Italian cuisine lies in the fusion of cheese and tomato sauce."

"No problem, look at how neatly I've arranged these Italian sausages." Sainz admired his work with satisfaction.

The two put the finished pizza into the oven, then turned around, leaned against the counter, and started chatting in front of the camera.

"We have a home-field advantage when it comes to making pizzas," Leclerc smiled sweetly at the camera. "My grandma used to make these at home all the time, so it's too easy for me."

“That’s right, we don’t even need to check the time,” Sainz agreed. “We can tell if it’s cooked or not just by intuition.”

The two chatted about food culture for a full ten minutes in front of the camera.

Until Lin Feng's voice came from the side.

"Old Xia, are you preparing to start a fire for warmth? Why is it smoking?"

Leclerc and Sainz turned around at the same time.

Thick black smoke was billowing from the cracks in the oven behind them, and a pungent, burnt smell filled the air.

"Mamma mia! Turn off the power!" Leclerc shouted, rushed over, put on oven mitts, and yanked open the oven door.

A cloud of black smoke billowed out, and everyone covered their noses.

On the baking tray, the once perfect pizza, covered with cheese and sausage, has now turned into a blackened charcoal flatbread.

"Carlos! What temperature did you just set?" Leclerc asked, coughing.

"I saw 250 on the menu, so I adjusted it to 250!" Sainz quickly turned off the switch.

"Is that Fahrenheit or Celsius?! You've turned the oven up to the highest setting!"

The two-hour charity event ended in a chaotic atmosphere.

The host walked over to Lin Feng and Alben's workstation, looked at the pizza in front of them—which could barely be identified as round but had uneven, pitted edges—and couldn't help but ask, "Lin, what do you think of your creation?"

Lin Feng wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron and answered seriously, "Although it looks ugly, it's full of our sincerity in wanting to leave work early. Also, I must clarify that the dough wasn't kneaded properly entirely because Alex added too much water, and it has nothing to do with my personal manual skills."

Alben protested from the side, "Lin, shirking responsibility is not a good habit!"

After the event, Lin Feng took off his chef's uniform and went to the sink to vigorously rub the dough in his hands.

Russell leaned closer, grinning, and asked, "So, Lin, wasn't this special event interesting?"

Lin Feng shook the water off his hands and said through gritted teeth, "George, if you ever do a riddle again, I'll stuff the rest of the onions from Vistapanche into your pants. I promise I mean it."

Russell laughed heartily and patted Lin Feng on the shoulder.