F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

On Saturday morning, the road leading to the Enzo Dino Ferrari circuit was completely paralyzed.

Almost every iron Buddha temple in Europe has flooded into this town today, and the roads are completely blocked by all kinds of colorful private cars, RVs and buses, with the speed of vehicles even slower than walking.

Lin Feng stood firmly on the footrests of a bright yellow electric scooter, wearing a full-face helmet and gripping the handlebars, skillfully weaving between two stationary Porsches.

Sitting in the back seat was his little helper, Franco Crapinto, the reserve driver for the Williams team.

Crapinto clung tightly to Lin Feng's waist, pressing his entire body against Lin Feng's back. His voice came through the helmet: "Lin! Why aren't we riding in the team's van! If a race car driver like me were photographed riding in one of these two-wheeled electric vehicles, I'd become the laughingstock of the entire paddock!"

"Shut up, Franco." Lin Feng honked the horn, and the electric scooter emitted a crisp beep. "The team's van is stuck at the intersection three kilometers away. At that rate, by the time we get to the paddock, qualifying will be over. That's called Chinese wisdom, understand?"

The electric scooter weaved left and right through traffic, unstoppable.

As Lin Feng passed a black Aston Martin DBX, he slowed down.

The driver's side window was rolled down halfway, and Lance Stoll, with his messy, bird's-nest-like hair, leaned back in his seat, looking irritated.

Lin Feng, supporting himself on one foot, knocked on Stoll's car window: "Good morning, Lance, is your rearview mirror working?"

Stoll was startled, turning around to stare wide-eyed at the guy on the yellow electric scooter. It took him a while to recognize the face behind the helmet visor: "Lin? You're riding this junk to the track?"

Before Stoll could finish speaking, Lin Feng took out his phone, turned around with his back to Stoll's car, and adjusted the angle of the front camera.

"Franco, smile."

"Click."

The photo freezes in time.

In the foreground, Lin Feng and Crapinto are wearing helmets and making peace signs, while in the background, Stoll sits in a luxury car, looking utterly hopeless due to traffic congestion.

After taking the photos, Lin Feng twisted the accelerator and continued driving forward.

Just two cars ahead, Pierre Gasly opened his car door, preparing to get out for some fresh air.

As Lin Feng passed by, he casually patted Gasly on the shoulder: "Pierre, let's walk. This car isn't going to move today anyway."

Gasly watched the electric scooter speed away and shouted from the spot, "Lin! Give me your back seat!"

"The back seat is full! Go find a shared bike yourself!" Lin Feng said without turning his head.

While waiting at the traffic light, Lin Feng skillfully opened Twitter and posted the group photo from earlier.

Caption: [Imola's traffic is terrible, thank goodness for my mysterious Eastern ride. By the way, for the guy behind me, could qualifying be delayed by two hours today? @Lance Stroll @Pierre Gasly @Formula 1]

Within two minutes of the tweet being posted, all sorts of people flocked to the comments section.

These drivers are all stuck in traffic right now, bored out of their minds, so they might as well have an online team-building activity.

[Lando Norris]: Hahahaha! Lin, your helmet is so stupid! But I'd pay 500 euros for that seat in your back! My van's air conditioning isn't working anymore! I'm practically roasted alive!

[George Russell]: Lin, that's not fair of you. I just watched you drive past my car and you didn't even give me a ride!

[Lance Stoll]: Delete the photos! Now! Immediately! I hadn't washed my hair! (Frustrated expression)

Pierre Gasly: ​​I'd rather walk to the paddock! Lin, come back and get me, I'll treat you to a French feast!

Lin Feng, the instigator, was completely unaware of what was happening. He simply kept twisting the accelerator to the maximum, and the little electric scooter dashed into the gate of the enclosure under the envious and jealous gazes of a group of supercar owners.

Imola is Ferrari's home track, and the atmosphere there is incredibly enthusiastic.

Lin Feng was shocked when he passed by the Ferrari pit garage; it had become a runway for European Fashion Week.

Various online celebrities dressed in cool summer clothes, supermodels in high heels, and several familiar Hollywood movie stars were all crowded in the Ferrari reception area, with flashes of light going off one after another.

Leclerc and Sainz were surrounded by the group, forced to pose for endless photos and engage in mutual flattery with stiff smiles on their faces.

In contrast, the Williams team's rest area was much quieter.

After finishing their final engineers' meeting before the qualifying rounds, Lin Feng and Alben sat on a sofa in the corner, each eating a box of low-fat vegetable salad.

"It's better here." Alben poked at a cherry tomato with his fork. "Judging from Charles's expression just now, he'd definitely rather put on his helmet and get in the car right now. Ferrari's PR campaign is driving people crazy."

"Ferrari, you know, they have to maximize their home-field advantage." Lin Feng took a bite of purple cabbage. "Honestly, I wouldn't go to these kinds of shows even if they were free. It strains my voice, and I don't even get enough to eat."

Just as the two were enjoying their leisure time, the automatic door to the rest area slid open.

The person who walked in was neither team leader James nor the team's engineer.

The man was dressed in a well-tailored dark blue custom-made suit, without a tie, with the top button of his shirt undone. His hair was impeccably styled, and his features were deep-set. He exuded an air of composure befitting a person in a superior position. Behind him were two obsequious assistants.

Lin Feng put down the salad box in his hand and looked up.

Alben quickly stood up, looking somewhat flustered, unsure of what to do with his hands.

This uninvited guest was none other than John Elkann, chairman of Ferrari and head of Fiat Chrysler Automobiles.

Elkann didn't go to the bustling Ferrari pit shop, but instead went to the deserted Williams shop.

"Sit down, Alex, don't be nervous." Elkan waved his hand, his gaze falling directly on Lin Feng.

Lin Feng didn't move, sitting steadily on the sofa. He pulled out a tissue and wiped his mouth. "Mr. Elkann, did you come to the wrong room? The Ferrari is next door. The canvas sofa here is not a good match for your custom-made suit."

Elkan wasn't angry. He simply sat down on the single sofa opposite Lin Feng, crossing his arms on his knees.

"Lin, you're still as sharp-tongued as ever." Elkann chuckled. "I took a look around over there, and it was just too noisy, so I thought I'd come and chat with you for a bit. After all, you're a big gift that Ferrari gave out this year."

These words were loaded with barbs and veiled threats.

At the Saudi Grand Prix earlier this year, Lin Feng temporarily replaced Sainz, who was suffering from appendicitis, and directly won a race for Ferrari. However, Ferrari did not keep him as a regular driver. Now, Lin Feng is doing very well at Williams, and even snatched Leclerc's runner-up finish at the Shanghai Grand Prix. Ferrari's management has been ridiculed by fans for being blind to talent.

"A gift?" Lin Feng leaned back on the sofa, crossed his legs, and said, "Mr. Elkann, I think it's a win-win situation. Ferrari got a championship trophy, and I got a race car that I can freely use. Of course, if you had offered me two more zeros in salary back then, I might be wearing a red shirt next door taking pictures with those internet celebrities today."

Elkan's assistant behind him turned pale upon hearing this.

Elkann burst out laughing: "You're hilarious, Lin. Every time I see you on the track, I ask Fred if we made a mistake?"

"No doubt about it, it's definitely wrong." Lin Feng retorted without any politeness. "But it's too late to regret it now. Williams may be a bit poor, but at least James won't care if I beat Charles to a pulp on the volleyball court."

Elkann laughed again when the topic of beach volleyball was brought up. The news had already spread throughout the paddock's upper echelons. The Ferrari chairman had clearly seen the viral video.

"Ferrari needs drivers with guts." Elkann looked at Lin Feng, his eyes becoming more serious. "Your defense in Shanghai and Miami reminded me of some of the older generation. It seems you're not afraid of offending people."

"Being polite on the track is called withdrawing from the race." Lin Feng met Elkann's gaze. "Mr. Chairman, you didn't come all this way just for nostalgia, did you?"

Elkan stood up and straightened his suit jacket.

"Just came to say hello. And just a heads-up, this is Ferrari's home track. Charles and Carlos won't give you any more chances in qualifying this afternoon."

"No need for you to worry about that." Lin Feng stood up. "Please tell Xia Er to be careful when he looks in the rearview mirror this afternoon, so he doesn't get startled by me again."

Elkan gave Lin Feng a deep look, nodded, and turned to leave the rest area with his assistant.

Only after the automatic door closed did Alben let out a long sigh of relief and slump onto the sofa.

"Lin, are you crazy! That's John Elkann! How dare you tell him he made the wrong decision and even ask him for a raise!" Alben covered his face with his hands.

"What's there to be afraid of? I'm not his employee." Lin Feng picked up the half-eaten salad again. "Others may be afraid of Ferraris, but I'm not. On the racetrack, everyone's just an employee; whoever runs the fastest is the boss."

Crapinto had just slipped out of the bathroom and missed everything.

He leaned closer with a curious look on his face: "Lin, I just saw the Ferrari chairman at the door! What was he doing there?"

"He came to borrow the restroom, but left when he couldn't." Lin Feng continued to talk nonsense.

Crapinto believed him and scratched his head: "Oh, he's really unlucky. It's true that toilets are a bit hard to find around here."

Lin Feng finished the rest of the salad in a few bites, threw the empty box into the trash can, and stretched his wrists and neck.

The qualifying matches are about to begin.