Heifeng had one foot out the door when the woman in the Audi called out in a lazy voice, "Sorry, I mistook you for someone else. I'll ask Grandfather Ye tomorrow whether his grandson Heifeng has a twin, because I just saw someone who looked exactly like you heading into Heaven on Earth to pick up girls."
Heifeng froze, hand on the handle. He forced a solemn face. "I forgot to mention, my idol is Wu Jing. My name really is Heifeng, but I was practicing his acting method and slipped too deep into character. Good thing you snapped me out of it."
So she knew Grandfather Ye, even the family details. There was no bluffing his way around this girl. "Who is Wu Jing?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.
He coughed. "A competent actor. More important, how do you know so much about my family, beauty?"
Admitting defeat, he reached through the open window, popped the central lock, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat.
"Hmph, I know more than you think," she said with a tilt of her chin. "And Lingzhi and I are best friends."
That explained it. If she were Ye Lingzhi's close friend, of course, she knew his background. While he was still catching up, she leaned closer, eyes bright with mischief. "Was it fun in there?"
"If you want to know whether it is fun, you should try it yourself."
"Tch. If I could go in, I would not be asking you. Men are really useless. Seat belt on. I am taking you to a race."
"Hey, I never said I wanted to watch your race. I was going home."
"Then jump."
He stared at her, speechless. Her sharp tongue did not match the gentle, sweet look. A moment later, another thought struck him. "By the way, I never got your name."
She pushed the Audi TT up to 120 km per hour, eyes forward. "Let's start over. I am Chen Ningyun, Lingzhi's best friend."
"Oh." He watched the speedometer creep higher. "Are we watching or are you racing?"
From the way she handled the TT, he suspected she was wasting a good car. "Watch, obviously," she said without hesitation. "Tonight on Pan Mountain Highway, there is a showdown. The most mysterious woman racer in Beijing, the Black Widow, and Fujiwara Ichiro, who just beat the Japanese car king in Japan, will go head-to-head. They are both top underground racers in Asia, and tonight decides first and second place."
Her excitement was contagious. She was clearly a fan, even if her own driving was nothing to brag about. Heifeng curled his lip. "Who dared to rank themselves in front of me?"
In his previous life, he had raced often. As his company grew, the chances dwindled, but the itch had never gone away. Since he was not going home anymore, he might take a look. With luck, he might even find a way behind the wheel.
Pan Mountain Highway lies about thirty kilometers west of Beijing. The terrain wound through steep slopes, not unlike Mount Akina, and at night, the public traffic thinned to nothing. That was why rich second-generation kids and underground drivers turned it into a midnight arena.
By the time they arrived, the place was already packed. Supercars and wild-eyed, hand-built machines lined the roadside. At a glance, he counted a forest of badges that would make any collector jealous. Many were worth more than ¥5,000,000, roughly $700,000, and that was before the custom work. The rest of the crowd skewed young, men and women both, dressed for the night air and hungry for speed. Word had gotten out early, and the faithful had gathered from all over the country.
"There are so many people," Heifeng said, taking in the dense rows of spectators. If this were the starting line, the hairpins ahead would be jammed with camera crews waiting for a perfect drift.
"With a setup this big, the authorities do not care," he asked. "No questions from above?"
Ningyun stared as if he had beamed down from Mars. "Are you even from China? For races like this, we apply for the road section in advance and set up safety measures to avoid accidents. This one has been promoted for a long time. People arrived a week early to secure good spots. There are even groups from Japan, and the vendors have betting booths on the side."
Heifeng rubbed his temple and laughed at himself. Old habits from his previous life kept sneaking in. He followed Ningyun through the throng to a temporary paddock built against the rock face, canvas walls, bright work lights, tools clinking, the clean scent of race gas already in the air.
"President Lu, come on," Ningyun said, mischief back in her eyes. "I will introduce you to our very own goddess of the wheel, the Black Widow."
That caught him off guard. She knew the Black Widow personally. "Ms. Chen, your circle is impressive."
"Of course," she said, pleased. "Now move. The race starts in half an hour, and I still need to recheck the car."
They slipped under the awning. Mechanics moved like clockwork around a dark machine stripped for purpose, fenders flared, cage welded in, tires still sticker-fresh. The low murmur inside the tent was the sound of a team right before a run, focused and calm, every hand knowing its place. Even without seeing the driver, he felt the edge of it, that prickle in the chest that came when machine and human were about to share one narrow line down a mountain.
Ningyun traded quick words with a crew chief and waved him along. On the far side of the bay, a woman in a black suit jacket stood with her back to them, hair tied up, a carbon-fiber helmet tucked under one arm. She was tall, posture straight, presence quiet. A simple gesture from her, and a mechanic peeled away to bring up the tire blanket readouts. She nodded once, expression unchanged.
So this was the Black Widow. No theatrics, no noise, only the stillness of someone who had already mapped the course inside her head. Not the shrill, attention-seeking persona that rumor liked to paint.
Heifeng watched the team more than he watched her. Torque wrench duties rotated smoothly. Brake lights flashed as someone checked the pedal feel. A laptop screen scrolled with temps and timing. This was a professional pit, not a street circus. Whoever funded the operation knew what mattered.
Outside the tent, the other camp made its own statement. Fujiwara Ichiro's crew wore matching jackets, a white and red scheme that shouted national pride. Their car idled with a raspier note, high-strung, ready to rev. Fans pressed against the rope line to snap pictures, arguments already breaking out over odds that shifted by the minute.
"Thought you were going home," Ningyun murmured, noticing how he leaned in.
"I changed my mind." He did not bother to hide the grin. "Since I am here, I might as well learn something."
"Good," she said. "Keep your eyes open. Pan Mountain looks simple on a map. It is not. Off-camber in the lower third, double apexes near the cliff, and a blind left that loves to spit heroes into the guardrail."
He glanced at her. "You studied the course?"
"I help out here when I can. Do not look so surprised."
He should not have been. For all her sharp tongue and showy bravado, she moved through the paddock like she belonged, greeting a tire man by name, catching a jack handle before it clanged to the ground, never in the way, always helpful.
Far down the road, a marshal's whistle cut the air three times. Engines raised their voices in answer. The crowd surged tighter along the tape.
"Half an hour," Ningyun had said. It felt like five minutes. Time ran faster in places like this.
"Come on," she said. "We will watch the start from turn one. If you have any sense of rhythm, you can tell who will win before they reach the second hairpin."
He smiled. "We will see."
They stepped back into the night. The mountain held its breath. Somewhere in the dark, the fastest hands in Beijing slid their gloves tight and lowered visors. The race was about to begin.