His timid appearance made the other wealthy young men burst into laughter.

"This fool is chicken, haha."

"Yeah, racing is very dangerous, you should go back to cleaning toilets at your little hotel."

...

Everyone mocked Yang Fei incessantly.

In the midst of the laughter, Yang Fei held up three fingers.

He said lazily, "Deal, three rounds of betting races, ten million per round, losers scram!"

At his words, all laughter abruptly stopped.

Everyone's eyeballs nearly popped out.

God, when it comes to racing, this guy is more excited than anyone else.

Brother Song and Fang Tang exchanged glances.

The fierceness in the corner of Fang Tang's eyes flashed by, and he stealthily made a throat-slitting gesture.

Brother Song nodded in understanding.

The two of them were thinking almost exactly the same.

This despicable odd-job man at the hotel probably hadn't even touched the hair of a racing car, let alone raced one.

Did he think racing was just about turning on the ignition and stepping on the gas?

Country bumpkin!

The two heirs sneered internally.

However, the bet this country bumpkin announced was not small at all.

Even for Brother Song, taking out ten million was a bit troublesome.

But Fang Tang knew Yang Fei's background and scoffed at it.

"Mr. Yang Fei, are you sure you can put up ten million? I really doubt your capability," he asked.

Brother Song immediately caught on and couldn't help but chuckle.

A ten million bet was a bit troublesome even for himself, and for this hotel odd-job man, it was astronomically impossible.

How could he manage it?

Damn, don't think driving a Land Rover makes you a big shot!

He mocked with a sneer, "Mr. Yang Fei, let's be realistic in life, shall we?"

"Given your status and profession, let's first verify whether you have the capability to make a bet, then we can race, alright?"

Without a word, Yang Fei opened his mobile banking app to check his account balance.

When the nine-digit bank balance was displayed before everyone, they were all stunned speechless.

Two hundred and twenty-three million one hundred and eighty thousand!

The digits, inspected through mobile banking, couldn't be faked; everyone incredulously stared at Yang Fei, dressed in his green Army-destroyer outfit, as if they were seeing the God of Wealth incarnate.

Damn, an odd-job man at a hotel, with a fortune worth hundreds of millions—what kind of world was this?

In fact, half of this money was gathered together by Yang Fei, Lin Xueyi, and Zhang Lifang.

The other hundred million was a loan taken out by the woman CEO, Su Yinxue.

As for the additional twenty-three million, it was won by Yang Fei from the First Blood Underground Boxing Ring.

Yang Fei looked at everyone's dumbstruck expressions, beaming with pride and brimming with satisfaction.

"This boss lacks everything but money. So, how about it, do we bet?"

His provocative demeanor and smug expression made it hard for Brother Song to decline.

Brother Song clenched his teeth, "Of course, we'll meet at the Backhill Serpentine Racetrack."

Xue Mingtai had a hobby of collecting sports cars.

In the underground garage, there were fifteen to sixteen of the world's top sports cars.

Many of these luxury cars were limited edition models.

Only when he reached Xue Mingtai's underground garage did Yang Fei understand.

This Young Master Ming Tai possessed a frightening amount of wealth.

The value of any car here could ensure a person a carefree life for ten generations or more.

Ordinary people couldn't even dream of the price these cars were valued at.

Yang Fei was someone who knew valuable items.

When selecting a car, he didn't choose any extremely expensive or special sports car, but opted for a rather old model of a McLaren sports car.

This was just an ordinary model among Xue Mingtai's many sports cars.

Fang Tang, Brother Song, and five or six other racing experts all entered the garage to choose their cars.

Fang Tang, seeing that Yang Fei had chosen a McLaren, was so amused he almost laughed out loud.

He nudged Brother Song, who turned around and burst into laughter immediately.

Although this McLaren had good performance, it demanded high driving skills.

In the hands of a real race car driver, it could instantly unleash incredible explosive power and speed.

However, this car's requirements for the operator's skill level were so high that if one wasn't a well-trained professional racer, they would hardly dare pick it.

The unique control platform and the very high demands on a driver's reaction, deterred most racers from even attempting it.

Reducing speed was minor, but a fatal crash due to an operational error could be catastrophic.

From the way Yang Fei chose his car, Fang Tang and Brother Song could be certain.

This bumpkin was racing for the first time.

Sure enough, after Yang Fei got into the car, he fumbled around for a while before managing to start it.

Then, he slowly drove the McLaren out of the underground garage.

Watching his clumsy manner, everyone burst into laughter.

Nearly all the wealthy young men loved to race.

Some of them were even among the experts, although they couldn't compare to professional racers like Xue Mingtai, but racing against a hotel odd-job man was no pressure at all for them.

Still, despite that, Brother Song chose a racing expert to represent him in the race.

This racing expert was named Song Rong.

He had loved racing since childhood and had undergone very rigorous professional training in Mysterious Country.

In this circle, he wasn't the most formidable racer.

But to handle a hotel odd-job man who had never driven a race car before, he was more than sufficient.

Song Rong's older brother, named Song Pin.

He jokingly fastened his brother's seatbelt, waving his fist.

"Teach this bumpkin a lesson, I believe in you," he said.

The others cheered loudly.

Most of Song Rong's driving skills actually came from his older brother Song Pin's personal training.

Song Pin was the truly deserved professional race car driver.

In the racing circle, he was a genuine speed fanatic, passionate and as fast as lightning.

Some even compared Song Pin with Xue Mingtai.

But to teach a bumpkin a lesson, Song Pin was too lazy to make a move.

Yang Fei's level couldn't stir his passion for racing.

Half an hour later, at the entrance of the winding racetrack, there were already seven or eight supercars.

Each car was parked on the starting line, luxurious and high-performing.

Yang Fei's McLaren seemed unnoticeable, parked at the edge of the starting line.

As Fang Tang and Brother Song had figured, he indeed couldn't drive the McLaren.

However, for some reason, just seeing such a model made his heart surge with an incredibly familiar affection.

This feeling, just like seeing Xue Mingtai, was as if seeing an old friend after many years.

Yang Fei sat down, briefly familiarizing himself with the car's condition, and somehow, he naturally managed to start it, fire the engine, and shift gears…

His entire motion was as fluid and graceful as flowing clouds and water.

Yang Fei knew that a segment of his lost memory was causing trouble again.

He didn't mind it; he just gently pressed the accelerator, waiting for the judge to wave the flag.

Two checks, each for ten million, were neatly placed on the judge's table.

One was Yang Fei's, the other was Brother Song's.

A total bet of ten million, which in the entire circle, was considered a huge gamble.

The skilled driver, Song Pin, served as the judge.

He watched the rapidly ticking stopwatch and began the countdown.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven… three, two, go!"

Song Pin vigorously swung the flag downward, and the seven or eight sports cars, like arrows released from their bows, roared and rushed out.

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