Song Rong's car was a Porsche sports car.

The superior performance of the sports car was pushed to its limits by him.

Just as Song Pin's flag waved down, the Porsche shot out like a roaring cheetah, bolting away like lightning.

The other rich kids were just playing around and didn't compete with Yang Fei.

Even so, six sports cars still managed to get ahead of Yang Fei.

Yang Fei's McLaren sports car ended up as the perennial last-place finisher.

"Haha, that idiot really can't race. What do you bet he's doing?"

Fang Tang burst into laughter at the sight.

The elite offspring watching at the side also laughed, mocking and ridiculing with their seven mouths and eight tongues.

"I guess he's taking his driving test. Such a serious newbie deserves full marks, hahaha."

"Maybe it's his first time in such a sports car, and he's so excited he's fainting. I'm really worried about him."

...

Fang Tang smugly raised his binoculars to watch Yang Fei's pathetic state.

But after just one glance, his face suddenly darkened.

"The guy's smoking, dammit!"

Fang Tang swore fiercely, his teeth grinding with a crunching sound.

"What, smoking?"

"Holy shit, that's so freaking cool!"

...

The others almost thought they had misheard, staring at Fang Tang in disbelief.

Even if Yang Fei's sports car was at the back, it was still going over 120 mph.

On such a winding and convoluted road, he could still afford to leisurely smoke?

Brother Song snatched the binoculars from Fang Tang and looked into the distance.

On the twisting mountain race track, Yang Fei's McLaren convertible was cruising along at a steady pace.

Indeed, a cigarette was dangling from the guy's mouth, leisurely being lit with a windproof lighter.

Brother Song completely lost it!

A winding race track, as its name implies, is a mountain road full of twists and turns. Just the ninety-degree sharp corners alone numbered seven or eight.

Moreover, one side of the track was bordered by high mountains, while the other side was a drop of hundreds of meters into deep valleys.

Even though there were protective barriers on the side facing the valleys,

everyone knew that they were useless against sports cars traveling at speeds over 150 mph.

On such a dangerous track, this guy could still afford to be distracted enough to smoke?

Song Rong's Porsche was well ahead of everyone else from the start.

At this moment, his car was at least three kilometers ahead of Yang Fei's McLaren.

Within this distance, not even an international top racing driver could beat Song Rong.

Is this guy an idiot?

This race was tied to a whopping ten million-dollar bet.

Even to a top rich kid like Brother Song, this was not a sum he could disregard.

Yang Fei seemed to know that Brother Song and his group were observing him with binoculars.

After lighting his cigarette, he took his time smoking it, then raised his left hand high and flipped Brother Song the bird.

Afterward, Yang Fei casually tossed away the cigarette butt.

In the fierce wind, the sparks from the cigarette butt scattered and were caught in the airflow, leaving behind a dazzling trail.

The next moment, something happened that made everyone's eyes bulge in disbelief.

The McLaren suddenly roared mightily and lurched forward, starting to accelerate.

In just a few seconds, the McLaren's speed increased from 150 mph to 200 mph, 250 mph...

The speed was still climbing insanely!

"Oh my God, this guy is incredible, too fast."

"Holy shit, is he trying to kill himself? That's so freaking cool!"

...

A bunch of rich kids, imitating Brother Song, didn't know where they got binoculars from, and watched the race together.

Seeing this scene, each person's mouth hung open as if they were toads struck by lightning.

Under the brilliant sunshine, the McLaren sports car turned into a streak of orange lightning, darting fiercely along the winding track.

The powerful roar could be heard several kilometers away.

The McLaren's robust power, its excellent performance.

At this moment, was released perfectly.

Each swing, each drift, demonstrating such extreme speed and angle, was so ferocious and breathtaking.

However, every seemingly horrifying wide swing went through with more fright than harm.

The McLaren's ferocity and tameness were in perfect harmony.

This was almost the highest realm every racer pursued.

Song Pin, in charge of judging, had his expression become exceedingly grave.

In this instant, he truly felt the formidability of this odd-job man from the hotel.

In Song Rong's view, even the top international racers were only at this level, and perhaps even slightly inferior.

"Luckily, racing involves a lot of little tricks, which this guy still doesn't understand. With that, in the next round, I can definitely beat him,"

Song Pin thought to himself, his competitive spirit ignited by Yang Fei's prowess.

And a racer with such exceptional talent, if he didn't win against him this time, once he grew, Song Pin probably would never be able to win against him.

Fang Tang and Brother Song, watching the McLaren turn into a streak of yellow lightning, were slowly catching up to Song Rong's Porsche sports car.

Their faces were ashen, distraught.

Suddenly, Brother Song pulled out a mini earpiece from his bosom and placed it in his ear.

He spoke into the earpiece with a grave voice, "Listen up, everyone, block that hotel odd-job man, create obstacles, and don't let him surpass Ah Rong."

Upon hearing this, Fang Tang let out a sinister laugh.

Brother Song had already arranged for the other race cars to team up during the race.

Song Pin clearly heard what Fang Tang said, but his face remained expressionless, as if he had heard nothing at all.

In his eyes, a real race car driver must face this challenge.

Even on a real competitive racetrack, such things were not absolutely nonexistent.

On the winding mountain road racetrack, Yang Fei's McLaren sports car had already turned into a bolt of lightning.

Seeing that if he overtook three more cars, he would catch up with Song Rong's Porsche sports car.

Suddenly, ahead, a Bugatti Veyron sports car, seemingly unintentionally, swung its rear end, blocking the inner line of the overtaking lane.

Yet Yang Fei's speed did not lessen at all, as if determined to collide.

The McLaren, resolutely and decisively, zipped into the overtaking lane like lightning.

"Damn it, this guy's risking it all."

"Son of a bitch, really daring to play hard."

...

A group of rich kids, experts in speed racing, all screamed in shock at the sight.

However, in everyone's vision, the McLaren sports car sped past the Bugatti Veyron like lightning.

The closest distance between the two cars was no more than three centimeters.

Astonishingly audacious!

This scene left everyone watching speechless and shouting.

In Song Pin's eyes, a burning will to compete flared.

Among these people, only he was a true professional race car driver.

Only he knew that Yang Fei's move was not about being recklessly audacious.

It was about the control over the entire car, refined to an extremely fine degree.

His judgment was even accurate to the millimeter.

If it were his own car, Song Pin asked himself if he could do the same.

But as God is his witness, this car had just been handed over to this hotel odd-job man, not more than twenty minutes ago.

How did he do it?

What a monster!

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