Chapter 40 Old Friends, Old Rivals

Sun Zhaoxing, that kid, is already here? Is it really necessary to be in such a hurry? These second-generation officials truly have no patience! Yang Changfeng thought to himself that he ought to ask for more compensation for his trouble.

When he entered the office, the first person he saw was Sun Zhaoxing, legs crossed.
“You really have no manners,” Yang Changfeng mocked, casually taking a cola from the fridge and sitting down right across from Sun Zhaoxing.

Sun Zhaoxing grinned, waving his hand dismissively. “No need to be polite, that would just be fake. So, are you ready?”

Is he really this impatient? Can’t even wait a single day?

Chen Aijia was already out of patience with Yang Changfeng. This man acted like a king in her office—still considered polite compared to his behavior at home. If she didn’t manage to kick her sleepwalking habit soon, there was no telling how much more he’d take advantage. He’d already touched and ogled her, and goodness knows what else he might dare.

Yang Changfeng retorted, “Don’t look at me—have you got the car ready? Don’t bring me some sort of half-baked vehicle. Your Cayenne was already tampered with once; I’m not about to lose to someone and then get backstabbed elsewhere.”

Sun Zhaoxing’s face darkened, a murderous air about him as he clasped his hands. “I should actually thank you. There was definitely something wrong with the car, but I still don’t know who’s behind it. The rematch is set for the night after tomorrow. People know I’ve swapped to a ridiculous new car, but no one knows you’ll be the one driving. As agreed, the winnings are yours, and I’ll even give you the car if you want, but don’t you dare steal my thunder out there. Dammit, a few bumpkins from Jiangzhou actually think they can compete with me for girls? They have no idea what’s good for them!”

Hearing there was money involved, Yang Changfeng immediately perked up.
“No problem. But tell me, you’re a big shot—why do you even care about Jiangzhou girls? Isn’t Beijing already enough for you? Why come all the way to Jiangzhou just to make a fool of yourself?” Yang Changfeng belched loudly as he sipped his cola, looking as uncouth as ever.

But Sun Zhaoxing actually enjoyed dealing with people like him.
“Damn, you make this cola taste like the sodas from more than ten years ago. Let me have a try!” Sun Zhaoxing’s eyes lit up, and he immediately started looking for a cola himself, his fancy coffee abandoned without a second thought.

Anya hurried to fetch some cola. Chen Aijia’s office was always well-stocked with snacks and drinks, though both women were careful about their figures and rarely touched anything with calories. Yang Changfeng had noticed this last time but hadn’t dared to help himself. Now things were different—after cleaning up the security department, he was a hero, so why not eat and drink what Chen Aijia provided?

Chen Aijia shook her head, unable to bear watching these two any longer.
Both of them were so full of themselves, as if they were friends with the emperor himself, yet when they acted childish, they were worse than kids.

Drinking cola?
Couldn’t they at least act their part?
One was a middle manager, perfectly able to afford the finest coffee, but instead competed to see who could burp the loudest from a can of cola.
The other, wealthy and well-connected, reduced himself to such excitement over a bottle of soda?

After chugging down half, Sun Zhaoxing let out a few hearty burps and cursed, “Damn, this is living! I’ve wasted all these years for nothing!”

He was the type to act on impulse, not someone to be taken too seriously.

Yang Changfeng negotiated, “Fine, the night after tomorrow it is. What time? And who are the opponents? You should at least give me some idea.”

Sun Zhaoxing gave a thumbs up. “Good, that’s the attitude I like. Ten thirty in the evening—I’ll come pick you up. As for the opponent, nothing special really. There’s a Russian driver coming over, apparently a runner-up in some championship—goes by Andrei something-something-nov.”

Damn, that’s Andrei Ivanov. The Russian spirit may have its cowards, but a racecar driver? That’s no coward.

As it happened, Yang Changfeng did know this man.
Back in South Asia, during an underground race, he’d once faced off against this Russian—Andrei Ivanov, thirty-four, a runner-up in the European Championship. Not the best title—three years in a row he’d finished second—but among the world’s elite drivers, for Old Andrei to consistently place top three was no small feat.

Hearing the name, Yang Changfeng immediately grew serious.

“Andrei Ivanov, driver for the Yekaterinburg club, retired two years ago to become a globe-trotting coach. He raced for a while in Taiwan as well—a real talent, technically impeccable, with nerves of steel. He’s ranked top ten in the world. He retired simply to make money,” Yang Changfeng explained, tapping the cola bottle in his palm. He didn’t even look at the dossier Sun Zhaoxing tossed over—he was already plenty familiar with Andrei.

Of course, Andrei was just as familiar with him.

Last time, Andrei had been slightly outmatched, not yet used to the differences between underground and official racing. But now, after two or three years of honing his skills, Andrei was no longer the novice he’d once been. Winning against him wouldn’t be easy.

Sun Zhaoxing’s demeanor changed, his legs uncrossing as he asked in a low voice, “So you know him?”

“You could say that. Right now, I’d call it a fifty-fifty chance, but since I’m not familiar with the course, that gives me an extra ten percent edge,” Yang Changfeng replied, pursing his lips and unconsciously touching his eye.

Without factoring in the advantage his eye sometimes gave him, his chances were just under sixty percent.

Sun Zhaoxing was both delighted and puzzled. “Not familiar with the course, and that’s a plus?”

Yang Changfeng sneered, “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but underground racing is a game of life and death. The more you know the track, the less confident you are—because at every unfamiliar corner, you never know how much your opponent might overtake you with one brake. In official races, familiarity is key—mastery of the course means control. But underground drivers crave the thrill, racing with their lives. That’s why the winnings are so much higher than in sanctioned events. Of course, in our country, it could never be legalized. If you insist those childish little underground races you play count, you can forget everything I just said.”

After a moment’s thought, Sun Zhaoxing asked, “What’s your top speed?”

Yang Changfeng shook his head. “If you’ve ever seen Andrei go all in, you’d understand. But I doubt you have. In Jiangzhou or even Beijing, few can spark his interest. For him, it’s a way to make money and have fun.”

Chen Aijia listened with growing alarm. Was this really a matter of life and death?

Wasn’t it just a race to see who’s fastest? Why was it so dangerous?