The following day, Jing Hong made a discreet trip to Germany.

Feichi Auto, an EV manufacturer backed by Fanhai, was set to challenge the production-EV lap record on a famous circuit. The track had once hosted F1 races, but due to its inherently dangerous nature—frequent accidents earned it the nickname “Green Hell”—and a length exceeding 20 kilometers, it was eventually removed from the F1 calendar, with Formula 1 relocating to an adjacent circuit. Nevertheless, with its sprawling distance and an exhaustive variety of wide, demanding curves, the track had evolved into a primary testing ground for automaker R&D worldwide. The circuit’s management maintained official leaderboards across various categories—EV vs. ICE, production vs. concept, single-seater vs. multi-seater—ranking the absolute “King of Performance” in each segment. Consequently, setting the fastest lap time here stood as a universal symbol of automotive engineering prowess.

The existing production EV record belonged to Mercedes. Today, China’s Feichi sought to claim that crown.

Feichi had spent months preparing, dedicating immense effort to fine-tuning the vehicle setup and mapping out race strategy.

Upon arrival, Jing Hong was invited by Feichi executives up to the main grandstand. Situated near the starting line, the facility featured standard lower-level seating with a VIP suite elevated above it, offering panoramic views through floor-to-ceiling glass. Guests inside the suite enjoyed an unhindered vantage point over the grid, alongside multi-angle views covering a vast portion of the track and several key turns.

Jing Hong had attended F1 races before, yet today he felt a subtle, unfamiliar tension—a mix of anticipation and guarded skepticism.

Before heading upstairs, Feichi’s CEO had quietly cautioned him: “We might fall short today. Track conditions aren’t ideal—it rained earlier this morning, and several patches haven’t dried yet.”

Jing Hong looked out down below.

Down on the grid, Feichi’s CEO was offering final words of encouragement to the driver, surrounded by nervous senior managers. The VIP suite above remained sparsely populated.

Feichi had originally planned a victory celebration inside the suite, but preliminary practice runs revealed suboptimal road conditions—damp asphalt across several key acceleration straights prevented the car from building maximum momentum.

Though the team adapted their telemetry strategy, expectations for a record-breaking run plummeted. Unwilling to let a muted outcome dampen morale, the celebration props remained hidden away, stacked silently in a corner.

Per protocol, the official timing and certification were handled independently by the circuit’s track authorities.

With the start time imminent, Jing Hong watched as the support team cleared the grid, leaving the driver waiting in focused silence. The driver, a Brazilian national, had represented the Feichi team in Formula E for several seasons.

Earlier that morning, the vehicle had passed official technical scrutineering, confirming full compliance with production standards and operational integrity.

The start signal approached.

Though it was a timed lap challenge rather than a wheel-to-wheel race, the ceremonial procedure was strictly observed. Jing Hong watched as a row of red lights illuminated one by one. As all five lights extinguished, the crimson vehicle launched forward, surging onto the track.

This Feichi model boasted a sub-two-second 0–100 km/h acceleration time. The instantaneous torque delivery of electric powertrains yielded initial launch performance superior to traditional internal combustion engines—a benchmark ICE vehicles struggled to match, and a major selling point for modern EVs.

Feichi’s CEO had once remarked that his favorite moment was sitting at a red light alongside Ferraris and other supercars, watching the Feichi launch instantly ahead the moment the signal turned green. Jing Hong had almost replied at the time, “You should park outside Qinghui’s headquarters and cut in front of Zhou Chang’s car every day.”

Lacking the visceral roar of a combustion engine or exhaust fumes, the whisper-quiet acceleration lacked raw acoustic excitement—which explained why Formula E struggled with spectator turnout. Yet Jing Hong watched with intense focus.

As the car blasted past the line, Jing Hong checked his watch—the timing was immaculate, down to the second.

As the vehicle sped into the distance, Jing Hong moved to the side glass wall to track its progress. He knew the driver was pushing to absolute limits, competing for the team, the company, and a place in history.

He watched the crimson silhouette race, corner, drift, and accelerate. Against the gray asphalt track, that splash of red was unmistakably vivid.

Vivid, yet singular.

On the vast circuit, the driver pushed forward alone. On this day, the work of over ten thousand Feichi employees had concluded, and Jing Hong himself had contributed everything within his power.

Although classified as a “production vehicle,” the car differed subtly from the consumer version slated for commercial release. It was fitted with Michelin’s top-tier racing compounds, and various telemetry settings—such as camber angles—were adjusted to the absolute limit permitted within production regulations. The chassis was dropped significantly lower than the commercial spec, with all electric motors locked into continuous maximum output. Inside the cockpit, arrayed switches allowed the driver to manually adjust aerodynamic components on the fly.

Driver execution was equally crucial. The pilot had to manage energy deployment and heat management strategically, ensuring the battery retained sufficient charge for final straightaway bursts.

Nevertheless, the car adhered strictly to official “production class” regulations.

Production car lap times were inherently slower than concept cars. Concepts were unbound by road legality, stripping away non-essential weight to maximize sheer speed.

Moments that typically felt brief stretched out agonizingly.

Official lap attempts operated under strict time windows.

The track would automatically close after a set duration, leaving no room for endless attempts.

Across the initial laps, the driver’s lap times trailed behind Feichi’s target telemetry projections.

By the final stint, as the car swept onto the track for its last attempt, mere five seconds remained before official track closure. Had the prior lap been five seconds slower, this final opportunity would have evaporated entirely.

For the driver, this was the absolute last shot.

Through the glass, Jing Hong stood with arms folded, eyes lowered as he tracked the action below.

The car tore across the track at breakneck speeds.

Jing Hong sensed a subtle shift—lap after lap, the driver was rapidly mastering the damp surface, refining his line and pushing harder. Checking his watch against key sector markers, Jing Hong noticed the car passing splits visibly faster than before. Meanwhile, as time ticked on, the ambient sunlight gradually dried out damp sections on critical sectors.

A sudden streak of crimson burst into view as the car swept onto the massive final straight.

Jing Hong watched unblinkingly.

The driver held his foot down without a shred of hesitation, ignoring whether the surface was damp or dry. Having committed every line of the previous lap to memory, he adjusted his trajectory, veering away from the center to dodge the worst wet patches.

With a few dozen meters remaining, Jing Hong knew the record was theirs—provided the vehicle held together across the line.

Finally, amid cheers and waving arms from Feichi crew members along the pit wall, the red car crossed the finish line like an arrow. The record was broken!

The driver stepped out of the vehicle, instantly swarmed by the Feichi team. Congratulations, high-fives, and hugs swept across the pit lane.

Since the attempt was officially timed and certified by track officials, final verified results required a brief wait. Feichi’s CEO wrapped an arm around the driver’s shoulders, leading him up toward the VIP suite.

Inside the suite, Jing Hong offered a warm smile and applauded as the CEO and driver entered.

After introductions, Jing Hong stepped forward, shaking the driver’s hand: “Congratulations on setting the new lap record.” He then turned to Feichi’s CEO: “Congratulations.”

The CEO laughed heartily: “Well, Fanhai invested a fortune into us after all!”

The driver began recounting the run. Though Brazilian, his English was fluent and animated as he described encountering unexpected track conditions and adjusting strategy on the fly. Unfamiliar with granular telemetry, Jing Hong listened quietly, enjoying the insight.

A few Feichi employees began preparing a spontaneous celebration, bringing out champagne, glassware, and party poppers.

After an extended wait, the Feichi staff member posted at the official technical booth finally called.

Silence fell across the room. One employee picked up a popper while another grabbed a bottle of champagne, shaking it vigorously.

The CEO held the phone to his ear, scanning the room before letting out a broad smile and nodding to the crowd.

Recognizing the gesture as official certification, the team exploded into cheers before he even hung up. Confetti popped and champagne sprayed across the suite, catching everyone—including Jing Hong. Maintaining his composure, Jing Hong shielded his face with a hand, amused by the contagious enthusiasm around him.

Ending the call, the CEO announced with a grin: “Final lap time is 6 minutes 37 seconds—6 seconds faster than the previous record!”

He added, “The independent adjudicator just issued a multi-page certification document confirming the vehicle complied fully with production standards and validating the lap time.”

A young Feichi employee asked in surprise, “A multi-page document… drafted that fast?”

The CEO chuckled: “They use standard templates.”

“Ah…”

“Anyway,” the CEO regained his train of thought, “the circuit authorities will update the official leaderboards on their site shortly and upload the certificate.”

Jing Hong nodded: “Great. Let me know once it’s live.”

“Will do.” The CEO tapped his phone screen, then looked up at Jing Hong: “Mr. Jing, would you like to see the full first-person onboard camera footage from the final lap?”

“Onboard POV?” Jing Hong’s interest was piqued. “Sure.” He hadn’t seen it yet.

The CEO handed his phone over, and Jing Hong tapped play.

From the first-person perspective, the track felt entirely different. Jing Hong watched the road rush forward, trees blur past, and the driver’s hands repeatedly adjust aerodynamic settings on the steering wheel.

Straights… apexes… another straight… another sweeping turn…

Though the clip ran for 6 minutes and 37 seconds, Jing Hong remained mesmerized throughout.

When it concluded, Jing Hong asked, “Can you forward this video to me?”

“Of course,” the CEO replied while clipping the video file. “The file size is quite large, so it might take a moment to transfer. We’ll also post it on Feichi’s official website and video platforms later today, so you can watch it there as well.”

“No problem,” Jing Hong said. “Go ahead and send it over now, please.”

“Not a problem at all,” the CEO reassured quickly. “Sending a video takes no effort.”

As the group chatted a bit longer, the CEO held up his phone: “Mr. Jing, the video has been sent.”

“Let me check.” Jing Hong pulled out his phone, confirmed receipt, and casually forwarded the clip to a specific ID.

The CEO smiled, asking, “Sending it to Mr. Zhao?”

“…Not Mr. Zhao,” Jing Hong paused briefly, his voice calm and composed. “Sending it to Mr. Zhou.”

In truth, Zhao Hanqing had entirely slipped his mind.

He simply felt Zhou Chang should know—Zhou Chang was an indirect investor in Feichi Auto, making them co-investors in this venture. Zhou Chang had gone to great lengths to secure a stake in Feichi, underscoring its strategic importance to him. Moreover, Zhou Chang had paid close attention to Fanhai’s stock price and had extended a key hand during the recent ecosystem integration.

The CEO looked completely bewildered: “Mr. Zhou…? Which Mr. Zhou? Is there a ‘Mr. Zhou’ at Fanhai?”

“Zhou Chang,” Jing Hong replied, checking the transfer bar with effortless poise. “An indirect investor in Feichi. He owns Taintong Securities, which holds a stake in Feichi Auto. I just notified him that Feichi broke the circuit’s lap record.”

Silence fell over the room.

Jing Hong looked up to find the staff staring back at him in stunned silence.

The same thought crossed everyone’s mind: Zhou Chang? Jing Hong is texting Zhou Chang? Rumor had it the two titans were at each other’s throats daily.

Jing Hong slipped his phone into his pocket, glancing at them calmly: “We exchange messages occasionally. Fanhai and Qinghui share joint investments; in certain areas, our interests align. It’s not as extreme as public rumors suggest. Besides, both companies opened up their ecosystems to each other just a few days ago, didn’t they?”

“Ah… right…”

Just then, Jing Hong’s driver called to signal that the car was waiting downstairs.

Offering final congratulations to the Feichi team, Jing Hong finished a last glass of champagne. The CEO and senior managers escorted him downstairs, and Jing Hong slid into the rear seat as the sedan glided smoothly out of the facility.

Shortly after clearing the circuit gates, Jing Hong’s phone chimed with a reply from Zhou Chang. Unlocking the screen, he saw a message of congratulations: [Congratulations. Did you know in advance that Feichi Auto would break the record today, Mr. Jing? Is that why you weren’t overly concerned about Fanhai’s stock price earlier?]

Jing Hong smiled silently, typing back: [The odds were high.]

A few seconds later, Jing Hong asked: [Did you watch the onboard POV video?]

Zhou Chang replied: [Yeah.]

Opting out of typing, Jing Hong held the phone to his mouth, speaking in a relaxed, casual tone: “I haven’t seen much first-person track footage before. The sense of speed is incredible.”

Zhou Chang sent back a voice note: “How about I take you for a speed run sometime, then? I have a Kawasaki H2 here.”

Recalling vaguely that the Kawasaki H2 was a motorcycle, Jing Hong did a quick search and confirmed it was a superbike capable of exceeding 400 km/h. Surprised, he asked: “You can ride one of those?”

“I can,” Zhou Chang replied casually. “Back when I was in the US, I chased thrills—riding sportbikes and doing outdoor rock climbing. When I was younger, I even tried free solo climbing a few times.”

Free soloing naturally required having climbed a route dozens of times prior with full success, alongside confirming that morning that the rock face was dry and free of moss. The first time he attempted free soloing, his heart pounded wildly; he had to maintain complete mental composure, executing his plan step by step while trusting his training. He had tried it a few times during his undergraduate years, and though he couldn’t compare to hardcore enthusiasts, he had tasted that peak adrenaline rush firsthand.

“…” Jing Hong thought to himself that Zhou Chang possessed a surprisingly wild edge—seeking height, speed, and extreme thrill.

“I don’t do those things anymore, though,” Zhou Chang added softly. “I’ve found something far more thrilling.”

Jing Hong asked: “What’s that?”

Zhou Chang’s voice carried a suppressed chuckle: “Competing with you, Mr. Jing.”

Jing Hong let out an immediate scoff.

On the other end, Zhou Chang continued: “Of course, what I want even more now is to contend with you by day while holding you by night. Calculating, maneuvering, and scheming during working hours; then embracing, kissing, tangling together, and lacing fingers when the sun goes down.”

“…” Wearing his Bluetooth earpiece, Jing Hong felt a surge of warmth. He rolled down the rear window, letting the early March breeze—tinged with the scent of fresh soil from the lush German woods along the roadside—brush against his face. Bypassing Zhou Chang’s suggestive remarks directly, he said, “Giving up sportbikes and free soloing is a smart choice. Pursuing raw thrills without caution can cost a life.”

Catching the underlying meaning, Zhou Chang replied immediately: “Though I only make moves when I’m fully confident, the moment I draw the bow… I’m naturally prepared for absolute ruin.”

Jing Hong’s heart skipped a beat.

Prepared for absolute ruin.

“For instance, right now,” Zhou Chang added softly, “I know exactly how dangerous this is.” A single misstep could cost him his CEO seat.

“…” That was precisely Jing Hong’s underlying concern.

It dawned on him that Zhou Chang had actually factored in the worst-case scenario—ready to step down voluntarily if their dynamic compromised Qinghui Group.

In truth, Jing Hong was reasonably confident their private relationship wouldn’t be exposed. Short of hidden cameras, even if someone spotted them entering the same building, no one would leap to romantic conclusions. Under corporate regulations, short of marriage or cohabitation, private relationships did not require formal disclosure.

Yet what if internal discipline faltered? What if their relationship ended up impacting Fanhai? Could he still occupy the CEO chair with a clear conscience?

Across the line, Zhou Chang spoke again: “Yet precisely because of that risk, the moment you reach the destination, you realize you’ve experienced the ultimate high of life—an absolute experience out of reach for anyone else.”

Jing Hong understood Zhou Chang’s perspective entirely.

One side volatile and hazardous; the other intoxicating and wild.

Taking a slow breath, Jing Hong noted calmly: “You truly thrive on risk, Mr. Zhou. Quite a gambler.”

The line fell quiet for a moment. Hearing subtle background sounds, Jing Hong assumed Zhou Chang had been driving, but Zhou Chang suddenly pulled his car over to the shoulder. The line turned completely quiet before Zhou Chang’s voice came through again: “It’s different.”

“…Hmm?”

Zhou Chang’s tone was low yet unmistakable: “I passed the age of chasing pure adrenaline long ago. I know restraint, I understand my responsibilities, and I account for family, friends, shareholders, and employees… I haven’t touched dangerous hobbies in ten years. Across this entire decade, this is the sole exception. Not just because of the thrill, but because of something far deeper—because it’s you. The reward is grand enough.”

Jing Hong: “…”

“Young Mr. Jing,” Zhou Chang repeated steadily, “I want you to know—on my end, I am fully prepared for absolute ruin.”

Jing Hong gazed out the window in prolonged silence before finally offering a quiet acknowledgment: “…I see.”

After a pause, Jing Hong steered the conversation back to Feichi Auto: “The circuit authority will update the official rankings and post the certificate online shortly. On this track, Feichi reigns supreme.”

Zhou Chang agreed: “Good.”

Jing Hong’s tone lightened slightly: “Once the markets open tomorrow, Fanhai’s stock price should catch a solid boost from this news. We can breathe a bit easier.” While Feichi was not yet publicly traded, Fanhai’s stock stood to gain significantly as its backer—especially since short sellers had cited “lack of technical edge” as a primary thesis.

Zhou Chang replied: “Indeed.”

Jing Hong let out a quiet sigh of relief: “Other than ‘indeed,’ nothing else to add?”

Zhou Chang’s car remained parked, the line completely still. His distinct voice traveled softly through the receiver: “Nothing else. You’ve carried a heavy load—I just want to give you a hug.”

“…” Unprepared for the sudden warmth, Jing Hong felt the car interior grow strangely warm. Holding his phone in one hand, he extended the other out the window, catching the cool early spring breeze.

The following day, major news outlets published headlines on Feichi Auto:

[Feichi Breaks Production EV Lap Record, Crowned King of the Track in Germany!]

“Under official timing, Feichi Auto’s newest model, the Feichi S1, claimed supreme honors on the renowned circuit! Across the grueling 20-kilometer track, the Feichi S1 set a blistering single-lap time of 6 minutes 37 seconds, shattering the previous production EV record held by Mercedes for 18 months by a full 6 seconds. This marks the first time a Chinese domestic automaker has claimed the absolute fastest lap crown.”

Just as Jing Hong anticipated, Fanhai Group’s stock surged upon the announcement. Since Feichi remained unlisted, investors seeking exposure to the automaker turned directly to Fanhai.

The short sellers’ previous narrative—arguing that “Fanhai lacks technological advantages over foreign rivals in emerging tech domains like AI and cloud computing, leaving these sectors vulnerable to international dominance”—instantly lost its standing.

After all, new-energy vehicles represented a high-barrier, tech-and-manufacturing hybrid domain.

The short sellers had not anticipated that Fanhai’s counteroffensive would continue even after the ecosystem integration and Feichi’s track record.

Barely a week later, MindMedicine—Fanhai’s AI drug discovery platform launched the previous year—gained major medical spotlight.

A novel drug co-developed by MindMedicine and a leading US pharmaceutical giant announced Phase I, Stage 2 clinical trial results. The outcomes were exceptionally promising, showing minimal adverse reactions alongside a significant extension in progression-free survival for the targeted condition. Both companies jointly announced that Phase II clinical trials would officially launch in September. Furthermore, the press release noted that three other candidate drugs powered by MindMedicine were undergoing Phase I trials.

MindMedicine became only the second AI drug discovery entity globally to advance a pipeline into Phase II trials, matching the international state of the art.

While moving a drug candidate into Phase II carries inherent elements of luck—as many theoretically sound compounds fail in practical trials—reaching Phase II demonstrated the core strength of MindMedicine’s underlying technology.

Industry commentators noted that if MindMedicine’s lead drug successfully traversed Phase II while competing trials stumbled, the platform could position itself for major prestigious medical accolades.

MindMedicine originated as an AI tool acquired by Swedish firm Med-Ferry, headquartered in Massachusetts. When Qinghui Group fully acquired Med-Ferry, Qinghui unexpectedly ceded the AI drug discovery unit to Fanhai Group.

Fanhai’s Hong Xu subsequently refined the platform’s architecture. As a leading luminary in artificial intelligence, Hong Xu’s contributions elevated MindMedicine’s algorithmic performance to new heights.

To date, MindMedicine had partnered with numerous pharmaceutical firms across the US, UK, and China. Among active projects leveraging MindMedicine, three had entered Phase I clinical trials, with one poised to enter Phase II.

Once again, assertions that “Fanhai lacks technological advantages over foreign rivals in emerging tech domains like AI and cloud computing” crumbled entirely.

Fanhai’s stock price rebounded strongly, returning fully to pre-shorting levels.