Chapter Nineteen: The Methods of the Black Mirror

When it came to driving techniques, if Mo Shu hadn’t been hindered by the lack of grip in the stock car, he would never have resorted to drifting on asphalt in the first place. As for racing lines, however, Mo Shu knew he should be learning from Black Mirror’s skills instead.

Without the system’s enhancements, Mo Shu’s own track awareness and muscle memory would likely fall short of his rivals, especially compared to Black Mirror, who already held two championship titles and stood at the pinnacle of the sport.

But what exactly was Black Mirror up to now? Mo Shu sat in the cockpit, turning the question over and over in his mind. The methods the system provided were essentially unsolvable, almost defying the very laws of physics—something no ordinary person could ever master. Even professional drivers like Black Mirror or Geng Hua could only imitate the barest surface of those techniques.

“Forget about that blond pervert!”

Mo Shu forced his attention back to the track. Pole position was his true objective.

Today, all ten teams had likely tuned their cars to peak condition, and most had probably fitted the ultra-soft tires, hoping to achieve their fastest lap times. In the race itself, softer tires meant more pit stops and more time lost, making pit strategy increasingly complex. But in qualifying, strategy was irrelevant; only the fastest single lap mattered, so the engineers would pull out all the stops to maximize speed.

Ultra-softs were a new compound, far faster than the now-popular super-softs, but their wear rate was also the highest. That’s why, on the international stage, the widespread adoption of ultra-softs hadn’t happened yet; only certain low-wear circuits allowed them, and only with official approval.

The GTCC, however, had taken a progressive stance. From the first race of the new season, the use of ultra-softs was fully permitted. As long as teams could afford the tires, the organizers even encouraged them to try new things.

Speed is the heart of circuit racing. Without innovation and fierce competition, the sport loses its meaning.

For a small, newly joined team like Stellar, lacking major sponsorships, to provide its driver with top-tier equipment in their debut race spoke volumes of their boss Zhang Aimin’s boldness and vision.

Mo Shu did his utmost not to squander Zhang’s efforts. To motivate himself, he treated every race as if it might be his last. Once on the track, he gave everything he had.

“Mo Shu! You’re 2.875 seconds faster than Black Mirror at the first two timing sectors!” Wang Yu watched the screens intently, communicating with Mo Shu.

Black Mirror trailing by so much? Most people would be shocked; even Mo Shu, sitting in the cockpit, found it hard to believe.

Was his rival sick? Distracted by emotional troubles? Criticized by his boss? Was this really the true level of Zhao Yibin, known as “Black Mirror,” two-time GTCC champion and the undisputed king of racing in China?

The timed lap was nearly over; only one corner remained before the finish. If Mo Shu maintained his 2.8-second advantage over Black Mirror, no one else would likely surpass his time. Pole position was well within reach.

Mo Shu entered the final bend with his usual sharp precision. The corner wasn’t particularly tight—no need for heavy braking or fearing a loss of control.

But then, in his rearview mirror, a fiery red blur flashed by.

“Black Mirror’s trying to overtake? In qualifying?” Mo Shu was bewildered—he knew there had to be more to this.

In qualifying, drivers don’t start at the same time; for Black Mirror to be tailing him so closely was highly irregular. Attempting an overtake in the corner—such a dangerous move—was completely unnecessary.

Yet Black Mirror defied convention, giving Mo Shu almost no time to react. As both cars approached the exit, Black Mirror surged up the inside, instantly pulling half a car length ahead.

Mo Shu had no desire to risk a collision in qualifying. Even if Black Mirror passed him, it wouldn’t mean a faster lap time.

But to his utter shock, within half a second of being passed, Mo Shu’s car was suddenly lifted from the right by a mysterious force—the two right wheels left the ground by more than a meter, and the car teetered on its left wheels like a stunt show.

The system hadn’t given him any skills for stunt driving; Mo Shu was completely at a loss, powerless to save himself.

His car wobbled forward for dozens of meters before finally tipping over with a thunderous crash. Thankfully, it still slid across the line as it toppled.

“Mo Shu!!!”

Wang Yining, Wang Yu, and Zhang Aimin cried out in unison.

In the next instant, flames erupted from beneath Mo Shu’s car. The race was immediately halted; red lights flashed around the circuit, and rescue teams—fire, medical, and emergency crews—rushed onto the track.

The grandstands fell utterly silent; every eye was fixed on Mo Shu, anxiety written on every face.

The fire was swiftly extinguished, but Mo Shu’s rescue did not go smoothly. Blood ran down his forehead, and the thick smoke from the fire had nearly rendered him unconscious.

It took more than eight minutes before Mo Shu was finally lifted from the track on a stretcher. The medical team began their assessments with tense urgency.

With fresh air at last, Mo Shu felt much better. Even as the white-coated doctors lifted his eyelids and asked him to count their fingers, the familiar, enigmatic smile returned to his weary face.

“Sorry to trouble you all. I don’t feel too bad...”

“No, we have to bandage that head wound at the very least!” one doctor insisted sternly.

“Um… Did you use alcohol? That stings!” Mo Shu grimaced, a sign his head injury might not be minor.

“Why isn’t he out yet? Could it be serious?” Wang Yu’s eyes were red with worry.

“Don’t say that… He’ll be fine!” Wang Yining’s eyes were redder still.

No one from the Stellar team could reach Mo Shu yet; they paced anxiously on the other side of the enclosure.

“Look—he’s standing up!” someone shouted.

Mo Shu, swaying slightly, stood up on the side of the track. A doctor tried to support him, but Mo Shu waved him off with a smile. Though his head was wrapped in fresh white gauze, he looked otherwise unscathed.

He waved toward Wang Yining, gesturing that he’d take the long way around.

Wang Yining, nodding furiously, grabbed Wang Yu in a fit of joy and began to cheer.

A thunderous applause erupted from the stands; everyone who had worried now felt a surge of relief.

As Mo Shu walked back to the pits, he waved to the crowd. Wang Yining and Wang Yu rushed out to embrace him, heedless of the restarting race.

“Are you okay? You scared us half to death!”

“Hey, relax!” Mo Shu had recovered his spirits, glancing around and joking, “Where’s Uncle Zhang? I go through all this and he doesn’t even come comfort me… Boo hoo…”

“Haha, Uncle Zhang is furious—he’s gone to file a complaint with the race officials.”