Chapter Fifty-One: Sister Wang, Oh Sister Wang

The eldest sister seemed a bit embarrassed, a bit bashful, and more than a little awkward—mainly because she had never paid any attention to racing and had no idea who this beloved Mo Shu was.

"Little Mo, just call me Sister Wang. Please bear with me later," Sister Wang, though already of an age, blushed adorably.

"Uh... Sister Wang... I’m not Mo Shu… That’s him over there…" Geng Hua explained helplessly, though inwardly he was secretly pleased. There was no helping it—good looks always drew attention.

"Oh, sorry, sorry! My mistake," Sister Wang’s cheeks grew even redder as she shuffled over to the now exasperated Mo Shu.

"Sister Wang, it doesn’t matter if you know me or not. How’s your luck usually? Could you do us the honor of drawing lots for the track in a moment?" Mo Shu asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

"No problem at all! My luck is the best—whenever I buy lottery tickets, I often win five or ten bucks. Don’t worry, Little Mo!" Sister Wang declared with utter confidence.

However, Mo Shu forgot to ask whether Sister Wang usually won five bucks from a single ticket or five from ten tickets. At this point, it no longer mattered—Sister Wang was already beaming, ready to draw lots, and whatever happened now was left to fate!

Standing behind her, Mo Shu silently willed his luck.

"Asphalt! Asphalt! Asphalt!"

"If not, gravel will do—gravel will do!"

Sister Wang was about to begin. She turned to Mo Shu with a thumbs-up, then plunged her chubby little hand into the lot box shaped like a race car, stirred it around, and then suddenly drew a card.

She examined it closely, as did the ERC official beside her. After a moment, he began explaining and gesturing to Sister Wang, who nodded repeatedly, satisfaction spreading across her face. At the end, she pumped her fists in delight—it was clearly to her liking.

Mo Shu breathed a sigh of relief. Heaven was still smiling upon him—judging by Sister Wang’s excitement, it had to be either asphalt or gravel. He felt confident he could easily defeat Thomas.

The ERC official handed the card to a technician, who began deftly tapping away at his keyboard, arranging the match-ups for each team.

The big screen in the venue began to display the line-ups one by one.

"Ron Thomas, Munich Light Super Team,
Race car: ERC official standard model for the event,
Lot result: Asphalt surface."

What? Thomas got the asphalt track? Mo Shu was startled. From Sister Wang’s joy, he’d assumed the asphalt was his. Now the advantage had shifted entirely to his rival.

Still, gravel was acceptable, and the distance was shorter anyway. Mo Shu consoled himself.

"Mo Shu, Divinity Team,
Race car: ERC official standard model for the event,
Lot result: Ice and snow surface."

What? Surely this was an ERC mistake!

Why was Sister Wang so elated with an ice and snow track?

With Sister Wang as co-driver and standardized vehicles, how was he, Mo Shu, supposed to stand a chance?

A low murmur ran through the audience as everyone saw the snow track.

On the side, Geng Hua added with a sly grin, "Good luck…"

Mo Shu shot him a fierce glare. If not for the crowd—and Sister Wang’s son being present—he would have glared at Sister Wang a while longer. This was just too much!

"Sister Wang, why were you so happy to draw the ice and snow track? You got my hopes up for nothing," Mo Shu was on the verge of tears.

"What’s wrong with the ice and snow track? Little Mo, let me tell you, I’m from the north. Moved south after growing up, been here over twenty years now, but I still miss the snow and ice back home!" Sister Wang, in her excitement, even slipped into her hometown dialect.

"Alright, but you don’t know how challenging an ice and snow track is," Mo Shu sighed.

"Don’t worry, Little Mo, don’t be discouraged. Look at your big sister’s weight—I’ll keep the car stable for you!" Sister Wang patted her belly, trying to reassure him.

"……"

As Mo Shu was silently lamenting his fate, the ERC officials made another announcement.

"The race will soon enter the reconnaissance stage. Fans in the stands, now is your chance to place your bets!"

Betting too? Was that even legal?

Mo Shu’s concern was unnecessary—European sports betting is not only legal but highly developed, and the ERC naturally had partnerships with betting companies.

"Ron Thomas, odds 1:1.63 vs. Mo Shu, odds 1:5.99."

"What does that mean?" Sister Wang was puzzled.

"And you call yourself a lottery enthusiast," Mo Shu regretted ever letting Sister Wang draw the lot. "It means, if you bet 100 units on Thomas and he wins, you get back 163."

"What if I bet on you?"

"If I win, you get back 599."

"Wow, that much?" Sister Wang exclaimed. "So the officials think your chances are pretty slim?"

Sister Wang was quick to pick up on the blow to his pride. Mo Shu could only nod helplessly.

He knew well enough—winning the GTCC didn’t guarantee a foothold on the international stage, much less as a young driver just stepping into rally racing with no accolades yet. Naturally, his odds were much higher than Thomas, a five-time runner-up.

"One hundred on Ron Thomas."

"Five hundred on Thomas."

"Come on, I’ll put a thousand—yes, on… Thomas!"

"Nine thousand eight hundred—put it all on Thomas!"

Even for such a small segment, someone was willing to put up 9,800 euros on Thomas. The trust foreign fans placed in their own drivers was evident.

At the betting windows, Thomas’s name was on everyone’s lips—mostly Westerners, but even a few Eastern faces were betting on Thomas. Everyone knew: better to earn a little than lose it all.

Only the "Divinity’s Disciples"—Mo Shu’s fans—almost all bet on him to win. They’d all witnessed his glorious moments dominating the domestic scene and had absolute confidence. Even the few who hesitated were soon persuaded by the group to bet on Mo Shu.

Soon the betting company announced the results: a ratio of ten bets on Thomas for every one on Mo Shu.

Considering nearly a thousand "Divinity’s Disciples" in attendance all bet on Mo Shu, that meant at least another ten thousand people had bet on Thomas—a jaw-dropping gap!

At least team members were barred from betting—otherwise, the ratio might have been even more lopsided. The Divinity Team members snorted in disgruntled defiance.

"Little Mo, Sister Wang supports you. I had my son put five hundred on you to win!" Sister Wang, seeing the results, felt a pang of sympathy for Mo Shu.

"It’s alright, Sister. I’ll do my best to turn your five hundred into three thousand!" Mo Shu smiled calmly.

"Uh… I believe in you," she replied, though Mo Shu could tell her confidence was shaky.

After all, at the current exchange rate, five hundred euros was nearly four thousand yuan—almost a month’s salary for Sister Wang back in China. Of course she was a little anxious.

Mo Shu secretly promised himself: I have to help Sister Wang turn her four thousand into twenty-four thousand—just watch!

"Let’s go do reconnaissance. Do you know what that is?" Mo Shu asked as he walked toward the car with Sister Wang.

"Checking the road? Of course you need to check the road before driving…," Sister Wang replied, feigning ignorance. Wasn’t that obvious? How else were you supposed to drive—blindly? Was this Little Mo really up to the task?