Chapter Fifty-Four: You Can Only Blame Yourselves for Not Betting on My Victory

The young European seemed to be mostly unharmed, but Thomas’s condition was far more worrying. At this moment, his body was limp and lifeless, as if all vitality had left him.

“Could this really turn into a fatal accident?” Mo Shu scrambled up onto the race car for a better view, his heart weighed down by a tinge of guilt.

There was no need to say more; with the car shattered to pieces, Thomas’s defeat was certain.

Yet, for many present, the most captivating aspect of this interactive event was not the crash itself, but rather the young driver from the distant East—Mo Shu.

The gasps and cries heard before Thomas’s accident had in fact originated from the spectators with the best vantage points, who were able to witness the breathtaking speed at which Mo Shu’s car hurtled past—something Thomas himself, from his limited perspective, could not see.

It was only natural that the average onlooker would focus on the astonishing speed. However, other racing teams, ERC officials, and those like Sister Wang who had been in close contact with Mo Shu, all sensed that beyond his extraordinary pace, Mo Shu might possess yet another hidden talent known to none.

Sister Wang’s second experience as co-driver was nothing short of admirable. Throughout the entire race, she refrained from so much as a single scream, instead holding her breath and enduring the churning of her insides.

But, being shrewd by nature, Sister Wang soon realized, not long after the start, that Mo Shu, having inspected the track beforehand, seemed to have no need for any guidance from his co-driver. Her presence beside him felt entirely superfluous, though she could not bring herself to say so.

Was it possible that this young man not only drove brilliantly but possessed an exceptional memory, able to recall every corner and twist after a single run?

Sister Wang was not mistaken in her surmise. The experts, too, had already observed that Mo Shu required barely any input from his co-driver. Of course, a competent co-driver would ease his task considerably, but on a track only two kilometers long, playing both roles was hardly a challenge for him.

At first, the audience’s attention was entirely absorbed by Thomas’s crash. Only after the commotion had settled did they remember to check on Mo Shu’s performance—only to discover that he had already crossed the finish line.

Naive Thomas, who had knocked down three saplings in an attempt to block Mo Shu, never realized that Mo Shu had passed that checkpoint ahead of him, leaving Thomas to waste precious time waiting, which only gave Mo Shu more opportunity to set up his “snow mountain” trap further ahead.

Now, aside from the die-hard fans of the “Divine’s Disciples” team, the rest of the crowd who had bet on Thomas were left wringing their hands in regret.

“What a loss! If only I’d put my money on that kid!”

“My hundred euros, gone!”

“Damn it, when did that guy—what’s his name, Shu—reach the finish line? I didn’t even notice!”

“Look, look! He’s standing on his car roof, looking all smug! It’s infuriating!”

“If I’d known, I’d never have bet on Thomas. I lost nine thousand eight hundred!”

A chorus of wails swept through the stands. Before the race, the officials had announced odds of ten to one between the two drivers. With ninety percent of the audience betting on Thomas, the bookmakers were set to profit handsomely.

The ambulance rushed in, while firefighters and security formed a tight cordon around the scene. It took great effort for the medical staff to lift Thomas onto a stretcher. After oxygen and an IV drip, he finally opened his eyes.

Shame overwhelmed him.

For a runner-up in the ERC to be toyed with by a young man from the East before the season had even begun—it was almost unbearable. He could scarcely imagine meeting Mo Shu in an official match, fearing his legs might turn to jelly and his hands begin to tremble.

Recalling his condescension and attempts to suppress Mo Shu before the event, Thomas felt as though his face had been ground into the dirt. Thankfully, there had been no live broadcast today; otherwise, with the ERC’s international reach, his humiliation would have been seen the world over.

Thank heavens—just an interactive event! From now on, he would keep a close eye on this Mo Shu.

And that team—the Divine Team!

Not to mention his three other teammates, two of whom were women!

Thomas had always looked down on female drivers, but this experience taught him a lesson. Now, even the older woman from the East seemed shrouded in mystery to him.

“Mo! Come down here and let your big sister give you a hug!” Sister Wang, having confirmed their victory with the officials several times over, was now standing outside the car, waving excitedly and calling for Mo Shu. The exhilaration was overwhelming; she felt she might fall in love with racing itself.

“Good, so that guy’s alright.” Relieved, Mo Shu prepared to leap down from the roof, but Sister Wang’s invitation to a hug made him hesitate.

“What are you standing there for? Come down!” Unable to contain her urge for a hug, Sister Wang called out impatiently.

Where was her son? Someone needed to take his mother away—couldn’t he see the traces of vomit still clinging to her chest? A hug was the last thing Mo Shu wanted. He clung to the roof, refusing to come down.

“You! Now that you’ve won, you’re turning your back on your teammate? We’re teammates, after all!” Sister Wang fumed.

Teammates? What help had she offered? She’d simply been a passenger, nothing more! And now she was using their “teammate” relationship to coerce him. Mo Shu could only smile wryly, shaking his head in refusal.

“Refusing to come down, are you? Well, I won’t bother hugging you then. You should know, back in the day, I was one of the Four Flowers of our town—a hug from me is an honor!” With a huff, Sister Wang pretended to leave in anger.

“Whew, sorry, Sister Wang—I do have a girlfriend, you know,” Mo Shu exhaled in relief.

“Haha! Looks like you’re about to become a housewives’ heartthrob!” Wang Yining and the others crowded forward, teasing him with sideways glances as soon as he hopped down.

“Don’t joke about that. Sister Wang nearly scared me to death.” Mo Shu wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

“Sister Wang! Mo’s come down for your hug!” Wang Yu called out, feigning excitement as he pointed behind Mo Shu.

Not realizing he was being pranked, Mo Shu bolted, only to blunder headfirst into something soft.

“Sister Wang…” Mo Shu looked up, his voice trembling. He hadn’t expected even the flesh on her back to be so thick—he’d thought...

Best not to dwell on it.

“Come here! I knew you wouldn’t really turn your back on your big sister. We’re nearly twenty years apart—what’s there to be embarrassed about?” With that, Sister Wang enveloped him in a bear hug.

“I have high hopes for you, Mo! You really did all of us back in China proud!”

“Uh… thanks, Sister Wang.”

Indeed, the age gap between them was vast—two different generations, really—so Wang Yining felt no jealousy at all.

Mo Shu’s expression was one of utter resignation, which only made the others laugh all the more.

Within that laughter was both the light-hearted teasing of friends and a deep, heartfelt joy and well-wishes.

Today, many had come to know the Divine Team from China. Though they’d lost Zhang Aimin as their captain, it seemed to have little effect on Mo Shu and his companions, who now joined hands to begin writing their own “miraculous journey” in the world of Chinese motorsports.