F1: The Speed Legend

Vroom— VROOM-VROOM-VROOM—

The boiling, turbulent heatwave spread relentlessly, making the entire world feel like it was violently shaking. Flashpoint after flashpoint, trending topic after trending topic stacked upon each other, finally detonating amidst the grand, magnificent scale of the Fan Festival. The resulting explosion generated an unbelievable impact; the sheer volume of social media traffic discussing motorsport genuinely eclipsed even the dramatic season finale at Yas Marina.

Without a doubt, it was an incredibly successful event. A success that far exceeded their wildest imaginations.

But if it stopped there, the Fan Festival would be nothing more than a localized, one-off promotional stunt. The massive hype would sustain itself for a few days, perhaps lasting until the end of the race weekend. Afterward, it would inevitably be forgotten, buried beneath the endless avalanche of whatever new trending topics dominated social media next week. The fundamental, long-term challenge of attracting a broader, mainstream audience to motorsport would remain unsolved.

The true, critical importance of this event lay precisely in the fact that it was more than just a Fan Festival.

The ultimate significance wasn’t celebrating F1’s 1,000th Grand Prix. It wasn’t even the fact that Kai was aggressively dominating Weibo timelines and triggering massive traffic spikes, or that his follower count was experiencing exponential, geometric growth. The true significance was forcing the other teams, and more importantly, a vast array of massive corporate sponsors, to physically witness this explosive wave of traffic, forcing them to re-evaluate and truly feel the terrifying, untapped power of the Chinese market.

Setting aside Japan and Singapore, this specific region—undeniably the market with the greatest raw potential on the entire planet—was finally showing genuine signs of life. It was demonstrating infinite possibilities for continuous, aggressive expansion and sustained commercial exploitation.

Over the past two decades, F1 had been desperately trying to crack open the Asian market. Countries like Malaysia and South Korea had previously hosted Grands Prix. Unfortunately, those continuous, often painful explorations had consistently failed to reach the anticipated heights. Consequently, when massive North American capital aggressively entered the fray, F1’s primary strategic focus had naturally, inevitably shifted westward. Coupled with the massive, undeniable success of Netflix’s Drive to Survive this year, the sheer, staggering potential of exploiting the North American market had become blindingly obvious.

Barring any unforeseen miracles, F1 was absolutely guaranteed to prioritize its expansion into the North American market.

But now, the narrative had subtly shifted. A single Fan Festival had forced everyone to realize that perhaps the perfect moment to violently crack open the Chinese market had finally, genuinely arrived.

Red Bull was absolutely ecstatic—

Although it was profoundly regrettable that they had failed to recruit Kai, the Thai faction of Red Bull ownership stepping in at the eleventh hour had managed to preserve a tiny, crucial spark.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Promoting Alexander Albon had proven to be a spectacularly timely, brilliant chess move.

As the new season opened, Albon carried an unbelievable, crushing weight of pressure on his shoulders. Everyone inevitably compared him directly to Kai. The level of intense scrutiny he faced was beyond imagination. While Lando Norris and George Russell certainly hadn’t escaped the media glare, Albon’s shared Asian heritage meant he was subjected to an entirely different, vastly more intense dimension of attention.

Naturally, the internal political pressure within Red Bull began to mount fiercely as well.

However, moving forward, Albon could likely breathe a small sigh of relief. Because the perceived commercial value of the Asian market was currently skyrocketing, the internal factions at Red Bull would likely be far more willing to grant him additional time and space to develop. The ball was now entirely in Albon’s court; it was up to him to seize this golden opportunity and accelerate his growth.

Clearly, Red Bull wasn’t the only team making these calculations.

Because of this specific underlying dynamic, the true meaning and immense value of the Fan Festival’s success went far beyond its superficial spectacle. The collective gaze of the entire paddock snapped toward Shanghai—

During a press conference, Zak Brown had half-jokingly complained, noting that the official F1 organization hadn’t even bothered to ask the other teams if they wanted to participate in the Fan Festival. He insisted McLaren would have been absolutely thrilled to interact closely with the motorsport fans in mainland China, yet the event had somehow mysteriously devolved into an exclusive, dedicated showcase for Ferrari.

Blah, blah, blah. The usual political posturing.

The ruthless, high-stakes warfare occurring at the corporate capital level was largely invisible to ordinary fans, who could only catch glimpses of the tip of the iceberg and ultimately remained blind to the complete picture. But the fans possessed their own, pure methods of experiencing happiness.

Initially, Li Miaomiao and her fellow organizers had been brimming with confidence, firmly believing the 20,000 souvenirs they prepared would be more than sufficient. Wang Lin had even anxiously worried about what they would do if they couldn’t distribute them all and were left with a massive surplus of leftover stock.

The end result? They ended up frantically digging through their own personal stashes, giving away every single item. Not a single T-shirt or bandana was left behind. The 20,000 souvenirs were wiped out completely, leaving absolutely nothing but a massive pile of empty cardboard boxes. Having grunted and sweated to haul the massive load to the venue, they walked away feeling light as a feather, with empty hands.

Furthermore, fans were actively flooding social media, loudly declaring their willingness to pay cold, hard cash for the items—

Compared to Ferrari’s standard, generic official merchandise, the items designed by Kai’s fan club possessed infinitely more unique character and recognizable flair. Plus, they were highly exclusive, limited-edition items created specifically for the Fan Festival.

”Can Kai please release an official merch line? Please? My wallet belongs to you! Take all of it! I’m begging you, please!”

Rumors circulated that some people had immediately turned around and listed the T-shirts and bandanas on Xianyu (a secondhand marketplace), slapping them with an absurd, extortionate price tag of 8,000 RMB!

Other rumors claimed that in the secondary market, people were offering astronomical bounties to purchase the signed baseball cap Kai had thrown into the crowd during the fan interaction segment. The bidding war had reportedly already breached the 30,000 RMB mark!

The moment this news surfaced, regardless of whether it was the opportunistic sellers or the desperate buyers, they were all viciously, mercilessly dragged and cursed out by the broader netizen community. The typically niche, mostly invisible hardcore motorsport fanbase banded together tightly, forming an impenetrable wall. For the very first time in history, they flexed their collective muscle.

Whether it was the T-shirts, the bandanas, or the signed baseball cap, they were all physical manifestations of Kai’s genuine appreciation. He had paid for them out of his own pocket and distributed them entirely for free. It was a heartfelt ’thank you’ and a demonstration of pure sincerity, born from a genuine, earnest hope that motorsport could gain more traction and attention in his homeland. And now, people were slapping a price tag on that sincerity and trying to profit from it?

Did these opportunists truly not comprehend how agonizingly weak the foundational fanbase for racing actually was?

Forget about comparing it to titans like football or basketball; even compared to other niche sports like tennis, motorsport had consistently failed to expand its cultural footprint. They had suffered through a grueling, seemingly endless drought before Kai finally exploded onto the scene. His momentum hadn’t even fully solidified into a permanent trend yet, and there were already vultures eager to disrupt the market and destroy the harmony?

Taking a step back, if Kai found out that his heartfelt gesture was immediately being flipped for profit, how would that make him feel?

And then!

A genuinely rare, remarkable phenomenon occurred. Netizens actually united against a common enemy. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with absolute solidarity, they poured gasoline onto the roaring inferno of online discourse, igniting an even more massive firestorm.

The Fan Festival had concluded, but the ferocious motorsport hurricane it generated was only just beginning. It swept across mainland China with unprecedented, historic force, rapidly expanding its reach.

Buzz-buzz-buzz— Buzz-buzz-buzz—

Standing rooted to the spot, Li Lingyu still felt like the world was spinning wildly around her. The chaotic noise and the deafening roar continued to crash against her eardrums. Her boiling blood simply refused to settle down.

Only now did her feet finally seem to register the crushing weight of gravity. Her calves began to tremble uncontrollably. Her lower back ached terribly, her shoulders were stiff as boards, and a myriad of other physical complaints began to surface. The brutal hangover of having slept practically zero hours the previous night finally crashed down upon her. Although the event had only lasted a few hours, she felt as though every single drop of energy had been violently sucked from her body. She genuinely felt like her internal organs were slowly, gently roasting.

”...Lingyu! The donuts!”

A shout snapped her attention. Li Lingyu jerked her head up and spotted Li Miaomiao in the crowd. Her foggy, sluggish brain finally rebooted.

Yes, the donuts!

Instantly, her spirit was entirely revitalized! Her health bar went from zero to full in a fraction of a second. She hadn’t forgotten: this wasn’t the end; it was merely the prologue. The actual Shanghai Grand Prix weekend hadn’t even officially begun.

Last year, right here, due to the agonizingly sluggish, paralyzingly indecisive reactions of the Ferrari strategy group, Kai’s race plan had been severely compromised. Despite fighting with absolute, total commitment until the very last second, he had crossed the finish line mere millimeters behind Ricciardo, agonizingly forced to settle for second place. It was a profound, bitter regret that he hadn’t managed to claim the ultimate prize at his home race.

This year, the challenges were significantly more severe, and the overarching crisis was infinitely more critical. But Li Lingyu was fully prepared. Last season, she hadn’t been physically present at the circuit to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with Kai. This time, she absolutely would not miss it. Regardless of the final outcome, regardless of how desperate the situation became, she would stand with Kai and fight to the bitter end.

With that thought, all her exhaustion vanished completely.

Li Lingyu straightened her spine and shouted back enthusiastically, ”Coming!”

Breaking into a light jog, she hurried over.

Directly ahead, the thick, black donut marks Kai had burned into the asphalt were clearly visible. A chaotic, winding queue of people waiting to take commemorative photos stretched far down the street. And it wasn’t just one line; scanning the area 360 degrees, there were four or five distinct lines forming. Despite the massive, surging crowd, they were actually managing to maintain a basic level of order.

Everywhere you looked, faces were practically glowing with profound happiness and intense hype. The air continued to burn with electric energy. Everyone was waiting patiently, desperate to capture a permanent memory.

They hadn’t been lucky enough to travel to Yas Marina and take photos with the legendary donuts Kai spun after securing the championship. But they absolutely could take photos with the donuts he spun right here on the streets of Xintiandi in Shanghai!

Who in their right mind would want to miss that?

Just imagining the photo was enough to make Li Lingyu bounce with irrepressible joy. Every single cell in her body was practically screaming. However, looking at the long, chaotic lines ahead of her, it was obvious she was going to be waiting for quite a while. The surging, passionate emotions in her chest felt like they were going to violently tear through their constraints and explode outward. She simply closed her eyes.

Taking a long, incredibly deep breath, the sharp, pungent scent—a chaotic mixture of various burnt chemicals and vaporized rubber—rushed into her lungs. It felt scalding hot. As the hot air brushed against the skin of her arms, dense goosebumps erupted in a frantic rush. In a daze, she felt as though she could clearly hear the low, guttural roar of the SF71H’s engine echoing once more. Her blood, which had only just begun to settle, violently boiled over again.

So, this is what true happiness feels like—

AH! AH!

A gentle breeze carried a rolling wave of heat, tangled with cheers and sharp screams. Li Lingyu’s eyes snapped open. She immediately followed the sound, looking down the street.

In her field of vision, a long street stretched out, but the view was quickly obstructed. Towering, densely packed skyscrapers, the endless flow of pedestrians, and layer upon layer of police barricades blocked her sight. Only the sprawling branches of the London plane trees seemed to stretch out into the distance between the sky and the ground, but even their path was quickly cut off.

Ah... AHHHHHH!

The sounds were faint, intermittent, rising and falling, seemingly burning brightly within the gentle breeze.

Gradually, others began to notice the commotion as well. They couldn’t help but look in that direction, standing on their tiptoes, desperately trying to peer over the obstacles, but ultimately failing to glean any concrete information.

Initially, Li Lingyu assumed the noise was coming from the immediate vicinity. She figured it was just the people who had finished taking their photos, or the crowds slowly dispersing from the venue, unable to contain their overwhelming excitement and continuing to generate a massive, boiling wave of chaotic noise.

But looking around, she realized her assumption was entirely wrong. Those screams were definitely coming from much further away.

So, what exactly was happening out there?

Li Lingyu pulled her gaze back and turned to Li Miaomiao and Su Tong. She had assumed they might know the answer. Was it some kind of special, unannounced activity organized by the fan club?

To her surprise, Li Miaomiao looked back at her with an equally bewildered expression.

She spread her hands in a gesture of pure innocence.

Clearly, Li Miaomiao was completely clueless about the situation developing on the outer perimeter.

The two exchanged a look and burst into laughter.

A short while later, notifications began popping up on the small screens of their phones. The Weibo trending charts were violently boiling over once again. Only then did Li Lingyu and the others finally understand exactly what had transpired outside the exclusion zone.

It was only later that people learned the full story. Lorenzo and Nicholas had been deeply, intimately involved in the entire planning, setup, and execution phases of the Fan Festival. Their absolute priority was ensuring the fans received the best possible experience. Kai attached immense, critical importance to this event, so his management team had absolute, real-time command over the situation on the ground, receiving continuous, live updates.

Consequently, Kai was informed immediately that the turnout for today’s Fan Festival had massively, terrifyingly exceeded all projections. A staggering crowd was still gathered in the outer perimeter zones. These spectators had arrived too late and were entirely unable to access the designated event areas. They hadn’t gotten a single opportunity to see a Formula 1 car with their own eyes, nor had they been able to experience the electric atmosphere inside the venue.

In truth, the vast majority of these spectators were simply following the herd. They were there purely to join the spectacle. Whether they actually managed to see or physically feel the F1 cars was largely irrelevant to them; the primary objective was simply to physically ’check-in’ at the location and prove they were part of the cultural trend.

Despite this reality, Kai remained profoundly, genuinely grateful. Therefore, when he drove away from the venue, he deliberately detoured toward the outer perimeter zones. He slowed his car down to a crawl, slowly navigating the crowded streets, doing everything in his power to personally wave and acknowledge these stranded fans.

It was undeniably tragic that they had missed the opportunity to witness the absolute pinnacle of speed from close range. It was highly likely they were just there for the hype and cared absolutely nothing about motorsport. But now, Kai was expressing his gratitude to them face-to-face. That simple, spontaneous action instantly transformed the entire nature of the event, leaving an indelible, unforgettable memory.

The casual onlookers on the outer perimeter were collectively stunned!

It wasn’t just unexpected; it was a massive, monumental surprise. They had never, in their wildest dreams, anticipated receiving this kind of special, exclusive treatment. A thoroughly mundane, utterly ordinary attempt to ’check-in’ at a trending location was instantly infused with profound value and significance.

On social media, you could vividly, clearly track the eruption of the second massive wave of hype. The initial heatwave generated by the core Fan Festival events had only just begun to recede slightly. And then, instantly, this second shockwave aggressively grabbed that receding traffic and hurled it to entirely new, unprecedented heights. It drew an exponentially larger number of people into the conversation. The energy and fanaticism it generated felt even more manic and unhinged than the reactions from the spectators who had actually made it inside the venue—

Countless netizens were literally green with envy; their stomachs ached from the sheer jealousy!

If they had known this was going to happen, even if they couldn’t get into the inner venue, they would have dropped absolutely everything and rushed to the location regardless. Who could have possibly known there was a secret, VIP-tier bonus encounter waiting outside?

It truly proved the old adage: the meaning of life lies entirely in experiencing it. To engage, to explore, to physically feel.

Witnessing those spectacular moments through the sterile lens of the cloud is ultimately nothing but empty foam. It can never truly integrate into your own personal memory. But physically traveling to the scene is fundamentally different. The audience inside the venue had their unique, electrifying experience, but the audience stuck outside had their own magical, entirely unique story. Both experiences left a permanent mark, and both were absolutely worthy of being remembered forever.

Agonized, heartbroken netizens loudly, bitterly lamented their misfortune. They had missed the first wave of hype. They had missed the second golden opportunity. They absolutely, definitively refused to sit idly by and watch a third opportunity slip through their fingers.

So, the Shanghai Grand Prix?

No, no, no. Before that even started, there was a significantly more urgent, absolutely critical mission to accomplish: Checking in at the Donuts!

For the young people living in the Magic City (Shanghai)—and extending to the entire Jiangsu-Zhejiang-Shanghai region without exception—after clocking out of work on Wednesday, there was one absolutely mandatory life event they had to complete:

Head to the intersection outside Xintiandi and take a photo with the donut marks Kai had burned into the asphalt!

”F1 Fan Festival Roadshow,” ”A Monument to the New Drivers’ World Champion,” ”My First Encounter with F1”... an endless array of trending hashtags exploded outward simultaneously.

And it wasn’t just the local youth. Even tourists visiting Shanghai absolutely refused to miss out on such a unique opportunity.

Overnight, the traffic exploded. Across various social media platforms, photos of people checking in with Kai’s Shanghai street donuts achieved absolute, dominant saturation. In less than twenty-four hours, the trend generated over thirty million views and interactions. It hung stubbornly at the very top of the trending charts for hours on end, displaying a truly terrifying level of cultural influence.

Motorsport had never, ever been this incredibly popular—

And then, the official F1 organization entered the fray. Across all their official social media channels, they proudly posted their own ’donut check-in’ photos, utilizing the hashtag #F1sFirstViralLandmark#. With the official organization formally validating its status as a cultural landmark, it violently shoved the traffic hurricane to an entirely new dimension. Receiving this level of official, mainstream cultural acknowledgment was an absolute, unprecedented first in the history of the sport in China.

With massive, earth-shattering momentum, the heatwave continued to escalate, continuously detonating. The immense traffic flowed naturally and seamlessly toward the impending Grand Prix weekend.

Last year, the Shanghai Grand Prix achieved a massive, historic breakthrough. Kai, entering the paddock as the very first Chinese driver, instantly ignited massive public interest. Spectator attendance shattered all previous historical records, finally revealing the staggering, untapped potential of motorsport within the Chinese market.

This year, they were taking an even more massive step forward. Kai was arriving at the Shanghai Grand Prix for the first time holding the title of Defending Champion. It was entirely predictable that spectator attendance would continue to surge; that was an absolute, undeniable certainty. But absolutely no one had anticipated that the staggering online traffic generated by the Fan Festival would violently aggressively steer the narrative toward an entirely different extreme—

Racing. The Shanghai Grand Prix weekend.

This was rapidly mutating into the defining annual cultural event. Any young person who considered themselves at the forefront of the era, actively chasing the latest trends, absolutely could not afford to miss it.

The immediate problem was this: literally everyone’s WeChat Moments were currently flooded with photos taken at the Shanghai International Circuit. If a resident of the Jiangsu-Zhejiang-Shanghai region didn’t physically show up at the track this weekend, they would instantly become a social pariah, an outcast completely excluded from the cultural zeitgeist. Even casual, post-dinner conversations practically required you to confidently drop a few sentences analyzing the weekend’s race dynamics just to participate.

Taking a photo with the donuts at Xintiandi? That was merely a superficial ’check-in.’ But attending the Shanghai Grand Prix weekend? That meant actively participating in the event and personally witnessing history unfold.

Everyone absolutely had to be a part of it!

Without a doubt, attendance figures for the Shanghai Grand Prix shattered historical records once again this year. But the truly critical detail was: exactly how massive was this surge in traffic?

25%!

Starting from the official media day and fan interaction sessions on Thursday, progressing through Free Practice on Friday, the crowds reached their first massive peak on Saturday for Qualifying. Even before the actual Race officially began on Sunday, the total visitor traffic across the first three days of the Shanghai Grand Prix had already roughly equaled the total attendance for the entire weekend last year!

Another staggering statistic: Sales figures for official Ferrari merchandise skyrocketed by an unbelievable 1500%.

Even though people had mentally prepared themselves for the terrifying power of the hype train, the sheer, unbridled fanaticism of the crowds still managed to catch absolutely everyone completely off guard. A vast, seemingly infinite ocean of humanity flowed endlessly toward the Shanghai International Circuit. Qualifying day at the Shanghai Grand Prix had never been this insanely packed. Scenes that you weren’t even guaranteed to witness on Race Day in previous years were being violently, viscerally experienced on a Saturday.

...

”Ninth, Kai, 1:33.709.”

The engines roared, blistering heatwaves rolled across the track. The entire world was enveloped in a chaotic symphony of deafening noise and scorching temperatures. The massive traffic hurricane triggered by the Fan Festival continued its relentless climb, reaching a manic fever pitch during Saturday’s Qualifying session. The Shanghai Grand Prix was currently experiencing an unprecedented level of fanatical obsession, an entirely new, alien atmosphere.

A flash of Ferrari red tore past the main grandstand. The timing screens updated instantly. A massive swarm of eyes immediately snapped toward the data. Sighs, gasps of shock, and loud exclamations erupted in chaotic waves. People simply couldn’t believe their eyes. A profound, heavy sense of frustration caused some to slump back down into their seats, while simultaneously causing others to shoot up in alarm.

Q1. The very first flying lap.

The rules were incredibly simple, not difficult to understand in the slightest. The top fifteen advance to Q2; the bottom five are eliminated. But being physically present at the circuit, viscerally feeling how microscopic gaps of mere thousandths of a second acted as massive, insurmountable chasms determining victory or defeat... those infinitesimal margins, completely invisible to the naked eye, forced a massive, violent spike in adrenaline—

Absolutely everyone, whether it was Hamilton in the mighty Mercedes-Benz or Russell in the agonizingly slow Williams, was operating under the same brutal reality: the slightest lapse in concentration, the tiniest microscopic error, could easily result in a humiliating Q1 elimination. The suffocating tension gripped everyone by the throat.

However, Kai’s first flying lap fell significantly below expectations. He hadn’t managed to carve out a position near the top of the timing sheets or demonstrate top-tier competitiveness. He was even lagging behind his teammate, Leclerc.

The brand-new season had only just begun. In the two Grands Prix contested so far, Kai was leading Leclerc ”2-0,” having decisively outpaced his teammate in both Qualifying and the Race. But that established dynamic seemed to be experiencing severe turbulence here at the Shanghai circuit. The sharp, piercing anxiety generated by a mere 0.1-second deficit stabbed directly into their hearts, instantly causing the boiling air to pull agonizingly tight.

Millions of eyes converged entirely upon the Shanghai International Circuit.

It wasn’t just the fans physically present at the track. The viewers staunchly guarding their televisions, the netizens frantically streaming the session on their phones, the chat groups exploding with real-time updates and frantic commentary, shattering all previous activity records... Every corner of the country, north to south, was violently swept up in this massive motorsport hurricane. It was pure, unadulterated fanaticism.

Hearts instantly clenched tight.

And then, the Number 22 Ferrari completed its second flying lap. Every single gaze unanimously, frantically snapped back to the timing screens, desperately searching for the update.

”Fourteenth, Kai, 1:23.887.”

The single-lap time... hadn’t improved—

This meant Kai’s second flying lap was actually slower than his first. He had entirely failed to improve his own fastest lap time. While every other driver on the grid was pushing with absolutely everything they had, continuously shaving tenths off their times, that stagnant, unimproved lap time had quietly, dangerously slid down the order to fourteenth place. He was teetering on a razor-thin wire, a single breath away from Q1 elimination.

GASP!

An involuntary, collective sharp intake of cold air echoed across the circuit.

”Kai’s position is incredibly dangerous right now.”

”It’s worth noting that Kai currently holds an absolutely unbelievable, immaculate record. Since he first stepped into a Formula 1 car, he has never, ever been eliminated in Q1.”

”Not even a single time.”

”There are certain voices that constantly argue that Kai’s Qualifying performances are inherently inferior to his Race pace. They claim his raw talent for single-lap speed isn’t actually as explosive as the hype suggests. But those critics deliberately ignore the blatant reality staring them in the face: Kai consistently manages to secure the correct, optimal track position during Qualifying, while simultaneously actively formulating his overarching strategy for the Race.”

”The sheer, terrifying talent of this young genius extends far, far beyond mere single-lap pace.”

”However, right now, Kai has clearly encountered some severe difficulties. He might actually be facing the very first Q1 elimination of his entire career. The current situation looks incredibly grim.”

This... what... what exactly was happening?!

Was the car setup completely wrong? Had the Ferrari suffered a sudden mechanical failure? Was he crumbling under the massive, suffocating pressure and suffering a catastrophic drop in form? Had the dense, relentless schedule of off-track sponsor events completely shattered his focus?

Or perhaps, had he fallen victim to the most mysterious, most lethal curse in the entire F1 paddock—the dreaded ”Home Race Curse”? Every single driver seemed destined to face a relentless barrage of terrible luck when competing on home soil. Was that exact curse now indiscriminately crashing down on Kai’s head, binding him in dark magic, completely destroying his rhythm and form?

A massive, chaotic swarm of theories and desperate speculations violently detonated.

Immediately, a distinct narrative began to surface. This time, Kai had arrived at his home race carrying the immense weight of the Defending Champion title. His itinerary was completely jammed with obligations demanded by the city, the race organizers, and the sponsors. Looking back, the Fan Festival roadshow was probably the easiest, most relaxing event on his schedule. A dizzying, endless array of promotional events and media interviews had completely stuffed his schedule from Monday straight through Friday. Right up until the very start of Free Practice, Kai had been frantically busy. His entire world was spinning at maximum velocity.

It was entirely predictable that in the coming weeks, a massive avalanche of promotional materials and interviews would flood the internet.

But precisely because of that relentless schedule, Kai hadn’t even had time to drink a glass of water, let alone secure adequate sleep. Let alone dedicate his full, undivided focus to his actual job of racing the car.

The boiling fury and condemnation directed toward F1 management and corporate capital could no longer be contained. The furious rants poured out—

This wasn’t the first or second time this exact scenario had played out. It always happened like this. The moment a massive, transcendent superstar emerges from a niche sport, all the media conglomerates and corporate vultures swarm them like starving wolves. They eagerly devour their flesh and drink their blood, desperate to squeeze every last drop of potential out of them in the shortest possible timeframe. Blinded entirely by short-term profit, they drain the pond to catch the fish. And the moment the superstar’s value has been completely consumed and their career ruined, these same media and corporate entities simply turn around, walk away, and immediately lock their sights onto their next victim.

And now, was it Kai’s turn to be slaughtered?

In truth, Kai absolutely possessed the power to refuse these obligations. He possessed more than enough leverage to say no. But in a desperate bid to promote motorsport and allow the widest possible audience to discover the sport, Kai had chosen to display a highly cooperative attitude. The fiercely indignant netizens were simultaneously incredibly frustrated and deeply heartbroken. They vented all their raging emotions directly onto the media and the corporate sponsors.

Unfortunately, the world doesn’t sell regret medicine. Time cannot flow backward.

Right now, Kai’s performance wasn’t just mediocre; it was significantly, worryingly slower than his teammate, Leclerc, in the Number 16 Ferrari—

1:32.712.

Currently, across the entire paddock, only exactly two cars had managed to break into the 1:32 bracket. One was Bottas in the Mercedes-Benz. The other was Leclerc.

The lap times for the rest of the field in Q1 were generally hovering in the low 1:33s, or even the 1:34s.

In other words, Kai’s lap time wasn’t inherently terrible. He was managing his pace within a reasonable, expected operational window. Rather than saying the other cars were performing poorly, it was significantly more accurate to say that Bottas and Leclerc had simply unlocked their ultimate, flying-lap pace far too early in the session.

However, logic is logic, but the hard numbers were still staring everyone right in the face. Blindingly bright, and incredibly harsh to look at.

The fact that Leclerc was capable of extracting such a beautiful, blistering single-lap time suggested that the SF90 actually possessed massive, untapped potential at the Shanghai circuit. And then you look at Kai’s rather pedestrian, mediocre Q1 performance?

Without comparison, there is no pain. This was especially true given the massive, gaping chasm between the two Ferraris—

0.993 seconds. A gap of practically an entire second!

The drivers sandwiching Leclerc on the timing screens were Bottas and Hamilton. But the drivers sandwiching Kai were Kvyat and Magnussen.

Was this logical?

They were driving the exact same Ferrari machinery, so how could the performance gap possibly be this massive?

It wasn’t just mediocre; it was borderline embarrassing. The terrifying, looming threat of a ”Q1 Elimination” gripped everyone’s hearts tightly, making it almost impossible to breathe.

From extreme, deafening noise to absolute, deathly silence. From intense, boiling fanaticism to profound, suffocating anxiety. The entire audience was getting a brutal, firsthand taste of the exquisite agony of being plunged repeatedly between ice and fire.

The engines continued their deafening roar. The rolling heatwaves continued to surge. The 2019 Shanghai Grand Prix was entirely enveloped in an unprecedented, historic tidal wave of hype. Yet, amidst the fiercely burning madness and chaotic noise, anxiety and profound unease were currently boiling the entire Shanghai circuit. A chilling, ominous dread pierced the back of everyone’s necks.

Thump— Thump—

”Right now, the absolute focus of the home crowd is entirely locked onto Lance Stroll and Lando Norris. Both young drivers are currently out on the track executing their second flying laps.”

”Whether Kai manages to successfully advance to Q2 is no longer in his own hands. The initiative has been completely surrendered. We must watch the performances of Racing Point and McLaren. We might be about to witness the catastrophic end of an incredible historical record. Or, we might witness that historical record miraculously survive.”

”Stroll! He crosses the line—No! He slots into fifteenth! This lap still isn’t fast enough! It’s highly likely one of the Racing Point cars is going to be eliminated in Q1!”

”This means—”

”Wait, here comes Norris! 1:34.148. Fifteenth! The McLaren Number 4 driver delivers a brilliant performance on his second flying lap! He scrapes the very bottom of the barrel and advances to Q2! Stroll is eliminated!”

”Phew...”

”We can finally breathe a massive sigh of relief. Kai has successfully advanced to Q2. His immaculate record of advancing out of Q1 in every single race since entering Formula 1 remains perfectly intact.”

Phew— OH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Sighs of relief, gasps of shock, and the profound, intoxicating euphoria of narrowly escaping certain death all surged upward simultaneously. Ultimately, it all mutated into pure, unadulterated joy. Logic shattered completely, and emotions erupted violently.

Whether it was the fans physically present at the Shanghai circuit or the millions watching tensely on their televisions, there were absolutely no exceptions. Simultaneously, they threw both hands high into the air, screaming in triumph. The agonizing anxiety and dread that had been stretched to the absolute breaking point were exhaled in a single, massive breath. Faces split into massive grins, they high-fived and bumped fists with anyone in reach, cheering in perfect unison. The air was instantly, violently ignited.

Thrilling!

The drama currently unfolding before their eyes was simply far, far too thrilling. Their heartstrings had been stretched to the absolute, terrifying limit. They were completely immersed, entirely lost in the moment. It felt exactly like dancing wildly on the razor-thin edge of a towering cliff. The insane flood of dopamine acted as the spark that completely incinerated all rational thought.

So, this is what F1 is all about?

A world where victory and defeat are decided by thousandths of a second. The entire game is about pushing your heart rate to the absolute limit!

Even so... what on earth was going on with Kai? Was he really not encountering any massive, catastrophic problems during this Qualifying session?

The chaotic noise and frantic speculation on social media exploded entirely out of control.

However, absolutely none of that mattered to the man in question. Completely, ruthlessly isolating himself from all external interference, Kai remained entirely unbothered even after learning his lap times and final classification over the radio—

”How did that second flying lap feel?”

Calm. Focused. Immersed. Meticulous.

Kai remained exactly the same as always. It felt as though he was entirely immune to the chaotic influence of the outside world. He was currently engaged in rapid-fire, highly technical communication with Borreipaire over the radio.

Pressure? Deafening noise? An impossibly crowded schedule? Severe lack of sleep?

All of these factors undeniably existed in objective reality. Yet, ultimately, they were completely incapable of shaking Kai’s absolute conviction. The moment he slid into the cockpit and was enveloped by the deafening roar of the engine, it was exactly like entering an entirely new dimension. Every single issue existing outside the race car was firmly, decisively left outside.

That absolute, terrifying level of focus naturally forced Borreipaire to maintain an equally absolute level of concentration.

”I was slower in Sector 1 and Sector 3. But I was faster in Sector 2.”

And they didn’t stop there. They immediately launched into a granular, hyper-detailed analysis of the specific conditions at every single corner. The rapid-fire, back-and-forth communication proceeded at a blistering pace. There wasn’t a single microsecond to stop and catch a breath.

The Shanghai circuit is a highly complex, comprehensive track. It heavily favors perfectly balanced, all-around dominant cars like the Mercedes-Benz. Conversely, cars suffering from severe, lopsided structural flaws—like Ferrari and Red Bull—face a grueling, agonizing challenge here.

In the 2019 season, this brutal reality had been verified even further.

The SF90 was fundamentally weak when it came to low-speed steering response, managing front tire temperature windows, and generating low-speed mechanical grip. The Shanghai circuit’s notoriously strict, unforgiving demands regarding front-axle stability and low-speed cornering prowess aggressively magnified every single one of those fatal flaws.

Just moments ago in Q1, the truth was that Kai hadn’t actually made any glaring mistakes. The problem was that the front tires were agonizingly slow to reach their operating temperature. This caused severe understeer in the low-speed corners, making it physically impossible for him to aggressively push the absolute limit right out of the gate.

Turn 1 and Turn 2 form a continuous, tightening complex. It’s a long, sweeping radius, yet it’s taken at relatively slow speeds. The SF90’s chronic lack of front-axle grip was infinitely magnified here. The car’s slight tendency to understeer the instant it entered the corner forced Kai to significantly increase his steering angle. While the raw loss of speed wasn’t incredibly glaring, it violently shattered his overall rhythm.

These specific issues had already heavily exposed themselves during Free Practice. Following the disastrous data from Melbourne and Bahrain, this once again completely validated Kai’s prior assessments. The crushing pressure resting squarely on the shoulders of the technical team continued to compound without relief. However, until the actual, physical upgrade packages arrived on the car, these were the brutal, unavoidable obstacles blocking their path. They had to figure out a way to overcome them right here, right now.

It was exactly like being forced to dance while wearing heavy iron shackles. The performance absolutely had to continue. Simultaneously, they had to desperately search for a method to make that performance even more spectacular and captivating.

Kai and Leclerc possessed fundamentally different driving styles. Therefore, right from the very beginning, their core Qualifying strategies were also entirely different—

Leclerc excelled at pure speed. He was brilliant at wringing the absolute maximum out of a single-lap run. Therefore, he opted to push flat-out, actively punishing his tires to aggressively probe the absolute, physical limits of the SF90 on the Shanghai circuit.

Of course, Kai also needed to push flat-out. After all, that was the singular, defining objective of Qualifying. However, simultaneously, he needed to further lay the strategic groundwork for the Race. He needed to actively explore entirely different methods of deconstructing the circuit while operating under their current, heavily compromised conditions. He was searching for the absolute performance ceiling, intending to subsequently finalize his setup, desperately hoping to ultimately advance his position during the actual Race.

Leclerc’s ability to comprehensively familiarize himself with the entire Ferrari operational system was blindingly fast. Securing second place in Qualifying in Bahrain was the most direct, undeniable proof of that fact. The young driver was evolving at a terrifying velocity.

But Kai, acting as the undisputed Number One driver, still carried the primary mission. He bore significantly more responsibility. Providing assistance to Leclerc, and simultaneously providing significantly more critical data to the Maranello technical team... he was desperately hoping they could excavate significantly more untapped potential from the SF90.

Precisely because of this multifaceted objective, Kai’s two flying laps appeared incredibly clean and precise, but they simply weren’t fast enough.

During his second flying lap, he opted for a slightly different approach regarding contact patches. He initiated his corner entry fractionally earlier, deliberately sacrificing mid-corner momentum in exchange for achieving throttle connection significantly earlier.

Looking at the telemetry now, his execution still hadn’t been perfect. Consequently, his second flying lap was actually fractionally slower. The vast array of different methods for attacking different corners still required significantly more exploration.

Over the radio, the rapid-fire, back-and-forth dialogue between Kai and Borreipaire was incredibly intense. They constantly swapped data, comprehensively deconstructing every single corner of the circuit. Who had the luxury of time to worry about the chaotic noise and trivial drama currently exploding across social media?

Furthermore, even after returning to the garage, there was absolutely zero time to catch their breath.

The computer monitors were completely crammed with data. A dizzying array of brightly colored lines tangled together: wind speed, brake pressure, steering angle, longitudinal front tire load, and countless other curves. While it looked like absolute chaos to an outsider, it was actually highly organized and meticulously distributed.

Mekies and Clear were rapidly transmitting the results of their real-time analysis directly to Kai. The absolute focus right now wasn’t the single-lap pace deficit. Whether it was Mercedes-Benz or Leclerc, neither was the primary focus at this exact moment—

Kai was the sole focus.

Based on current observations, Kai’s racing lines during Q1 had remained relatively standard and conventional. He hadn’t deviated significantly from the established path. But with the SF90 at the Shanghai circuit, the ”textbook answer” was simply nowhere near enough. If they wanted to fight for a superior grid position, let alone actually defeat Mercedes-Benz, they absolutely had to break out of the conventional framework. They had to take an entirely unorthodox, wildly unpredictable path.

His ears absorbed the ongoing dialogue; his eyes remained locked on the computer screens. Dividing his attention flawlessly, he cross-referenced and verified the information in real-time.

The current iteration of this car performed exceptionally well in high-speed corners and on the straights. However, it was riddled with catastrophic problems in low and medium-speed corners. The exact moment it transitioned from a straight-line sprint into a corner entry, it suffered a cascading series of failures. These failures heavily corrupted the mid-corner rhythm, the corner exit transition, and the ultimate exit speed.

Referencing the previous race in Bahrain: Kai had attempted absolute, limit-pushing corner entries. The strategy had worked brilliantly during Qualifying and the first half of the Race. But then, the catastrophic tire degradation issues arrived in rapid succession. Following that, brake and throttle synchronization problems detonated consecutively, exactly like a row of falling dominoes. It was this exact sequence of events that had ultimately transformed Kai into the living embodiment of the word ”LiCo”—

It was precisely because of that race that the vast majority of newly minted motorsport fans had learned of the existence of the LiCo technique for the very first time.

Clearly, Kai had absolutely zero intention of continuing to showcase his LiCo mastery at the Shanghai circuit. This was also the fundamental reason Kai absolutely refused to proceed with Qualifying using a standard, conventional pacing strategy.

The problems remained glaringly present. If they didn’t actively solve them, those flaws would continue to latch viciously onto their tails, constantly dragging them backward until they sank completely into a hopeless quagmire.

What if!

A radical idea struck Kai. What if he completely abandoned the traditional pursuit of maximum corner-entry speed? What if he deliberately sacrificed a fraction of his steering angle in the low-speed corners? By doing so, he could preemptively lock down his optimal corner exit position and angle. This would force the car to enter its stable aerodynamic window significantly earlier during the mid-to-late phase of the corner. This would allow him to pin the throttle to 100% significantly earlier upon exit, fighting for the cleanest, most optimal airflow attachment possible.

If he did that—

The SF90’s massive advantage in raw straight-line speed would be fully, violently unleashed.

The two most iconic, and most exceptionally challenging, complex corner sequences at the Shanghai circuit are located in the first and second halves of the lap. One is the tightening, spiraling complex of Turns 1, 2, 3, and 4. The other is the expanding, unwinding sequence of Turns 11, 12, and 13. Both of these sequences are incredibly long, continuous corners. Compared to raw corner-entry speed, the mid-corner rhythm and the ultimate corner-exit speed are infinitely more critical here.

Simultaneously, the short straight emerging from Turn 4, and the massive, ultra-high-speed back straight emerging from Turn 13, are unquestionably the sectors where Ferrari holds a massive advantage. Achieving a fluid, flawless transition between the corner exit and the ensuing straightaway was the absolute key to clawing back significant lap time.

This wasn’t reckless aggression; it was cold, calculated compromise.

Since Ferrari physically couldn’t attack the Shanghai circuit using the exact same methods as Mercedes-Benz, Kai had to entirely deconstruct the track using the specific logic of the SF90. He had to discover the absolute optimal method of forward propulsion available within the constraints of their current, heavily compromised aerodynamic model.

”Understood!” The chaotic, densely packed web of thoughts in Kai’s mind instantly organized into perfect clarity. Entirely undistracted, his brain operating at maximum velocity, he nodded sharply, confirming his final decision.