Chapter 117: Whatever It Takes

“But when it comes to their own child, they start worrying whether her future path will be difficult, whether people will point fingers behind her back, whether she’ll have no one to care for her in old age.”

Her words hit the Feng parents right in their concerns, and the two of them nodded involuntarily.

“But,” Xiong Yibai continued in a gentle yet firm tone,

“it’s precisely because it’s Little Wan that we should trust her choices even more. She makes the most precise judgments on the racetrack, and she wouldn’t be careless with something as important as her life partner. Moreover—”

She pushed up her glasses and revealed a reassuring smile:

“I’ll be her teammate, facing all the bends and straights alongside her.”

“I’m a doctor; I know better than anyone how to take care of people. We’re already capable of taking responsibility for our own lives.”

Feng Miwan nodded eagerly in agreement:

“Yeah, yeah! Yibai is great at taking care of people! Every time I got hurt, it was her who treated me!”

Xiong Yibai went on:

“Maybe I can’t give you the so-called ‘normal’ married life that you envision, but the respect, understanding, support, and love I give her won’t be any less.”

At this point, she paused, taking in the shifting expressions on the four elders’ faces before adding:

“And we’re not acting on a whim. We’ve thought this through deeply and want to make this serious and long-lasting.”

Xiong Yibai’s words were logical and clear, her attitude neither humble nor arrogant. She showed respect for the elders while standing firm on her feelings.

She had cleverly sidestepped sensitive points that could spark direct conflict, steering the focus toward the sincerity between them.

Feng Miwan listened from the side, her eyes sparkling:

Her Yibai is so cool! So reliable!

Shen Qingyun looked at her daughter’s smug expression, then at Xiong Yibai’s steady and dependable demeanor. Suddenly, she felt… it wasn’t so hard to accept after all.

Feng Shouzhuo let out a heavy sigh and turned helplessly to Xiong Daichuan:

“Your daughter… she’s too good with words.”

Xiong Daichuan raised his brow proudly:

“Of course! She’s my daughter!”

This little interlude eased the tension in the VIP box considerably.

Seeing the mood lighten, Zhao Shutong quickly stepped in to smooth things over. She clapped her hands:

“Alright, alright! The race ended perfectly, and we’ve got the trophy! I say we all head back to the hotel, pack our bags, and get ready to head home. We can talk about this stuff back in Tanzhou—first, let’s celebrate Xiaowan properly!”

Everyone immediately agreed with the suggestion.

After the heart-pounding race and the recent emotional turmoil, they all needed some time to process and rest.

And so, the group began chatting and laughing as they gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the VIP box for the hotel.

Meanwhile, in the luxury hotel suite where the Zhe Speed Team was staying, Song Zhe had shut himself in his room for a long time.

The frustration from losing the race hadn’t fully faded when an even more chilling piece of news reached him through a relatively loyal veteran team member—

His father, Song Weicheng, had actually deployed those shady black-clad men again on the day of the race!

That evening, when he returned home to the Capital City, he flung open the door and stormed straight to his father’s study without even knocking.

Song Weicheng stood with his back to him by the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the Capital City’s nightscape, a glass of wine in hand. His emotions were unreadable.

“Dad!”

“Did you mess with Feng Miwan again?!”

Song Weicheng turned slowly, his face expressionless as he took a sip of wine:

“So what if I did? Azhe, I’ve created so many opportunities for you, but you keep failing to seize them.”

“Created opportunities?”

Song Zhe could hardly believe his ears.

“Using these dirty, underhanded tactics? That’s what you call creating opportunities?! You’re dragging me into the gutter!”

“Dirty tactics?”

Song Weicheng sneered as if he’d heard a joke, a mocking curve tugging at his lips.

“Let me tell you, this world is all about winners and losers! History only remembers the victors; no one cares what methods you used to climb up! Win, and you have everything! Lose, and you’re dirt—no one even bothers stepping on you!”

“To win, you can resort to any means? Ignore other people’s safety? Act like the law doesn’t apply to you?!”

Song Zhe growled, his chest heaving violently.

“Dad! Look at what you’ve become! Are you still the father I knew—the one who taught me to drive, who told me racing was about fair competition?!”

Song Weicheng slammed his wine glass onto the table with a sharp “bang,” his own anger flaring:

“Don’t talk to me about the past! I poured money and effort into raising you, gave you the best team and resources—not so you could lecture me about some bullshit ideals and morals!”

“I want championships! The annual overall championship! Did you deliver? No! You made me lose face in front of everyone!”

The father and son stood like two lions facing off, glaring at each other across the spacious study.

Song Zhe stared into his father’s eyes, now utterly consumed by utilitarianism and obsession, and his heart sank to the depths.

He understood now—his father wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. In his mind, victory and reputation trumped everything, including basic human decency… and even family.

He stopped arguing. With a look of utter strangeness, exhaustion, and sorrow, he gave his father one last glance before turning and silently leaving the study.

Back in his own room, Song Zhe leaned against the door and slowly slid to the floor.

Immense pain and inner conflict threatened to tear him apart.

On one side was his father, who had fathered and raised him—bound together by blood.

On the other was the belief he’d held for over twenty years, his pride as a racer, and the most basic conscience of a human being.

His father’s actions went beyond unfair competition on the track; they were illegal, putting innocent people in danger!

Today it was sending men to harass and intercept—tomorrow?

Would he do something even more horrific?

Could he just watch his father stray further down this wrong path until there was no turning back?

But… reporting his own biological father… that…

Song Zhe clutched his head in agony. The room was unlit, with only the neon lights from outside casting flickering shadows across his face, mirroring his tormented heart.

Time ticked by slowly. He sat there on the floor for who knew how long until he suddenly lifted his head. In the darkness, pain lingered in his eyes, but resolve had taken over.

He couldn’t… go on like this.

He stood, walked to his desk, and opened his laptop.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly, but in the end, he pressed down and began typing.