Chapter 27: Fate?

Every time she powered through, the race car would bounce violently, making it hard for her to control the direction. It felt like the steering wheel could slip from her grasp at any moment.

Feng Yuxiao’s voice came over the radio:

“Miwan, the data is in. Your cornering speed, especially on low-speed corners (typically bends under 100 km/h, where exit speed directly determines acceleration efficiency on the next straight), is about 0.3 seconds slower than Song Zhe’s.”

“There’s an issue with the traction on corner exit (the force from the engine transmitted through the drivetrain to the wheels, driving the car forward; excessive or insufficient traction affects exit speed). If you give too much throttle, the rear end slides; if you’re too conservative, you lose time. We need to find the cause.”

“I know!”

Feng Miwan responded irritably.

“I feel like the rear is pushing me the whole time. I don’t dare floor it!”

Over the next few hours, the team’s engineers tried various adjustments based on her feedback and the data:

Changing the front-rear brake balance, tweaking the rear wing downforce angle, even swapping anti-roll bars of different stiffnesses…

But the results were minimal.

The car improved on some sections, but new problems cropped up in other corners.

She knew the issue wasn’t entirely with the car, but she didn’t dare admit it—

Admit that her lack of confidence meant she couldn’t even control a familiar race car.

The worst happened during the final practice run.

Feng Miwan stared at the time gap on the timer, her unwillingness outweighing her caution.

Song Zhe’s provocation, the crowd’s expectations, her long hiatus from intense training making her overthink… All these emotions twisted together, pushing her to take a risk.

To push the limit, she braked later than usual at a right-angle corner after a high-speed straight, with a bit more force!

A sharp screech—”screeech!”—and the right front wheel locked up instantly!

The car lost steering control and shot straight off the track, plowing through the gravel trap. The rear swung wildly, nearly slamming into the tire wall!

Though she stopped safely in the end, the mistake wasted precious time and severely wore down the already fragile set of tires.

“Damn it!”

Feng Miwan couldn’t help cursing under her breath.

She nursed the car back to the pits, and when she climbed out, her face was ashen.

Just then, Song Zhe completed a flying lap. His engine roar echoed amplified through the streets, sounding especially thunderous and aggressive. His car hugged the walls as it blasted by at astonishing speed.

That sound pierced like a needle, shattering Feng Miwan’s fragile confidence.

She began doubting herself:

“Am I… really only dominant in wet races?”

“Has my hand injury never fully healed? Is it affecting my precision?”

“Compared to the top-spec cars from elite teams like Song Zhe’s and Chengfeng’s… does my car have an insurmountable gap?”

Self-doubt and frustration nearly drowned her.

Feng Yuxiao walked over and patted her shoulder, wanting to say something, but Feng Miwan raised a hand to stop him.

“Bro, let me be alone for a bit.”

Feng Miwan walked silently back to the team rest area. Watching replays of opponents’ flying laps and her own off-track excursion on the screen, her mood plummeted to rock bottom.

She pulled out her phone, opened the chat, typed and deleted, but ultimately sent nothing.

She didn’t know how to tell Xiong Yibai.

Tell her she’d messed up?

That she might not cut it?

That her earlier encouragement… seemed useless?

She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

That night, in her hotel room.

The bedside lamp cast a faint glow. Feng Miwan sat on the edge of the bed, fished out the coin from her bag, flipped it, and caught it.

Before the first station’s qualifying, she’d silently wished on it—”heads for success, tails for failure.” It had landed heads-up, and she’d gone on to win the championship.

Now, holding it tight in her palm, she slowly opened her hand—tails up.

Feng Miwan smiled bitterly. “Fate?”

She pocketed the coin, turned off the light, lay down, and pulled up the covers. Her eyes fixed on the moonlight shadows on the ceiling, but her mind replayed the tails side over and over. It took a long while before exhaustion finally lulled her to sleep.

That night, Feng Miwan slept fitfully, her dreams filled with out-of-control cars and screaming tires.

The next day, sunlight dispersed Yongcheng’s morning mist, but it couldn’t lift the gloom over the Maple Grove Racing Team.

The China Super Car Championship’s Yongcheng Street Station qualifying was about to begin.

Street circuit qualifying was especially brutal.

With GT3 and GT4 classes (high-tier and entry-tier racing classes of the China Super Car Championship, leading to clear speed gaps when they run together) mixing on track, traffic density far exceeded standard circuits.

To post a perfect hot lap required not just raw speed,

But precise timing for a clean window (a track segment where the target driver has no slow cars ahead blocking, no incidents disrupting, allowing a full-send lap), dodging slower traffic.

Feng Miwan donned her helmet, settled into the GT3 race car, and took a deep breath.

Feng Yuxiao’s voice crackled over the radio, trying to ease her tension:

“Miwan, just relax and run it. First set of new tires—get a feel, find your rhythm. No pressure.”

“Got it.”

Feng Miwan replied, but her white-knuckled grip on the wheel betrayed her nerves.

Her mind kept flashing back to that tails-up coin.

The stands were packed, team flags fluttering in the wind.

Many fans waved banners supporting Feng Miwan, chants of “Rain Battle Goddess” echoing nonstop before the race.

Everyone anticipated a stunning dry-street performance from her.

Yet, it was as if the script was prewritten. Fate seemed determined to prove the coin’s omen, dooming her from the start.

Per Yongcheng Station rules, qualifying split into Q1 (15 minutes) and Q2 (12 minutes), GT3 class only, directly setting race starting order.

After Q1 started, the track was jammed. Feng Miwan’s two attempts at a flying lap were thwarted—either blocked by slower GT4 cars ahead or her tire-warmup rhythm disrupted.

Her prime new soft tires wasted away in repeated slowdowns and weaving, leaving her name languishing at the bottom of the leaderboard.

She reported over the radio:

“Too many cars! Can’t get around the GT4 slowpokes!”