The betting stalls ringing the mountain pass were not dumb, and the moment they sensed the tide turning toward the War God GTR, they scrambled to rewrite the odds. They dared not shut the books entirely, because that would ruin their reputation. Instead, the duty manager gritted his teeth and ordered an update no one would mistake: set the War God GTR at one to 0.01. In other words, if you staked ¥100 (about $14), you would only net ¥1 (about $0.14) if the GTR won. It was miserly, but the crowd still piled in. Tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, went on the sure thing. A sure thing is still money, and small cash adds up.
To keep the action alive, the manager pushed the Audi TT's line the other way. Make it one to five, he said. Someone would chase the miracle, he believed. He was right. A few diehards stepped forward with their receipts, buying the long shot because miracles sometimes pay.
Then Chen Ningyun strode in. Without blinking, she told the manager to put ¥100,000 on the Audi TT to win, roughly $14,000 by the standard rate. The manager's eyes brightened immediately, and he stamped the slip with unusual vigor. Miss Chen took the receipt, slipped it into her bag, and walked out with a frown tugging at her brow. What on earth was her elder sister doing to fall so far behind, she wondered. Yet she tamped the worry down. With her elder sister's driving and the machine she had built with her own hands, surely there would be a turn of the tide. Even if the bet burned, the money meant little to her. Faith mattered more. Come on, elder sister, she told herself. I believe in you.
Up on the mountain road, the Audi TT had pulled onto a shoulder. Inside the cabin, the Black Widow folded over the wheel with both hands, bracing her abdomen, a soft groan slipping through clenched teeth. The ache in her body was sharp, but the pain in her chest cut deeper. She had prepared for this event for a long time, shaved sleep to memorize every curve, practiced again and again until the steering spoke in her palms. This was supposed to be the last race she would allow herself. Her family would never permit another. She wanted this night to be the perfect period at the end of her racing sentence. Instead, the timing of her cycle had crashed into the timing of her dream, and fury made her eyes sting.
Tears slid despite her trying to swallow them. Why now, she muttered, voice breaking, why here. Heifeng sat in the passenger seat, speechless for a moment at the force of her desire to win. He had never seen the aloof Black Widow so small and wounded. Watching her shake, he could not bear it.
Is this race so important to you? he asked quietly. She lifted her head. Behind the mask, her eyes were glassy with tears. Yes, she said in a choked whisper. It might be my last. I wanted to end the road on my terms. Now look at me.
The armor she wore in public had fallen away. She was only a young woman who had poured herself into a finish line that was slipping away. Something protective rose in Heifeng. Forget it, he said, and reached out to tousle her hair with a gentleness that would have surprised anyone who only knew his blunt mouth. I will race for you.
You, she stammered, startled, then shook her head. Do not console me. Losing today is a pity, but life is made of a thousand regrets. She assumed he was only trying to soothe her. She knew they had dropped more than a minute behind the War God GTR, and on a mountain like this, a minute might as well be a cliff.
Stop talking, come here, Heifeng said, glancing at the clock. Nearly thirty seconds had already leaked away. If they waited any longer, even he could not promise to catch the GTR. The other driver had skill, and the machine's pace was not to be dismissed.
Before she could react, he popped his buckle, gathered her lightly, and shifted her to the passenger side in one smooth motion, then swung across the center console into the driver's seat. Her mask hid the blush that flashed across her cheeks. You, she cried. Bastard. He cut her off with a terse growl. Quiet. I have had enough of your lines. Belt.
She stared, stunned, and he tugged the belt across her and snapped it home. The cramp knifed again, and words dissolved into a pained breath. Sit tight, he said, colder now, not at her but at the time draining away. When this is over, you go home and rest. Drink hot water, remember. He had read that somewhere, and it came out awkward, but he meant it.
He closed his hand on the shifter, counted down in his head, and put his foot flat. The Audi TT woke like a caged animal scenting freedom, the engine note rising into a raw snarl. In the Black Widow's hands, the TT had been taut and technical. In Heifeng's grip, it became something else, the same machine reborn with a different soul.
Straight man, she muttered, clutching the grab handle as the sudden torque pressed her into the seatback. The speed climbed in a clean surge: one twenty, one forty, one sixty. Ahead, the road bent sharply. Brakes, she snapped, the next is a hairpin.
Heifeng did not turn his head. You know this road, report it, he said. The clarity in his tone cut through her pain. Right, she answered, already scanning the dark ribbon of asphalt and the ghostly lines painted at its edges. Hairpin right in thirty. Then a short chute. Then an off-camber left. Guardrail on the outside.
Copy, he said, and instead of lifting, he dug deeper. Letting off the throttle was not in his nature. The TT's nose dipped toward the apex, weight transferring as he blipped and downshifted, the tires singing a tight note across the surface. The car rotated, tidy and quick, and he straightened at the exit with a flick that made the engine bark. Her breath caught; the pain ebbed under a new, sharper sensation as the cabin filled with speed and certainty.
Another call, she said, almost automatically. Short straight, slight crest, then the off-camber left. Watch the loose grit near the inside. Heifeng adjusted the line a whisper outward, set the chassis, and let the TT skate across the tricky patch without drama. The steering spoke, and he listened. The car in his hands was not only fast but fearless, and that steadiness bled into her voice as she continued to feed him the course like a co-driver: two sweeping rights, one blind, then a tightening left. After that, a narrow bridge with a bump on entry. He answered with rhythm instead of words, each input precise and clean.
Behind them, the crowd's money lay in piles of tickets that said the GTR could not be touched. Down below, a single receipt in Chen Ningyun's purse said otherwise, its numbers stark: ¥100,000 on a miracle, about $14,000 against the grain. Up here, in the humming shell of the Audi TT, miracle was only another word for calculation and nerve. The pain in the Black Widow's belly had not disappeared, but the edge of despair had. Her fingers eased on the armrest, and her voice grew steadier. Next, a long right with a mid-corner dip. Tight exit. Watch the guardrail shadow.
Heifeng took it as if he had already driven it a hundred times. The speed did not slacken. In his bones, easing the throttle was impossible. Not now, not in this life.