Chapter 108: The End of the Music
"Wow! Wow! I did it! YES!"
Wu Shi's hoarse voice burst through the team radio, his breathing ragged and broken between words.
"YES! You did it! You WON!"
Alan shouted back, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, as if trying to contain the adrenaline boiling inside him.
"—Ohhhh!"
Wu Shi let out another roar, but right after, the fire in his voice faded.
He rested his right hand on the steering wheel, steering lazily with his left.
The extreme, limit-pushing driving of the race hadn't just taken the car to its limit.
It had emptied him.
Right now he wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes, inhale slowly, and fall straight to sleep.
Another orange-and-blue Van Amersfoort car eased up alongside him.
He glanced over.
Verstappen had lifted his visor, staring fatigue-drenched eyes at him.
Wu Shi lifted his own visor in response.
Their emotions differed, but one thing was the same—
both were utterly exhausted.
---
The cars rolled into parc fermé.
The barrier fences groaned under the weight of fans pushing forward.
Camera flashes lit the air like fireworks.
Wu Shi forced himself to remove the U-shaped headrest, then the steering wheel.
He sat motionless for a long moment before finally standing up from the cockpit.
As he rose, the crowd detonated in cheers, a deafening wave that made the air itself vibrate.
He climbed onto the nose of the car, raised his right hand, index finger up—
Number one.
"WoooOOOHHHHH!!!"
He jumped down and sprinted toward his mechanics, hugging each of them one by one.
Alan grabbed him tightly, patting his helmet over and over.
"I STILL can't believe this! Incredible! GOD—SO GOOD!"
Wu Shi didn't speak—he simply patted Alan's back.
After greeting everyone, he went to the scales.
"You're over three kilos lighter."
The scrutineer blinked, shocked.
They had expected dehydration, but not this.
When Wu Shi removed his helmet, his pale, cracked lips told the whole story.
"Hey—water."
A crew member rushed over with a bottle.
"Thanks." Wu Shi smiled weakly.
Verstappen, already done weighing in, walked up and patted his shoulder.
"That final pressure you put on me was insane. Shame I made the mistake."
"I was waiting for you to make one," Wu Shi replied, still smiling.
Verstappen stared at him for two seconds.
"…Okay. Guess you really mean it."
"This was the safest way to get past you without losing both cars," Wu Shi said casually.
"Then I can't afford to make mistakes anymore," Verstappen sighed. "Not against you."
He didn't complain.
No excuses.
He simply knew he had been out-driven.
"Then it'll be harder for me to beat you next time."
They rested, then headed to the podium together.
---
The road to victory comes in many forms,
but the taste of it never changes—
pure, uncontrollable joy.
With another trophy in hand, Wu Shi now led the FIA F3 Championship with six straight wins.
When the interviews started, every reporter's target was obvious.
This astonishing Chinese rookie had just delivered one of the greatest F3 drives they had seen.
"Hello, Wu!"
A SKY Sports reporter greeted him—in clumsy Mandarin.
"Hello."
Wu Shi adjusted his cap with a polite smile.
"You produced several spectacular overtakes today—on Ocon, and finally on Verstappen. We saw extraordinary skill and incredible determination. How would you evaluate your race?"
"Thank you," Wu Shi nodded, then said simply:
"It was a tough race."
"Hahaha!"
People nearby burst out laughing at the understatement.
Soon half the paddock was chuckling.
Wu Shi laughed too, shrugging.
"Starting from P11, winning will always be tough."
"My heart rate was high the whole race. Full focus. Constant strategic thinking. It was a triple test—body, mind, and brain. I won because I seized every chance and avoided every mistake."
"As you saw, when I climbed out of the car I could barely stand. Those 22 laps drained everything I had. I won with skill—not luck."
He wasn't exaggerating.
From lights out to chequered flag he'd had zero breathing room—
start chaos, narrow gaps, crash threats, psychological warfare, then two laps of lethal pressure.
The reporter paused, then spoke seriously:
"Yes. We witnessed something remarkable today. Even ten years from now, people will still replay those overtakes."
"And your performance is so strong that I think your F1 seat bet must be true. After six consecutive wins… are you more confident now?"
"No." Wu Shi shook his head.
"Hm?" The reporter blinked. Six wins not increasing confidence?
"My confidence has always stayed the same."
For a moment, the reporters were speechless.
What a perfect answer—neither arrogant nor humble.
"When today's results spread, many F1 teams will surely come after you. If I were from an F1 team, I'd offer you a contract right now," the reporter joked.
"If you were, I'd gladly listen," Wu Shi joked back.
Everyone laughed.
After a few final soft questions, he headed off to rest.
Immediately Verstappen became the next target.
"Max, you led almost the entire race until Wu attacked in the last two laps. How do you feel about losing the victory?"
Verstappen tapped the mic lightly, then said:
"Yeah… I know I held the lead most of the race. But sometimes you have to admit that the advantage comes from qualifying—not ability."
The reporters blinked. A simple, honest answer… but not gossip-worthy.
They wanted drama—but Verstappen wasn't going to take the bait.
---
After Wu Shi showered and changed, the crew began packing.
Next week was Pau—the French street circuit he'd never driven before.
By then, the paddock was emptying.
The earlier noise had faded into calm.
The music ends, the party quiets.
In F3, this happens quickly.
"Let's go, time to head back."
Verstappen stretched, then joked,
"When I'm rich, I'm buying a private jet. No more exhausting travel."
"Perfect. I'll fly with you," Wu Shi grinned.