CHAPTER 393: CHAPTER 97: GINSENG SCAM ARTIST + ILLEGAL RACER = KINDRED SPIRITS?

Xiao Xian and Xuerou waited until half-past ten before they hailed a taxi to the Zeng Family home. After confirming that all the lights in the villa’s bedrooms were off and that mother and grandmother had both gone to sleep, Xuerou then led Xiao Xian to sneak into their own garage.

The Zeng Family’s garage was divided into two parts, one was the south-facing garage used regularly by Mrs. Zeng for her vehicles, and the other was the north-facing garage that hadn’t been used for a long time.

The modified Ferrari once used by Xuerou’s late father was parked inside the north-facing garage.

When the dust cover was lifted, Xiao Xian’s eyes lit up, and the entire garage was awash in red.

The prancing horse logo was particularly striking, the base slightly lower than an ordinary sedan, giving an unreal sensation when sitting inside.

The car was well-preserved, without a spec of unnecessary dust.

Although Mrs. Zeng forbade Xuerou and any family member from touching this sealed top-grade sports car, she still sent the car for maintenance twice a year, just like when Mr. Zeng was alive.

Sitting in this car, time seemed to rewind. Xuerou caressed the dark steering wheel with trembling fingers. Years ago, her father had touched this steering wheel with the same fingers, the same posture.

"Xiao Xian, thank you. I’m going to start testing the car, hold steady," the garage door was wide open, Xiao Xian settled into position, leaning back as the bright red car shot out of the Zeng Family villa.

There was a suffocating roar on the street. Xuerou eased off the gas pedal, glanced over slightly surprised by Xiao Xian’s reaction.

For someone riding in this kind of sports car for the first time, Xiao Xian was doing well, neither shocked nor discomforted, just lips tightly pursed.

It was somewhat similar to when she first started riding Little White Jiao, Xiao Xian thought silently to herself.

After becoming accustomed to the sound of the engine during braking and the fleeting night scenery outside the window, Xuerou and Xiao Xian started discussing some features of the Ferrari.

Listening to Xuerou’s interested expression and her incessant talking, from the high-performance engine to top-notch handling, Xiao Xian could see the words "passion for cars" boiling in Xuerou’s veins.

The race venue was not in Chaoyang District, but in an abandoned landfill in the remote Mentougou District.

During the day, the landfill was silent and empty, but at night, it was as noisy and bustling as a market.

Competitors didn’t need to know each other’s names, they were differentiated by car model and license plate number.

When Xiao Xian and her group arrived, it was already half-past eleven, with various abandoned vehicles and trash emitting a chilling and foul smell.

More and more vehicles arrived, and the noise of various engines and exhaust gases brought the landfill to life.

Underground illicit racing is a cruel scenery outside of normal people’s vision, without rules, just speed.

In the middle of the landfill, old oil drums had been piled up in a pyramid shape, the smell of diesel was strong, and a red cigarette butt streaked across the air, the dark landfill suddenly illuminated with smoke and firelight.

When the firelight brightened, individuals resembling characters from Hong Kong movies stood by their respective race cars.

There were punks with dyed hair and heavily made-up women, some wore mechanics’ clothes. In contrast, Xuerou and Xiao Xian, dressed the most plainly, appeared as the odd ones out.

"Yo, now even cats and dogs are joining the race," a young man with long artist-style hair but an absolutely unartistic tone arrived by their car, and whistled when he saw the modified Ferrari.

To their surprise, there were no official top-grade sports cars at the underground racing venue, so Xuerou’s red Ferrari stood out intensely.

Some drove modified modern cars, while others roared in jeeps with changed engines. For racing folks, good cars are for displaying in showrooms. In this decadent night, speed is everything, and a good car is like a virgin chased for its virtue, simply begging to be fucked. (Crude, I apologize)

"Holy shit, it’s the limited edition Ferrari from ten years ago," a man with gold-capped teeth approached the Ferrari, extending his greasy fingers and touching the hood, "Did you guys drive this here?"

The man with the gold-capped teeth is called Ding Zhanhu, a notable figure in Beijing’s underground racing scene, his specialty being modifying various domestic cars to perform like top-tier sports cars.