Pang Kun, not far away, was staring at the big screen, a cool breeze gently blowing, yet he didn't feel a hint of chill.
He took pride in his own insight; that drift at the bend just now had already determined that tonight, Yang Fan would be the ultimate victor.
He scoffed at those ignorant enthusiasts. Without a word, everything was communicated without speaking.
...
At this moment on the racetrack, Yang Fan, with his hands on the steering wheel, was as composed as ever.
It had been a long time since he had felt this sensation of flying, that feeling was truly wonderful during high-speed racing, as if what whistled by his ears was not the cool breeze but bullets, not the roaring engines but the explosion of artillery.
At another bend, Yang Fan didn't even blink, performed the same perfect drift, and then accelerated out of the turn instantly.
"Oh yeah, he overtook them!" People were constantly cheering on the big screen, more and more people became fans on the spot!
