Chapter 20
Chapter 20: Ye Wan Lan’s Driving Skills
Sheng Yun Yi was a woman too. She understood the petty little calculations girls made.
Ruining yourself just to grab a man’s attention, believing you could win him back that way—by the end of it, the only person you hurt was yourself.
She let out a quiet sigh. She and Ye Wan Lan weren’t close, so she couldn’t just march up and shake her awake. Besides, if Ye Wan Lan refused to understand, no one could force it into her head.
Little Gold Mountain wasn’t a good place. It was a lawless gray zone—no real management, no real rules. Anything could happen there.
Most of the young masters in Jiang’s circle loved racing, and their buddies loved it too. Plenty of girls came hoping to strike gold. In the end, they always went home empty-handed.
Zhou He Chen’s voice tightened over the phone. “Yun Yi, why did you suddenly go to Little Gold Mountain?”
“Wait—”
He cut himself off, his tone turning sharp. “Don’t move. I’m coming right now.”
He didn’t want to hear Ye Wan Lan’s name, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility that she might target Sheng Yun Yi again.
“He Chen, don’t worry.” Sheng Yun Yi kept her voice gentle. “I’m on the Gold Mountain Hotel terrace. I didn’t go downstairs. I can see her, but she can’t see me. The general manager asked me to paint something for them—said it’ll improve their feng shui.”
Only then did Zhou He Chen breathe again. “What time will you be done? I’ll pick you up.”
“10:30.”
When the call ended, Zhou He Chen sat with his phone in his hand, his expression dark and unreadable.
Qin Xian had heard every word. He lifted his chin, eyes cold. “What’s that supposed to mean? Acting bad to get your attention?”
Zhou He Chen gave a humorless laugh. “Does it work?”
“Of course not.” Qin Xian’s gaze sharpened. “If she wants to rot, let her. Toss her into the Yu Ting Club and let her learn what suffering is.”
His life had always gone smoothly—except for Ye Wan Lan, who had made him fall hard twice.
His limbs had been ruined for no reason, and the Qin Family had swallowed a fifty-million loss. How could he possibly let it go?
Not yet. Right now, healing came first.
Once he recovered, he would make Ye Wan Lan disappear from River City on a night no one would ever notice.
—
“What? Sister Lan, you want to race?!” Cheng Qing Li stared at the jagged, steep mountain road, her face draining of color. “Y-you want to go die?”
Ye Wan Lan gave a quiet “Mm.”
“Then why are you dressed like this?” Cheng Qing Li blurted.
Only then did she notice Ye Wan Lan was in a full racing outfit: a white camisole, a short leather jacket, wrist guards, gloves—everything.
“Miss Ye wants to race, but she doesn’t want to be exposed,” Yan Ting Feng said calmly. “I can help.”
He understood what she wanted without her needing to spell it out. Then his voice softened, almost like a warning. “But my name is ruined. If you walk in with me, your reputation won’t be pretty either.”
“I was born in ruins.” Ye Wan Lan’s tone didn’t change. “What do I have to fear?”
Yan Ting Feng held out his hand.
Bing He moved in perfect sync, passing him a helmet.
“Miss Ye,” Yan Ting Feng murmured, “look up.”
He set the helmet over her hair and adjusted the strap with slow, careful hands.
His long fingers brushed the delicate skin of her neck—brief contact, barely anything at all—yet it sent a fierce heat sparking under her skin, like wildfire catching.
Ye Wan Lan stepped back at once, polite and distant. “Thank you.”
Yan Ting Feng’s fingertips still carried a trace of her warmth. His phoenix eyes narrowed, interest sharpening.
They walked in side by side.
The entrance to the track was packed. The first race of the night was about to begin.
The moment Ye Wan Lan and Yan Ting Feng appeared, every gaze snapped toward them.
“Yo, Brother Yan—since when do you bring a young lady here?”
“Whose girl is she? Why’s she wearing a helmet already?”
Whistles and teasing rose. Ye Wan Lan didn’t so much as flinch.
“A newbie?” Fang Qing Ye looked her up and down, amused. “Never seen you before. What are you doing here?”
He’d been racing at Little Gold Mountain for eight years. Aside from the women young masters dragged along, he could count the number of girls he’d seen here on one hand.
Ye Wan Lan answered evenly. “Racing.”
“Racing?” Fang Qing Ye blinked, then laughed out loud. “You mean against me?”
In Jiang’s circle, no one dared challenge him on the track.
A girl this young?
Ridiculous.
The crowd traded looks, then burst into laughter.
“Sis, if you’re trying to catch a man, take off the helmet. Let Young Master Fang see if you’re pretty.”
“Don’t tell me you think racing will impress Young Master Fang. If you really get on the course, you’ll end up a pretty corpse.”
Ye Wan Lan’s voice cut through them, flat and cold. “Shut up.”
The base of the mountain fell into a strange hush.
Fang Qing Ye clapped his hands, grin widening. “Fine. I accept your challenge. But do you even have a car?”
He tilted his head. “Want me to lend you one?”
Yan Ting Feng finally lifted his eyes, gaze flat. “She only drives my car.”
Fang Qing Ye’s smile faded.
This was only the third time he’d seen Yan Ting Feng. These days, every hair color existed—white wasn’t even rare. Fang Qing Ye himself had dyed his hair olive green once.
But as a racer, he could feel it—something in Yan Ting Feng that didn’t belong on a track. A quiet, unknown danger, like one wrong move and you’d be crushed into nothing.
Fang Qing Ye snorted. “Then what are you waiting for? Get in.”
He yanked open his door and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Miss Ye.” Yan Ting Feng bent slightly, his words brushing her ear, intimate as a lover’s whisper. “I’m putting my life in your hands.”
Ye Wan Lan’s tone stayed calm. “Then be careful. A wreck—and death—can happen in an instant.”
Yan Ting Feng blinked slowly, smiling as if she’d pleased him. “Miss Ye won’t disappoint me.”
Bing He and Tie Ma exchanged a look, both stunned.
They knew Yan Ting Feng had been investigating Ye Wan Lan. They hadn’t expected him to hand her his car—and his life.
Little Gold Mountain’s roads were brutally steep, especially at night when the slopes vanished into darkness. No one knew how many bodies the ravine had swallowed over the years.
Who trusted a stranger like that?
Bing He started to speak. “Young Lord—” But Yan Ting Feng had already opened the passenger door and sat down.
Ye Wan Lan climbed into the driver’s seat, fastened her seat belt, and settled her hands on the wheel.
Bing He and Tie Ma had no choice but to stand with Cheng Qing Li at the roadside, eyes locked on the live feed.
“That car’s old. How’s it supposed to compete with Young Master Fang’s?”
“Young Master Fang’s is the latest Bugatti Veyron. Violently modified, too. Top speed hits 450 km/h. Who can beat that?”
“Newbies are always like this—loud and arrogant. Eight or nine out of ten get carried down on a stretcher before they even reach halfway.”
Cheng Qing Li swallowed. “T-then what about the other one or two?”
“The other one or two?” The man looked at her like she was naive. “They fall into the ravine and die.”
Cheng Qing Li: “…”
Maybe she really should light incense and beg Princess Yong Ning for protection.
Bang!
The starting gun cracked. The Bugatti Veyron exploded forward, instantly shaking off the other cars.
Fang Qing Ye drove one-handed, the other hand hanging out the window as he casually flipped the middle finger at the racers behind him.
Ye Wan Lan’s car rolled out last—slow, steady, controlled.
“Is she driving a go-kart?”
“Don’t insult go-karts. That’s a baby rocker. Go home and drink milk.”
Bing He pinched the bridge of his nose.
He truly didn’t understand why the Young Lord was indulging Miss Ye’s madness. Still, slow had one advantage: it didn’t usually get you killed.
Screeeeech—
One after another, brakes shrieked.
The crowd went rigid.
Death Curve.
The first checkpoint of Little Gold Mountain. So many racers had died there that it felt like the bend itself remembered.
No one had to say it. Every car slowed down—Fang Qing Ye included.
Ye Wan Lan let out a soft laugh, eyes bright under her visor. “What are you afraid of?”
Her fingers tightened on the wheel. “Time to witness real skill.”
The tires screamed against the pavement. Smoke billowed. The engine roared like a beast tearing out of a cage.
And then—at the worst possible moment—
Ye Wan Lan accelerated.
People froze.
“She’s insane! Is she trying to kill herself?”
“I told you, it’s her first time. She doesn’t even know Little Gold Mountain’s roads!”
“Damn it—another one’s going to die!”
“Slow down! Slow down!”
Bing He’s scalp went numb. “She’s going to hit—!”
Tie Ma covered his eyes, then left a narrow slit between his fingers to watch anyway.
Cheng Qing Li had already started praying to every ancestor she could think of.
At that speed, on Death Curve, there was only one ending.
Cheng Qing Li squeezed her eyes shut—
Then a scream tore through the crowd.
“Sister Lan!”
She snapped her eyes open and stared at the screen.
Ye Wan Lan’s car was still charging forward.
And in that instant—
The car tilted.
Two wheels stayed on the road. The other two rode the cliff wall.
The speed didn’t drop. It surged.
In a heartbeat, she shot past three sports cars.
A wall-ride drift—Blade Pass.
A stunt that belonged in movies, the kind people only did for cameras, happened right in front of them—clean and real.
The whole mountain went blank, leaving only two words behind:
What the hell.