Chapter 101: At All Costs!

The Rolls-Royce, a blur of silver in the night, dove into the bend. Lin Xiao snapped the wheel, pulled the handbrake, and used the Ferrari’s hesitation to his advantage. With surgical precision, he drifted through the sharp turn, cleanly overtaking the blockading car.

“He… he actually dared?” the Ferrari driver stammered, his jaw slack. “A full-speed drift?!”

He wasn’t unfamiliar with drifting. He’d done it himself in races. But not here. Not in the dark. Not on Panlong Mountain’s razor-sharp turns. One wrong move and you’d be flying off a cliff.

But Lin Xiao didn’t flinch. Didn’t lift his foot. He cut through the danger like it was routine.

By the time the Ferrari driver recovered from his shock, the Rolls-Royce was already gone, swallowed by the night.

Ahead, Lin Xiao never looked back. The car roared on, hunting down the next opponent.

He had only one goal. Win.

“Damn it!”

Snapped out of his daze, the Ferrari driver clenched the wheel, eyes locked on the disappearing taillights of the Rolls-Royce. He slammed the accelerator, the engine howling in protest as he gave chase.

But the gap only widened.

Every turn in the road seemed to push Lin Xiao further ahead. The more he pushed, the more helpless it felt.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Lin Xiao’s speed, his skill—it wasn’t just impressive. It was terrifying.

And then, another thought hit him—one far worse than losing. If Lin Xiao caught up to Le Fangyun—worse, beat him—there would be hell to pay. He had been ordered to stall Lin Xiao. That was his only job.

And he failed.

Panic set in. He snatched the walkie-talkie off the dashboard, his voice trembling as he pressed the button.

In a regulated race, this kind of conduct would have been disqualified on the spot. But this wasn’t a formal event; it was an underground race, and Le Fangyun had already taken care of the staff with bribes long before the engines ever started.

At that moment, Le Fangyun was casually cruising his Lamborghini along the winding Panlong Mountain road. He was whistling to himself, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, music blasting from the car stereo. His body swayed lazily with the rhythm, completely at ease.

It didn’t look like a race.

It looked like a joyride.

In his mind, the race was already won. With his underlings blocking any threats and the others too slow to matter, there was no reason to rush. No pressure. No stress.

Then a voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, strained and panicked, “Young Master Le! Young Master Le!”

Le Fangyun frowned, annoyed at the interruption. He grabbed the walkie-talkie.

“What is it?” he asked, voice flat, irritated.

“Young Master Le, I’m sorry… that guy, Lin Xiao, he just overtook me. I failed.”

“What did you just say?” Le Fangyun’s voice exploded through the speaker, his calm shattered in an instant. “You let Lin Xiao pass you?”

“Young Master Le, I—I tried everything!” The driver’s voice was frantic, nearly incoherent. “He’s too fast! He drifted through a ninety-degree turn at full speed. I couldn’t block him, I couldn’t even react. He just flew past me—”

Clatter.

The walkie-talkie hit the passenger seat with a thud. Le Fangyun had already stopped listening.

“Useless,” he spat, his jaw clenched, eyes burning.

Gone was the carefree cruise. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the Lamborghini howled as it surged forward, tires shrieking.

By this point, Lin Xiao had overtaken more than a dozen vehicles. From his last position, he had clawed his way up to third place. Every one of Le Fangyun’s lackeys who tried to block him had been passed—clean, precise, and fast.

They were only halfway through the course, but at this rate, Lin Xiao would close the gap and seize the lead before the final stretch.

Le Fangyun knew it, too. As his grip tightened on the steering wheel, he barked into the comms, issuing cold, clear orders to his remaining followers: block Lin Xiao at any cost. No need to hold back. Just slow him down.

Meanwhile, the Rolls-Royce tore through the winding mountain road, looking less like a luxury car and more like a heavy assault vehicle—forceful, unrelenting.

Another car loomed up ahead. Another modified machine. Another obstacle.

Lin Xiao narrowed his eyes and surged forward.

Inside the modified vehicle sat a man in his late thirties or early forties. He looked ordinary—average build, forgettable face—but his steady hands and sharp eyes gave him away. This was no amateur. He was a seasoned driver and one of Le Fangyun’s trusted men.

When he spotted Lin Xiao closing in from behind, a cold smirk tugged at his lips.

“Faster than I expected. No wonder the Young Master’s interested. But this is where your run ends.”

Without warning, he slammed the brakes.

The modified car dropped speed instantly. Its reinforced rear swung hard across the lane, directly into Lin Xiao’s path.

The gap between them was barely twenty meters. At their speed, that was nothing.

A normal driver would’ve eaten steel and spun out. That was the plan.

But Lin Xiao wasn’t normal.

His eyes flashed with focus.

In a split-second decision, he tapped the brakes, released, yanked the handbrake, and twisted the wheel—threading the Rolls-Royce out of danger with surgical precision.

The tires screamed in protest, rubber scraping pavement in a high-pitched wail. Any lesser car might’ve flipped, crumbled, or spun out. But the Rolls-Royce held steady—refined power wrapped in steel, unmoved by chaos.

Up ahead, the middle-aged driver glanced into the rearview mirror and caught Lin Xiao’s maneuver. His smirk deepened.

Then he hit the gas—not a full throttle, just a pulse. A calculated burst.

Just enough to open the gap again.

Just enough to tease.

Just enough to say: You’re fast, but I’m the one pulling the strings.

Satisfied, he rolled down the window, stretched his arm out lazily, and raised a single, taunting finger in Lin Xiao’s direction.

Lin Xiao’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine then,” he muttered.

Seeing the taunt—and considering the earlier attempt to crash him, which, by any measure, bordered on attempted murder—the calm in his eyes vanished, replaced by a burning, electric fury.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter. Beneath him, the Rolls-Royce rumbled, its engine growling like a beast unchained. His normally stoic face now bore an uncharacteristic wild and reckless air.

This newfound aura breathed life into his demeanor.

“So… you’re begging for it.” His voice was low. Cold. Almost amused. “Alright then. Let’s play.”

He floored the gas.

The Rolls-Royce didn’t just move—it lunged. Like a warhorse in full charge, tearing down the road with bone-rattling force.

Up ahead, the middle-aged driver caught the surge in his rearview. His eyes widened for half a second before curling into a smirk. “Racing hinges on skill, not momentum. You think you can intimidate me like this? You’re naive.”

As Lin Xiao surged forward, the middle-aged driver didn’t back down. He fell back on his signature tactic—slam the brakes, cut the speed just enough to disrupt Lin Xiao’s rhythm, then hit the gas and surge ahead again.

It worked once. It worked twice.

But this time, he was too focused on Lin Xiao.

Too caught up in the cat-and-mouse to realize where they were on the map.

Panlong Mountain wasn’t infamous for its length. It was feared for its cruelty, especially the stretch ahead: a chain of tight, merciless bends, the second-deadliest section of the whole route.

Lin Xiao wasn’t accelerating to pass him. His target was to maneuver through these bends, using them to lose the modified car in the process.