Soon, the four of them parked their cars side by side.
From left to right were Meng Wenzhou’s Lamborghini Aventador, Su Yang’s 911 Turbo S, Pan Ning’s SF90, and Zhang Ziming’s Aston Martin DBS.
Any one of these four cars would turn heads on the road—they were all top-tier supercars.
Yet here they were, lined up for a drag race. To Su Yang, it felt almost surreal.
Just a few days ago, he’d been a broke nobody. Now, he was friends with these rich kids. Sometimes, he wondered if this was all just a dream.
......
The four supercars stood side by side. On paper, Su Yang’s 911 Turbo S was the underdog—a six-cylinder with the lowest horsepower at just 650.
The Ferrari SF90, on the other hand, packed a 4.0T V8 and three electric motors for assistance, pushing a staggering 1,000 horsepower.
The Aventador and the DBS were both monstrous V12s—the Aventador with a 6.5L engine and 770 hp, the DBS with a 5.2T and 725 hp.
By the numbers, Su Yang was already at a disadvantage. But he wasn’t worried. He knew exactly what his car was capable of. Smiling, he waited for Liu Bo’s signal.
Liu Bo, holding a small red flag he’d procured from somewhere, stepped in front of the cars and announced loudly, “Alright, everyone, get ready. On my count—I’ll go from three to one, and when I say ‘go,’ you floor it.”
“First round: full-throttle launch. Honk if you understand.”
Beep beep beep beep.
Four honks echoed in response.
“Good! Ready? Three… two…!” Liu Bo swung the flag down sharply.
The moment he shouted “Go!”, Su Yang stomped the accelerator.
Instantly, the roar of four engines erupted as the cars shot forward.
Surprisingly, the first to leap ahead was the lowest-horsepower Turbo S, followed closely by Pan Ning’s SF90. Meng Wenzhou’s Aventador and Zhang Ziming’s DBS were neck and neck.
Su Yang was in manual mode, swiftly flicking the paddle shifters.
The car with the worst specs had the quickest launch.
A hundred meters in, Su Yang glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Pan Ning’s red Ferrari closing in. He muttered under his breath, “Damn, that thing’s fast?”
He wished he could press the gas pedal even harder, but it was already floored. Slowly, Pan Ning caught up.
By the halfway mark, she overtook him.
Behind them, the Aventador had pulled slightly ahead of the DBS, though the gap was minimal—just half a car length.
But neither stood a chance of catching Su Yang and Pan Ning now.
The 400-meter dash ended in a blink. Pan Ning crossed first, Su Yang second, Meng Wenzhou third, and Zhang Ziming last.
After stopping their cars, Zhang Ziming jumped out in disbelief.
“What the hell?! How are you guys so fast? I’ve got a freaking 5.2T V12, and I’m dead last?”
“Did you guys tune your cars or something?”
Pan Ning shot him a glare. “Why would I need to? Even if you tuned yours, you still wouldn’t beat me.”
“Fine, I’ll admit I can’t beat you—your car’s a hybrid with 1,000 hp. But how did I lose to these two? Especially the 911.”
He walked around Su Yang’s car, inspecting it.
“Yang, you sure you didn’t tune this?”
Su Yang blinked, surprised by the casual nickname, but just chuckled. “Nope. Totally stock.”
“A stock Turbo S is this fast? I thought it only had 650 hp and six cylinders.”
Zhang Ziming leaned into the driver’s side, peering around in amazement.
Meng Wenzhou, unfazed by the results, walked over with a laugh. “Don’t underestimate it. The Porsche PDK transmission is insane—0-100 km/h in 2.7 seconds. Losing to it is normal.”
“I refuse to accept this! Over 700 hp, twelve cylinders, and I still lost? Let’s go again—this time, all of us use launch control.”
“Fine. That’s gotta be it. With launch control, I’ll at least take second. Let’s head back and do it again.”
The four returned to their cars and drove back to the starting line.
Liu Bo grinned as they approached. “That SF90 is no joke.”
“Of course it’s not—three electric motors? Who can compete with that?” Zhang Ziming replied.
“Alright, Round Two: launch control. Ready?” Liu Bo called out.
Four honks confirmed.
Liu Bo raised the flag again. “Set!”
The engines roared violently as the cars prepped for launch.
“Three… two… one!!!”
The moment the countdown ended, Su Yang released the brake and pinned the throttle. The Turbo S lunged forward, the intense G-force slamming him into the seat. Once again, he took the lead.
The 911 Turbo S’s launch was brutal.
This time, with launch control engaged, the Turbo S stretched its lead even further.
But just past the halfway point, Pan Ning closed the gap again.
Su Yang glanced at the rearview mirror and groaned. “Seriously? Again?”
Before he could finish, Pan Ning pulled alongside, then surged ahead.
Su Yang smacked the steering wheel in frustration. “Damn it!”
Meng Wenzhou and Zhang Ziming were left trailing, eating their dust.
Zhang Ziming gritted his teeth. Catching Su Yang and Pan Ning was impossible now, but he refused to be last again.
Meng Wenzhou’s lead was slim, but no matter how hard Zhang Ziming pushed, he couldn’t close the half-car gap.
Soon, the second race ended.
Pan Ning took first again, Su Yang second, Meng Wenzhou third, and Zhang Ziming last.
Zhang Ziming stepped out of his car and howled at the sky, “WHY?!”
Meng Wenzhou couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe you should switch cars. Yours isn’t built for this.”
......
Ignoring Zhang Ziming’s meltdown, Pan Ning walked over to Su Yang’s window. “Well? Convinced now?”
Su Yang sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Straight-line speed? You’ve got me. But on a full track, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
He had good reason to be confident. First, Porsches were born for the track. Second, Su Yang had professional racing skills—he could take on anyone, even a pro.
Pan Ning smirked. “Then let’s race on the track.”
“Sure. I’ll even give you a car-length head start.”
“Pfft. You just lost twice. What makes you so cocky?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll see.”
“Fine. How many laps?”
“Five. One race to settle it.”
“Deal.” Without another word, Pan Ning got back in her car and drove to the starting line.
Su Yang glanced at Zhang Ziming, who was still complaining to Meng Wenzhou, and grinned. "Ziming, stop overthinking it. I’m about to race Pan Ning on the track—you guys in?"
"Hell yeah! Straight lines might not be my thing, but the track? That’s my turf!" He climbed into his car without hesitation.
Meng Wenzhou shook his head. "This guy’s obsessed with racing—what can I say?"
Su Yang chuckled in agreement as the three of them drove their cars back to the starting line.
"Liu Bo, last round—track race, five laps. You’re on timer duty," Meng Wenzhou called out from his car.
Liu Bo flashed an OK sign. "Got it. Ready when you are."
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
close your eyes and open them again, only to find yourself transmigrated into the role of a villainous male supporting character. Readers familiar with urban wish-fulfillment novels know that it is only through the relentless antics of the villainous male supporting character that the plot between the male and female leads can progress. As the villainous male supporting character, Long Aotian not only has to bully the female lead, harass the second female lead, and flirt with the third female lead, but he also has to go all out to antagonize the male lead. In the end, when his body is discovered, he is still clutching half a moldy fried dough stick in his hand. Fully aware of the plot, Long Aotian is determined to change his fate, starting with the female lead! In the beginning, the female lead lacks confidence: "Big brother, I hope I didn't scare you?" In the middle, the female lead treads carefully: "Brother Long, please don't hit me, okay?" Later on, the female lead becomes coquettishly clingy: "Aotian, it's time to pay the 'public grain' tonight." Long Aotian's legs go weak, and he feels like crying: "I taught you to be thick-skinned, not shameless!"
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
