Give You a Car Length

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."