Qin Fen knew exactly what Huang Qing was referring to. He shrugged. "Check the dashcam—he just cut me off too and gave me a scare. My car fishtailed. Everyone here knows my driving's every bit as good as yours. Jiang Cheng isn't a pro; if Lin Yao swerves in on him and he panics and clips someone, it's understandable. Sounds reasonable to me."
When Qin Fen finished, Wang Congcong chimed in at once: "Qin Fen's right. That punk overtook me as well. Lucky I've got skills or I'd be the one crumpled. Tell me, what kind of event are you running? Don't I deserve an explanation too?"
Cornered by Wang Congcong, Huang Qing's face turned awkward.
After Wang Congcong spoke, Qin Fen added, "Huang Qing, this is Shanghai; Shanghai has its rules. As president of the club, I hope you can tell right from wrong."
Those words shut Huang Qing up.
He could afford to fall out—or even brawl—with Qin Fen; the fallout would be limited.
But in China, Wang Congcong ranked among the top Second-generation rich.
People in their circle bowed and scraped to him.
Lin Yao had come with him and had just slapped countless faces; giving an account would be tough.
For a moment Huang Qing didn't know which way to jump.
Backing Lin Yao meant publicly slapping Wang Congcong.
Yet if he did nothing, Lin Yao would never let him off once they were back.
A classic no-win dilemma.
Seeing Qin Fen and Wang Congcong stand up for Jiang Cheng,
the atmosphere on the track turned intriguing.
Everyone knew Jiang Cheng's stock in Shanghai had soared these past few months.
No one could pin down his exact background, but launching so many companies so fast and daring to go head-to-head with Beijing-plated cars hinted at serious backing.
Still, not everyone present had heard of Jiang Cheng.
Only a portion had started asking around from the moment they arrived.
Right now the crowd looked ready to split into two camps.
One side: Jiang Cheng and Wang Congcong's clique of Second-generation rich.
The other: Huang Qing and Lin Yao's crew.
Some quietly drifted toward Jiang Cheng.
Others edged closer to Huang Qing.
After all, as club president Huang Qing was the one they usually dealt with.
They knew his temperament.
If he was willing to fall out with Jiang Cheng and Qin Fen for Lin Yao's sake, Lin Yao's background had to outclass Jiang Cheng's.
Though they picked sides, no one opened their mouth.
No one was stupid; it wasn't their fight.
Why stick your neck out when you could watch the show?
Having seen such scenes before, Han Anning studied Jiang Cheng again.
She was deeply curious about his background.
Last time, Jiang Cheng had come out on top against Wang Hao.
Yet afterward she'd been unable to dig up more details.
The whole affair had been quietly buried.
She'd asked Qi Yuan, but he'd revealed nothing.
Now, seeing Qi Yuan's attitude, Han Anning understood everything.
Anyone who could make Qi Yuan play sidekick had to be terrifyingly connected.
Besides, even someone with Wang Hao's pedigree had been crushed by Jiang Cheng.
For Lin Yao to win today, his backing would have to surpass Wang Hao's.
Otherwise, if he was just an ordinary Second-generation rich kid, he was cannon fodder.
"Huang Qing, you know Beijing rules," Lin Yao snarled, pressuring him. "This club is yours, so I'll give you face—but if you don't give me an answer, from now on you and I are enemies."
Lin Yao knew coming alone today put him at a disadvantage.
If this weren't Shanghai, he wouldn't have to swallow the insult.
And he hadn't expected even Wang Congcong to speak for Jiang Cheng.
Huang Qing had been ready to wash his hands of the matter, but Lin Yao's words forced him to pick a side.
After weighing pros and cons he decided to single out Jiang Cheng—keep the fallout contained.
A veteran of the Second-generation rich scene, he knew exactly how to protect his own interests.
Between Jiang Cheng and Lin Yao, he knew whom to choose.
As for Wang Congcong, he could apologize in person later.
"Let's keep everyone else out of this," Huang Qing said. "Today it's between you two. We're all here for the SCC track day, and I'm grateful. By Shanghai rules, I'm asking you two to settle it face to face—then we call it done."
Huang Qing's meaning was clear: deal with it here and now.
Jiang Cheng laughed. "Didn't catch what I just said? Who do you think you are that I need to give you face?"
"What do you mean? Someone's hurt and you still won't take responsibility?"
"Me, take responsibility? You think you're worth it? Today you'll fix my car and apologize, or this isn't over."
Jiang Cheng had disliked Huang Qing for ages.
Now the man kept pushing his luck, imagining that running the club made him untouchable.
When Jiang Cheng finished, Qi Yuan chortled, "Bro Cheng's right. You drive like a maniac and now look at the mess. Count yourself lucky he's not making you kneel and apologize."
Huang Qing's face darkened, contempt and rage flashing in his eyes as he glared at Qi Yuan.
To him Qi Yuan was just some ordinary Second-generation rich kid in a ferrari f8—only placed in the second row today thanks to Qin Fen and Wang Congcong.
The truly connected, like Lin Yao, drove a mclaren P1.
F8s were a dime a dozen in the club and didn't impress him.
His own background wasn't huge, but he wasn't a soft touch either.
Huang Qing sneered, "Who are you? This isn't your place to speak. Stop fanning flames. We're solving a problem, not starting one."
Just then several police cruisers slowed and stopped.
Once out, the lead officer, Chen Qin, took in the hundreds of supercars and his face turned grim.
A scene this size meant every brat here had powerful parents.
Chen Qin's stomach churned.
Why did lousy jobs always land on him?
Handling cases like this was a nightmare.
One misstep and you wasted effort and made enemies.
Pure thankless work.
Qi Yuan's grin only widened. "Who I am doesn't matter, but a nobody like you doesn't call the shots. See? The law's here."
Spotting the cruisers, Huang Qing's expression sank, fury blazing inside.
The track day was ruined and he'd already lost a tidy slice of under-the-table profit.