236: Chapter 235 Her legs went weak from the high-speed chase.

The low growl of the engine vibrated up through the floorboards. Shen Bingtong's back was pressed firmly against her seat, the seatbelt tightening against her collarbone.

Qin Feng didn't use a turn signal; he simply cut the steering wheel thirty degrees to the right.

The maybach swerved from the center lane into the right lane.

The driver of a white Volkswagen Passat on the right was startled into slamming their horn, the long blare trailing off outside the window.

Qin Feng ignored it.

He stared at the traffic light two hundred meters ahead.

Green light, eleven seconds left.

In the right side-mirror, the first GL8 also shifted into the right lane, while the second accelerated from the left, preparing to flank them.

Qin Feng floored the accelerator with his right foot.

The tachometer needle surged from three thousand to five thousand five hundred.

The V12's exhaust let out a deep roar as all six hundred horsepower poured into the rear wheels.

The speedometer jumped: eighty, ninety-five, one hundred and ten.

One hundred and fifty meters ahead, a red taxi was cruising slowly in the right lane.

Qin Feng twisted the steering wheel forty-five degrees to the left.

The maybach's nose swept past the right side of the red taxi with less than thirty centimeters of clearance.

The taxi driver's face flashed past the window, his mouth agape in an 'O' shape.

Qin Feng had already straightened the wheel, the car body leveling out as it occupied the center lane.

In the rearview mirror, the first GL8 was blocked by the taxi.

Startled by the maybach, the taxi driver instinctively steered right and slowed down, directly obstructing the GL8's path.

The GL8 slammed on its brakes, its tires letting out a dull screech against the asphalt.

The traffic light ahead began its countdown.

Eight seconds.

Seven seconds.

Qin Feng looked up and glanced at it.

He didn't slow down.

Cutting the wheel another twenty degrees to the left, the maybach slanted from the center lane into the left lane.

Forty meters ahead in the left lane, a silver audi a6 was traveling at a constant speed.

Qin Feng tapped the brakes with his left foot, dropping the speed from one hundred and ten to eighty as the car's nose skimmed past the right side of the audi a6.

In the left side-mirror, the distance between the maybach and the audi a6 was no more than twenty centimeters.

The Audi driver jerked the steering wheel to the right in fear, nearly clipping a Toyota Camry in the center lane.

Both cars honked simultaneously, their sounds blending together.

Qin Feng was already past the Audi, his right foot pressing the accelerator again.

The speed climbed back to one hundred.

Traffic light countdown: three seconds.

As the nose of the maybach crossed the stop line, the signal jumped from green to yellow.

He didn't hesitate, flooring the pedal.

The maybach swept through the intersection; the yellow light flashed overhead and turned red.

In the rearview mirror, the second GL8 was trapped behind the red light.

It braked hard before the intersection, its front dipping forward, nearly rear-ending the Toyota waiting in line.

The first GL8 was still stuck behind the taxi, not even reaching the intersection.

Qin Feng eased off the accelerator, and the speed gradually dropped back to seventy.

He turned his head.

Shen Bingtong's left hand was gripping the passenger door handle, her five fingers white from the strain.

Her right hand had been pulled out of her pocket and rested on her thigh, her fingertips trembling slightly against her knee.

Her pupils were wider than usual.

“Are you nervous?”

Shen Bingtong's jaw tightened.

Nervous?

Her hand hadn't even shaken when she was sixteen, holding a knife while negotiating terms with people.

But that entire stretch of road just now had been far too exhilarating.

It was the kind of suffocating feeling where the thought of fighting back couldn't even arise.

I f*cking love this.

Shen Bingtong cursed inwardly.

[Ding! Favorability of marked target 'Shen Bingtong' +5! Current Favorability: 10.]

“No.”

“Your hand is shaking.”

“The car is too bumpy.”

“A maybach s680 with double-layered acoustic glass and air suspension, and you’re telling me it’s bumpy?”

Shen Bingtong pressed her lips into a thin line and didn't respond.

“Bodyguard Shen, aren't you quite the fighter? Are you scared already?”

“I'm not scared.”

“Then let go of the door handle?”

Shen Bingtong's left hand released the door handle finger by finger, resting back on the armrest.

Her breathing hadn't fully leveled out yet. Her gaze fell on the windshield, but her focus wasn't on anything in particular.

Her lips moved, a sound leaking from deep in her throat, so soft that even she took a beat to realize what she'd said.

“...Thrilling.”

Qin Feng pulled his gaze back, looking at the road ahead.

[Ding! Non-marked target 'Shen Bingtong' has experienced an emotional surge: 'Shock/Secret Admiration'! points +1800!]

A profit.

Shen Bingtong looked at Qin Feng, feeling that every move he just made was precise enough to be measured with a stopwatch.

After all, racing and losing a tail on public roads were two completely different things.

On a track, there's only you and your opponents; the surface is clean, the corners are fixed, and you drive at the absolute limit.

On the highway, there are other cars, traffic lights, and unpredictable emergencies.

You can't just weld the pedal to the floor or take the racing line;

you have to find the gaps among all the variables and then slice right through.

This was harder than pure speed.

She had already witnessed Qin Feng's racing skills on Panshan Road last night.

But that was a track.

On this stretch today, Qin Feng wasn't using racing techniques; he was using judgment.

Every step was perfectly timed.

Shen Bingtong's thumb brushed against the edge of a ring in her pocket.

She had been mixing in Jinling's underground circles since she was sixteen and had seen plenty of tough characters.

Those who could fight, those who could kill, those who could take the heat—all kinds.

But someone like Qin Feng...

She had never seen.

“What are you looking at?”

Qin Feng's voice came from the driver's seat.

Shen Bingtong only then realized her gaze had drifted to his profile at some point.

She looked away, staring out the window.

“Checking the road conditions.”

“The road is in front; why are you looking at the right side of my face?”

“There was something on your face.”

Qin Feng raised a hand to touch his right cheek.

“Where?”

“It's gone.”

Qin Feng glanced at her but didn't press further.

The maybach turned onto the side road toward Zijin Mountain, the trees lining the street receding behind them.

Shen Bingtong's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to take a look.

A message from Zhao Feng.

“Two teams in position outside the tea house. One in the east parking lot, one in the west bamboo forest.”

Shen Bingtong locked her phone and stuffed it back into her pocket.

“We're here.”

Qin Feng slowed down, and the maybach turned into the access road for the Zijin Mountain Tea House.

Lined on both sides by manicured bamboo, the leaves swayed in the wind.

Thirty meters ahead, the tea house's entrance came into view.

Blue bricks and grey tiles, upturned eaves, and two copper lanterns hanging from the pillars at the entrance.

Qin Feng pulled out the key and pushed open the car door.

“Let’s go. You wait for me in the car.”

Standing beside the maybach, he adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket.

Qin Feng stepped toward the entrance.

He scanned the doorway.

Six people.

Black suits, white shirts, uniform tie clips. They stood in two rows of three, spaced evenly, toes pointed out at forty-five degrees.

This wasn't a stance taught by a security company.

Qin Feng's gaze dropped an inch, landing on the right hand of the man in the front row on the left.

There were calluses on the webbing of his thumb and index finger, but not the kind from a gym.

It was thickened tissue formed by long-term pressure from gripping knife handles and gun grips.

His gaze shifted to the man on the right.

Overdeveloped neck muscles, trapezius muscles bulging so much they distorted the suit's collar.

Even standing still, his shoulders maintained a slight forward lean, a ready stance.

Of the six, at least four had actual combat experience.

And not the street-fighting kind. Their breathing frequencies were almost identical;

their positioning created a cross-lock. Anyone approaching the entrance from the front would face interception from at least three directions simultaneously.

Retired mercenaries from Middle Eastern war zones, or veterans from Eastern European private military companies.

Qin Feng mentally labeled these men.

These six were likely temporary hires Chu Zhengyang had brought in for a high price, with only one purpose: to bolster his prestige.

Simply put, he wanted Qin Feng to weigh the Chu family's importance before stepping over the threshold.

Interesting.

Just having some tea, yet such a grand display. Is he afraid I'll flip the table?