F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

On Saturday morning, the clouds over Silverstone dispersed, revealing a clear blue sky.

Lin Feng, sporting two enormous dark circles under his eyes, stepped out of the van with a look of utter despair.

He had nightmares all night last night.

In the dream, James Walls, dressed in a tuxedo, approached him carrying a tray covered with a silver dome-shaped lid. The moment the lid was lifted, it didn't contain a Michelin three-star meal, but a steaming, deadly pile of excrement.

Lin Feng was woken up from his dream by the fumes. He sat on the bed in the middle of the night, drinking water like crazy, and dared not close his eyes again.

In order to stop having these dreams, he didn't even eat breakfast today and had Zhou Kai drive him to Weichang early in the morning.

At this point, there were still several hours until the third free practice session of the morning, and only a few staff members were moving around in the paddock.

However, the fans were clearly up even earlier than him.

At the main entrance of the track, hundreds of die-hard fans holding support signs and helmets had already gathered. When they saw Lin Feng get out of the car, the crowd immediately erupted in enthusiastic cheers.

"Lin! Over here! Please sign your name!"

"Lin! Beat Red Bull in qualifying today!"

Lin Feng sighed, forced himself to stay alert, and quickly walked to the fence.

He is now the undisputed star of the Williams team, and with the immense popularity he has accumulated in previous races, his treatment outside the paddock is completely different from what it used to be.

He took the markers handed to him by fans and quickly signed his name on various hats, T-shirts, and photos. When fans asked for selfies, he would also go over and give them a fairly sunny smile.

Halfway through the registration process, a small figure squeezed through the crowd.

It was a Chinese boy who looked to be only about ten years old, dressed in a professional go-kart racing suit, holding a mini Williams car model in his hand.

"Brother Lin Feng! I'm your fan! I want to drive F1 like you when I grow up!" The little boy's voice was clear and loud, and his eyes sparkled with undisguised admiration.

Lin Feng stopped what he was doing, looked down at the little guy, then squatted down, took the car model from the boy's hand, carefully signed his name on it, and then patted the little guy's head.

"Where are you competing now?" Lin Feng asked casually.

"I just won my group in the British Junior Karting Championship yesterday!" the little boy announced proudly, puffing out his chest.

"Good lad, you've got potential." Lin Feng handed the car model back to him, stood up and thought for a moment, then decided to give this rising star some advice from someone who had been there before.

"Remember what your brother said: on the track, floor the gas pedal and slam on the brakes. Don't be afraid of going off the track." Lin Feng patted the little boy's shoulder earnestly.

The little boy held the model car and nodded vigorously: "I've got it!"

After fulfilling the fans' requests, Lin Feng swiped his card and entered the paddock.

Lin Feng stopped after taking just two steps toward Williams' rest area, his brows furrowing slightly.

Something's not right in the hunting grounds.

Between the Ferrari and Mercedes pit garages, an unfamiliar garage suddenly appeared out of nowhere, with a team logo—ApexGP—hanging above it that it had never seen before.

Two black and gold racing cars were parked in the garage, and a dozen mechanics dressed in black and gold team uniforms were busy around the cars. What was even more outrageous was that Lin Feng had never seen any of these people before, and their movements looked very unfamiliar, not at all like a professional F1 logistics team.

"When did the FIA ​​sneak in an eleventh team in the middle of the night? How come I didn't know?"

Lin Feng stood there, his face full of questions.

Just then, Crapinto strolled over with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Seeing Lin Feng staring at the unfamiliar garage, Crapinto walked over with a smile and nudged him with his elbow.

"Stop looking, those are fake racing teams." Crapinto pointed to the mechanics walking around and said in a low voice, "That's a Hollywood film crew. They're filming 'F1: Racing' starring Brad Pitt and Damson Idris at Silverstone this weekend."

"Making a movie?" Lin Feng suddenly realized, then felt something was off. "Wasn't this movie supposed to be filmed last year? Why has it been delayed until now?"

"Don't you usually read entertainment news?" Crapinto rolled his eyes. "Last year, the Screen Actors Guild strike brought the entire production to a standstill. Now that the strike is over, they can only rush to reshoot scenes during this year's Silverstone Grand Prix weekend. I heard that their two black and gold race cars are actually modified F2 chassis, and they'll be taking a couple of laps on the track during our practice session."

As the two were chatting, Alexander Alben walked over from the van. He seemed to be in a good mood today.

Alben followed their gaze and couldn't help but marvel.

"I happened to see Brad Pitt walking out of their garage yesterday afternoon, dressed in his racing suit. I have to say, even though he's sixty, he looks pretty cool in a racing suit. But compared to us, he still lacks the energy of young people."

Alben smugly straightened his collar.

Seeing Alben's vain expression, Lin Feng mercilessly poured cold water on his enthusiasm.

"Alex, they're making movies to showcase the prowess of F1 drivers. If our crew wanted some material, I think they could totally go through the footage of our pit lane at the Canadian Grand Prix. Twelve seconds of tire changing could definitely be made into a blockbuster thriller."

Alben and Crapinto burst into laughter.

Time flies.

The morning's three training sessions ended quickly, with less than two hours left before the afternoon's qualifying matches.

The atmosphere in Williams's private room became incredibly tense.

During the third practice session, Lin Feng noticed a slight vibration in the car's hydraulic system. Although it didn't affect acceleration on the straightaways, on a track like Silverstone that requires continuous high-speed changes of direction, any slight delay in steering assist could cause the car to fly off the track.

Considering the terrifying punishment he would face if he failed, Lin Feng was now treating this race car with even more care than he would his own father.

Instead of going to the lounge for a meal, he squatted down next to the race car, watching intently as several mechanics disassembled the side box to inspect the wiring.

"Paul, my good brother."

Lin Feng clasped his hands together and bowed frantically to the competition engineer who was looking at the data, his tone extremely humble.

"I'm begging you, please tighten every single screw three times, and check all the sensors. This car absolutely cannot have any problems during qualifying today and the race tomorrow. If it breaks down halfway through, I'm really going to jump into the river."

Paul was both amused and exasperated by Lin Feng's exaggerated behavior.

"Lin, don't be too nervous. It's normal for the sensor data to fluctuate a bit. We've already replaced it with a spare hydraulic pump, so there shouldn't be any problems with this afternoon's qualifying race."

"Swear on your year-end bonus," Lin Feng persisted.

"I swear on my year-end bonus," Paul said, raising his right hand in exasperation.

After receiving the assurance, Lin Feng breathed a slight sigh of relief and prepared to stand up, supporting himself on his knees with both hands.

Just then, he suddenly felt a wet, rough touch on the back of his right hand, like a warm, damp towel licking his skin.

"Holy crap! What's leaking electricity?!"

Lin Feng, who was in a state of high tension, was startled and jumped back, almost hitting his head on the race car's rear wing.

He lowered his head and looked closely.

A large, wrinkled English Bulldog with a round face was squatting next to the rear tire of the Williams race car. It was panting heavily with its tongue lolling out, its big eyes looking innocently at Lin Feng, and its tail swishing idly on the ground.

Lin Feng paused for two seconds, then immediately recognized the famous dog in the enclosure.

Lewis Hamilton's beloved dog, Roscoe.

This bulldog, who has its own VIP pass and hundreds of thousands of fans, somehow escaped from Mercedes' pit room and ended up on Williams' territory.

"Hey, little fatty." Lin Feng, relieved, squatted down and reached out to rub Roscoe's wrinkled face. "Are you here to spy for your Lewis? Or do you want to study the aerodynamics of our chassis?"

Roscoe completely ignored Lin Feng's teasing, snorted loudly, lay down on the ground, rested his chin on his chubby front paws, and looked like a big shot who said, "I'm just here to enjoy the air conditioning."

Looking at the chubby bulldog, Lin Feng's eyes lit up, and he suddenly had a mischievous idea.

Lin Feng took out his phone, turned on the front camera, and moved closer to Roscoe. He deliberately made a funny face with his eyes crossed and his mouth wide open, while Roscoe on the ground looked lazy and ready to fall asleep at any moment.

"Click."

A perfect photo of a person and a dog.

Without hesitation, Lin Feng opened Twitter, posted the photo, and added a caption:

[The Williams team just signed a new chassis inspector. He's not much of a talker, but he's incredibly hardworking; he even tried cleaning our tires with his tongue. @LewisHamilton, your chief mechanic has been poached by us.]

Click send.

After sending the message, Lin Feng put his phone back in his pocket and picked up Roscoe from the ground with both hands.

The dog didn't look big, but it was surprisingly heavy, weighing at least forty pounds. Lin Feng hugged Roscoe like a solid gas cylinder and turned to walk out of the pit shed.

Meanwhile, in the Mercedes rest area next door.

Lewis Hamilton had just finished his pre-race massage and changed into his racing suit when he came out. He looked around and frowned.

"Angela, have you seen Roscoe? I just went to the restroom and he was gone when I came out," Hamilton asked his personal assistant.

The assistant panicked and quickly mobilized the surrounding staff to search everywhere.

"Lewis, did he go to the restaurant again to ask for food?" the assistant guessed.

Hamilton shook his head: "This fat guy usually complains about even walking, where could he possibly run to?"

Just as the entire Mercedes team was frantically searching for the dog, the team's public relations manager, looking exasperated, strode over with his phone in hand.

"Lewis, I think you don't need to look anymore, take a look at this."

The PR manager handed Hamilton the phone. The screen displayed the tweet Lin Feng had just posted.

Hamilton looked at Lin Feng's funny face in the photo, and at his own dog lying carefree on someone else's territory, feeling both angry and amused.

"That guy actually went to visit the neighbors next door." Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as he finished speaking, the automatic doors to the Mercedes lounge slid open.

Lin Feng, panting heavily as he carried the heavy Roscoe, slowly made his way in.

"Little Liu, hurry up and greet me. What have you been feeding him? This is practically a hairy dumbbell; my arm is about to dislocate." Lin Feng put Roscoe on the ground and complained, shaking his aching arm.

As soon as Roscoe landed, he slowly walked to Hamilton's feet, rubbed against his trouser leg, as if nothing had happened.

Hamilton walked up with a smile and patted Lin Feng on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Lin. Did you manage to chew through your pipes?"

"He didn't bite the pipes, but he almost gave me a heart attack." Lin Feng rolled his eyes. "But I forgave him because he's so cute."