F1: In Ferrari, Schumacher at the start.

The top three drivers, guided by staff, walked toward the podium, which symbolized the highest honor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's welcome today's third runner-up—George Russell! The runner-up—Lin Feng! And the champion—Lewis Hamilton!"

Accompanied by the DJ's hysterical shouts, the three walked out of the passage one by one.

The cheers from the crowd came like a tsunami, the sound almost lifting the roof off Silverstone Circuit.

Today's award presenters were of extremely high caliber, with Prince William, representing the British Royal Family, personally carrying the trophy onto the stage.

Prince William, with a smile on his face, first handed the championship trophy to local hero Hamilton, and the two exchanged a few familiar pleasantries. Then, he walked over to Lin Feng, who was standing in second place.

"A truly wonderful game, Lin." Prince William handed the heavy silver trophy to Lin Feng, his eyes filled with undisguised admiration. "I was holding my breath in the stands when you overtook George on the perimeter. You have a strong heart."

"Thank you for your praise, Your Highness." Lin Feng smiled politely, accepted the trophy, and held it high.

Russell was the last to receive the award.

When the team championship trophy was awarded, it was Toto Wolff who walked onto the podium representing the Mercedes team.

As the British national anthem, "God Save the King," was played, the entire audience rose to their feet.

The atmosphere on the podium shifted seamlessly the instant the national anthem ended.

The sparkling wine specially made for Ferrari was served.

Hamilton pulled out the cork, turned to look at Lin Feng, and in the fraction of a second their eyes met, a certain tacit understanding was instantly achieved.

Russell, who was standing nearby, noticed the look in his eyes and immediately understood, grabbing his champagne.

The three drivers moved in unison, simultaneously turning their guns and aiming the three bottles of champagne at Toto Wolff, who was standing in the center of the podium, ready to strike a cool pose.

"Hey! Wait! No, no, guys!"

Toto's smile froze instantly, and he instinctively raised the team trophy in his hand to block.

But it was all too late.

Three white, high-pressure water jets, coming from three different directions, precisely drenched Toto's expensive, custom-made white shirt.

"Hahaha! Toto, this toast is for you!" Lin Feng shouted, laughing as he guzzled the drink.

"Boss! This is for all those damn PR events you arranged for me during the offseason!" Russell retorted without holding back.

Hamilton then shoved the champagne bottle directly into Toto's back: "This is for our years of friendship, Toto!"

The usually composed Mercedes CEO, caught between these three young men, completely lost his usual commanding presence. He was drenched and ran around the podium like a drowned rat, still managing to laugh and retort, "You three bastards! My shirt is silk!"

A thunderous roar of laughter erupted from the audience.

140,000 car enthusiasts watched this extremely joyful scene and raised their phones to take pictures.

After they had had their fun, the four of them stood together, soaking wet. Hamilton took the phone from a staff member and switched to the front-facing wide-angle lens.

"Come on, guys, look at the camera!"

Hamilton stood at the front, with Russell on his left with his arm around Toto's shoulder and Lin Feng with a bright smile on his right. Toto, dripping wet, stood in the middle, giving the camera a thumbs-up with a helpless yet affectionate look.

"Snap!"

This selfie, which can be described as an iconic moment in F1, was simultaneously posted by the official F1 Twitter account and Hamilton's personal account ten minutes later.

Within just one hour, this photo went viral on social media and in the racing world worldwide!

Headlines from major sports media outlets flew out like snowflakes.

Sky Sports: "An incredible group photo! Hamilton, Russell, Lin Feng, and Toto. This picture foreshadows Mercedes' next decade!"

L'Équipe: "Mercedes-Benz's 'Past, Present, and Future'! Toto Wolf not only won the championship at Silverstone, but also secured his most coveted prize on the podium!"

Bild even enlarged the photo and printed it on their front page: "Lin Feng stands perfectly at ease next to Toto. Williams probably already knows they can't keep this Chinese driver!"

The entire internet was buzzing about this "four-person group photo," with fans frantically analyzing the micro-expressions between Lin Feng and Toto in the comments section, as if Lin Feng were going to clock in for work tomorrow wearing a Mercedes jersey.

Meanwhile, Lin Feng, the person involved, had long since forgotten all the rumors and gossip.

He only has one thing on his mind right now: rice!

It was 8 p.m. that evening. At a top-tier private club restaurant in Mayfair, central London.

This restaurant usually only caters to royalty and the ultra-wealthy, but tonight it was booked out by Lewis Hamilton and George Russell.

As the hosts for this weekend, the two British guys put together a grand event, bringing together all twenty active drivers in the paddock. There were no team leaders, no PR teams, and no reporters; it was a purely private party for the drivers.

The private room was dimly lit, and around a huge, long oak dining table, twenty guys who would normally want to knock each other off the track were now dressed in comfortable casual clothes, joking and teasing each other while holding wine glasses.

When Lin Feng pushed open the door and walked in, the private room was already quite lively.

"Lin! Our future star has finally arrived!" Yuki Kakuta, with his sharp eyes, was the first to shout.

"Screw you, what future star? I almost got blocked by George on the track this afternoon." Lin Feng laughed as he walked over and pulled out a chair next to Alben to sit down.

"Stop it." Russell leaned over and plopped down opposite Lin Feng. "That time you took that shot from the outside, I was cursing in the car. You weren't driving a race car, you were flying a fighter jet."

Lin Feng raised an eyebrow smugly: "Is it my fault? You didn't shut down the inside defense, and with so much space on the outside, I couldn't possibly keep the brakes on while you were strolling around, could I?"

Hamilton, seated at the head of the table, tapped his glass to signal everyone to be quiet.

"Alright guys, welcome to London. This was the toughest back-to-back game before the summer break, and we made it through. George and I are treating tonight, so eat and drink to your heart's content!"

Waiters began to file in, bringing out heavy, gold-embossed menus.

Lin Feng escaped a disaster and now has an unprecedented craving for food.

He opened the menu, ready to reward his terrified taste buds.

However, when he saw the names of the dishes on the menu, his brows furrowed involuntarily.

"Lewis." Lin Feng held up the menu, looking at Hamilton with a serious expression. "This is the restaurant you booked, right?"

"Yes, one of the best Michelin-starred restaurants in all of London. What's wrong?" Hamilton asked, puzzled.

"Are you sure?" Lin Feng pointed to several specialty dishes on the menu, cleared his throat, and loudly read them aloud in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Stargazing Pie? What kind of culinary abomination is this? A dough ball with a few dead fish rolling their eyes and staring at the ceiling? And this, black pudding? Is that the legendary blood sausage?"

Lin Feng slammed the menu shut, his face filled with grief and indignation.

"George, Lewis, Lando. I have no problem with you three Englishmen, and I respect your culture," Lin Feng said, feigning distress. "But you call this 'gourmet food'? I fought tooth and nail this afternoon to get second place, just to eat this fish with its eyes wide open and blood sausage tonight? Is fish and chips the only decent food you British can offer?"

"Hahahahaha!"

The private room erupted in a deafening roar of laughter that seemed to lift the roof off.

Alonso from Spain laughed so hard he slammed his fist on the table: "Lin's right! Lewis, every time I come to England to compete, my stomach protests. You might as well just bring me a plate of Iberian ham!"

Gasly joined in the whistle, chiming in: "Agreed! French cuisine is the best in the world. British food is a desecration of ingredients."

Hamilton and Russell looked utterly exasperated.

Norris, standing nearby, muttered indignantly, "What's wrong with fish and chips! Fish and chips are the savior of humanity! Lin, you have no idea what the essence of British cuisine is!"

"The essence is that you lose your sense of taste after eating it, right?" Lin Feng added mercilessly. "Honestly, I'd rather go back to the hunting grounds and eat boxed lunches now. At least I know that stuff is made with chicken."

Despite his harsh complaints, Lin Feng ate with more relish than anyone else when the truly high-end custom-made steak and French foie gras were served.

Just kidding, this is real high-class cuisine, and it absolutely doesn't taste like poop! He chewed each bite carefully, as if he were savoring the most precious and rare treasure in the world.

The atmosphere at the dinner table was extremely relaxed. Without the media's cameras and microphones, the drivers could finally let their guard down and be their true selves.

Verstappen didn't drink much; he kept pulling Lance Stroll aside to discuss forming a team to conquer GT3. Stroll looked helpless but didn't want to interrupt the Autobots who were having such a great time.

Alonso, holding a wine glass, acted like an older brother, imparting his seasoned experience of using blind spots for defense on the track to Piastri, who was sitting next to him.

Leclerc and Sainz were discussing where to go on vacation for the second half of the season, completely forgetting about the game.

After a few rounds of drinks, the atmosphere became slightly tipsy.

Hamilton stood up, holding a glass of champagne.

"Guys, F1 is a brutal world. Every week we fight tooth and nail on the track for a fraction of a second. But in this box, we're all in the same boat, the only twenty lunatics in the world who can push speed to its limits."

He raised his glass, his gaze sweeping over every face.

"Salute to speed, salute to the competition, salute to every weekend we live!"

"Salute to speed!"

Everyone stood up at the same time, and the twenty glasses clinked in mid-air, making a crisp and pleasant sound.

As the dinner party drew to a close, everyone suggested taking a group photo.

The waiter was called in and stood at the front of the private room with a camera.

The twenty F1 drivers were lined up in a neat and orderly fashion. Alonso and Hamilton, as veterans, sat in front, while the younger generation, including Lin Feng, Verstappen, Norris, and Zhou Guanyu, stood behind them, arms around each other's shoulders.

Lin Feng stood between Verstappen and Russell, his left hand around Russell's neck, while his right hand flashed a peace sign at the camera.

"Three, two, one! Cheese!"

The flash went off.

This group photo of twenty people, who represent the highest-paid, most talented, and most passionate individuals in the world of motorsports, has been forever captured on this summer night in London.

At this moment, they were just twenty big boys who loved racing.