The Desert Sea Extreme Rally.
To anyone who knew the truth of it, merely reading those words was enough to bring on a wave of agony.
It was just like those content creators hunting for views who chose to hike or pedal absurd contraptions onto high plateaus: the blistering wind and scorching sun were the least of their worries. From the instant they made the choice and took their first step, every breath they drew arrived coupled with ceaseless torment.
In this day and age, beyond a hundred li from the central cities lay nothing but the wilderness.
It was a no-man's-land far too brutal even for wild beasts.
Human beings depended on civilization to survive. Once stripped of its shelter, even fleeting travelers would suffer nature and calamity's merciless assault.
Looking down from an airship, those shifting vistas were nothing more than a dull, commonplace landscape. But once you were truly immersed in it, never mind traveling on foot—even measuring it out with wheels presented a practically endless litany of crises.
Food, drinking water, supplies, maintenance, medicine, heating—and the trials and challenges dealt out by the world itself!
This course spanning the entire Federation did not even follow a fixed route. Due to the frequent disasters out in the wild, the path changed virtually every year. Past iterations had even seen races where not a single participant crossed the finish line.
Frigid zones and blistering heat; frozen plains, deserts, salt lakes, acid rain, seismic belts, mudflats, and bogs...
Along the entire route, apart from a scattering of major cities and a handful of settlements, lay only extreme environments wracked by catastrophe; within a thousand li, only desolate wilderness without a trace of human life.
To say nothing of the grueling format and the near-total absence of rules.
There was no route reconnaissance, no checkpoints or time controls, not even complicated rules or detailed treaties and regulations—only the most basic stage timing. Once the race began, all you had to do was get from this end to the other by any means necessary. Even if you had to hand-crank your tires, you crawled to the finish line.
Winner takes all, loser bites the dust!
It tested a manufacturer's design, engineering, and maintenance, just as it tested a driver's skill, stamina, vehicle build quality, craftsmanship... and, critically, luck!
Its difficulty was no longer a simple matter of racing; it was a challenge against the absolute limit and the impossible.
Precisely because of this, it was loved and followed by countless enthusiasts, who elevated it to the status of a holy altar, eagerly awaiting the arrival of new god after new god.
Compared to the malice of the entire world, ordinary mortals and Celestial Chosen alike seemed utterly insignificant.
People chose to challenge it precisely because it was hard.
Among the Twelve Virtues, Ascension stood at the head while Desolate Ruins brought up the rear—one spirit, the other matter. Just like the struggle between spirit and matter, the entanglement between Ascension and Desolate Ruins, this primal yearning for Ascension lodged deep within the core of every living soul collided with the colossal, cruel material world, throwing off dazzling, mesmerizing sparks and brilliance.
An endless pursuit of the ultimate limit.
Within the divisions of the Desert Sea Rally, eight displacement classes and sixteen stock and modified categories covered virtually every vehicle type fit for service in the wilderness.
Over the years, distinct tiers and echelons had naturally formed. Yet the topmost, most intensely watched and chased category—the Modified Group for displacements above 2,000 cc—had always been the private preserve of the military-industrial enterprises!
No matter how loudly you bragged or how much internet traffic you bought, reality remained reality. Those who could cross the line were masters; those who couldn't were just whiny goblins, no matter how they tried to spin it.
Even competitive multiplayer games had their fair share of supporters, trolls, and haters over who won or lost, so how could a real-deal contest be any different?
If Haian Auto Works had merely been skirting the edges before, the moment they decided to enter the race, it meant drawing their sword against every peer in the military-industrial sector.
Strong or weak, tall or short, let the results speak for themselves!
To mount a challenge so far above their station...
At that moment, the conference rooms of Echo Tech-Industry and Tiancheng Industry fell into stunned silence, lapsing into total stillness.
No one sat at the high head of the table anymore.
Midway through the meeting, word had arrived from Midtown.
Relayed by a secretary or aide from the Ministry of Federal Security, it was the final conclusion of the talks.
*Fight!*
Someone had to lose in the end.
Shang Tongwen listened in silence to the voice on the other end. Only after a long pause did he say slowly, "Understood."
Yet when he spoke, his voice came out so raspy and low that even he hadn't anticipated it.
As if scorched by fury.
After hanging up, he turned slowly and told his secretary, "Tell Gao and the rest: if they still want to stay out of this now, forget the meat—they won't even have a bowl for the soup. When the time comes, they can just get on their knees and beg someone to throw them a bone!"
The secretary nodded and hurried away.
Left alone, Shang Tongwen returned slowly to the conference room. The others had already possessed enough sense to clear out; nobody dared linger and get in his way. Amid the dead silence, he stared at the final message displayed on the screen, looking at that infuriatingly young face with an expressionless gaze.
A knock sounded abruptly at the door, and the secretary entered. "Director Shang, a call from the Governor's Mansion—"
"I'll return it shortly. Tell the Governor everything is normal."
"Mr. Shang, a call from the family." Another person rushed in, looking flustered. "It's urgent. The Second Master wants you to call back as soon as possible."
"Mr. Shang, Huanyu called an emergency meeting—"
"Mr. Shang, the Zhongzhou Military Department—"
"Mr. Shang—"
"Get out!!!"
Amid the dead silence, Shang Tongwen could no longer contain himself. He whirled around and roared.
His eyes were bloodshot, like a savage beast ready to tear someone apart. "Back when each of them was stuffing their faces until they were bursting at the seams, not a damn one spoke up! Now that their meal ticket is in danger, they're pushing someone else to go risk his neck!" Shang Tongwen snarled furiously. "Where the hell were they earlier? When I said we couldn't just sit by and watch Lyu Yingyue grow stronger, what were they doing? Eating shit?!"
No one answered.
No one dared utter another sound. Only the dull, dry ringing of the phone kept droning on, over and over.
Yet now, Shang Tongwen finally calmed down.
He remained silent, not saying another word, simply smoking in peace.
He watched coldly as that speck of crimson fire burned itself out, then crushed it to nothingness in the exquisite ashtray.
The elders of the Shang family, the Governor of Dongcheng, the brass inside Huanyu, the Progressive Party representatives, the heavyweights of the Military Department...
Overnight, every single one of them had begun urging him to stake his life, all to preserve their wealth.
There wasn't even room left to take a single step back.
Nor could he retreat.
If he showed even a sliver of weakness at this critical juncture, he wouldn't even need enemies to kick him while he was down—he would be abandoned on the spot. Even his former alliance would disintegrate, and those seemingly benevolent industry peers might—no, absolutely *would*—turn around with bared fangs, ravenously tearing Echo apart for its flesh and blood.
Just like the feast they had enjoyed when carving up Haian back then.
In a pack of tigers and wolves, there was no such thing as morality or benevolence. Aside from clawing your way to the top, any attempt to scrape by or seek temporary ease was merely waiting for death.
"Get me Tiancheng, Northern Realm, and Xinyuan."
As the last ember went cold in the tray, Shang Tongwen slowly raised his head. He reined in the vicious, predatory look in his eyes, and a smile appeared once more—only this time, it lacked any trace of warmth.
"If she wants to fight, then we fight."
"Fight until someone wins, fight until someone dies, fight until everyone breathes their last."
"Let's show everyone..."
"Who ends up the loser in the end!"
***
"We did it!"
Amid cheers and shouts, applause rang out in wave after wave.
At the dinner banquet celebrating the conclusion of the launch event, the cafeteria was packed to capacity. Apart from the second floor, which was reserved for visiting guests, the first floor—where the staff gathered—was even rowdier and more bustling.
Perhaps it was the red envelopes Assistant Ye had handed out per head at every table, or the accomplishments Haian was currently demonstrating, or the surge of positive sentiment online, or perhaps simply high hopes for the future...
Having endured these past few months of grueling trials, the freshly minted college grads had already shed their naivety. The pure gleam in their eyes had been replaced by a heavy aura of corporate grind, and they could even down entire bottles of baijiu now, celebrating and shouting with wild abandon.
Every full-time employee received a one-tier salary bump, while the student grunts who had hung on until now received their internship certificates alongside an unexpected employment contract. Once signed, they could head back to wait for graduation and return as full-time staff. On top of base salary and performance bonuses, benefits would be distributed according to grade. While it didn't stretch to anything as outlandish as nine insurances and three funds, the standard five insurances and housing fund were set in stone—and even their previous internship time would count toward their seniority.
For many students attending university on loans, not only had they secured crucial course credits and an official internship stamp, they had also earned extra wages and allowances, plus they wouldn't even have to look for a job after graduating.
What reason was there not to celebrate?
Before long, inhibition gave way to drunken abandon. Some were sprawled over tables weeping; others clung to their coworkers, bawling their eyes out; still others seized on the liquid courage to confess their feelings to colleagues—though a small minority might have gotten slightly confused regarding genders, that didn't stop anyone from joining the merriment.
Yan Jian was the first to get knocked flat, slumping in his wheelchair to put on a fountain-like display before quickly being hauled away.
Ji Jue, who received treatment even more excessive than Yan Jian's, stood miraculously impervious to alcohol. Standing tall and proud, he threw his head back in booming laughter. No matter how many people lined up to toast him, his face didn't flush in the slightest.
What a joke! He didn't dare pull tricks when drinking with Sister Wen since he'd get caught red-handed, but drinking with this bunch of student grunts? Why not let them see what Non-Offensive's barehanded transmutation was capable of?
If there's even a single drop of alcohol in what I swallow, I lose!
Even when the liquor didn't make a man drunk, the atmosphere did. Caught up in the celebratory mood, Ji Jue couldn't resist cutting loose a little, even showing off by chugging straight from the bottle and finishing off a whole bottle of baijiu in three seconds flat.
"Congratulations, Director Ji." Nearby, Ye Chun sipped her drink, joining the crowd to toast him with a cup of cola.
"Not at all, not at all! It's all thanks to Senior's support behind the scenes!"
Ji Jue slapped his thigh, his eyes lighting up as an insatiable urge seized him: it had been a whole three minutes since he last bragged about his glorious feat of revitalizing Haian!
On such a fine evening, someone ought to share his joy...
Unfortunately, Ye Chun was already immune to his barking. Before he could even open his mouth, she slipped away, leaving Ji Jue standing alone, sighing up at the ceiling.
Calls and messages flooded his phone from all directions.
Not just from Tong Shan and Wen Wen, but also from Chen Xingzhou, Chen Yubo, and all the various backers who had supported them over this period.
In a sense, the moment the launch event began, Ji Jue had already accomplished his task.
This banquet was not only a celebration of Haian's resurgence, but also his own victory feast.
By this point, with Haian resuming work, production, and thriving anew, his duty had been fulfilled, and the job entrusted to him was brought to a close. He could already step down with his laurels intact, return to his original aloof status as a craftsman far removed from worldly strife, and never dip his feet into these muddy waters again.
All he had to do was wait for the dust to settle, then divvy up the spoils.
"So there's really no need to take such a risk."
On the other end of the line, Tong Shengnian spoke up: "Regarding the Desert Sea Rally, I suggest you reconsider."
Chapter 349