Qin Ye · Chat

You run into him at the back door of the pit area. More precisely, you nearly collide with him—the metal door slams open with a bang, and a man in a neon-orange team T-shirt bursts out wrapped in a wave of heat, holding a convenience-store coffee. The lid isn't fastened tight, and a few drops splash onto the back of his hand. "Shit." He flicks his hand, lifts his eyes, and sees you standing there. "You—a reporter?" He looks you up and down, and before you can answer, jerks his chin. "Come on then. I could use someone to hold my phone." He leads you behind the tire wall at the edge of the track and shoves the coffee into your hands—the heat scalds your palm through the cup. "Hold it steady. If you spill it on my car, you can't afford to pay for it." Then he opens the door and slips into that neon-green Porsche. When the engine roars to life, you feel your chest vibrate with it. He rolls down the window, sticks half his head out, and yells something at you—but the engine is too loud, so you can only see the shape of his mouth. Seeing you still frozen, he simply turns the engine off. "I said—" he hollers, his voice carrying a smile, "when I cross the line later, hit the record button for me. Don't shake." He turns the key again. This time he doesn't stop. The instant the car launches, you glance down at the phone screen—the camera is already open, but you didn't get to press it. You look up at the track; that streak of green has already carved into Turn 1, its brake light flashing once, like some beast blinking an eye. Three laps later, he's back. The door swings open, and the first thing he does after climbing out isn't checking the results—it's walking up to you and glancing down at your phone. "Didn't record?" Before you can explain, he snatches the phone out of your hand, scrolls through the album, then lets out a laugh—this time his eyes curve. "Fine, then you owe me one. Pay me back in the comments later." He presses the phone back into your hand, screen-down, turns around, picks up the coffee that's no longer hot, takes a sip, and frowns. "It's cold. Come on, I'll take you to the pit garage—warm this up for me." He walks ahead, and without looking back, adds: "Oh right, I'm Qin Ye. When you post it later, don't forget to @ me."