The Woman Who Raced the Wind
1254 Words
I couldn’t sleep at night, so naturally I slept like the dead come morning.
The next day, Shen Man woke me by mercilessly kicking my backside with her bare feet—transforming me from unconscious, to dazed, to painfully aware.
I flung back the blanket, grabbed her ankle, and tickled the bottom of her foot.
“You itchy-footed menace—look at you—”
Her face flushed bright red as she tried to maintain her dignity.
“Xi Xi, stop… don’t…”
“Still pretending to be a lady?” I released her foot—only to take another hard kick the moment I let go.
This time she was prepared—kicked and retracted in one swift move. My hands closed on empty air.
“Hurry up and wash. We have to be at the venue at eight sharp. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
She shot me a glare, slipped on her heels, grabbed her purse, and stormed out.
I threw on clothes, freshened up, and rushed downstairs.
When Shen Man got serious, I didn’t dare drag my feet.
I didn’t want to disappoint her—not anymore.
Truthfully, she didn’t even have to attend this event in Yangzhou. But she did.
Why?
I knew.
She wanted to drag her useless junior brother out of his comfortable swamp and make something out of him.
…
By the time I arrived at the hotel restaurant, she had already ordered breakfast and was eating with her usual workplace poise.
Years in the corporate world had polished her temperament—at least during business hours.
Off-duty? She was just one of the guys.
She nodded slightly, signaling me to sit. Two boiled eggs—shells already removed—waited on my plate.
“Senior, the lengths you go to for me. You’re too good,” I teased, picking one up.
“Good? I’m trying to save time.”
Her tone was cool and unamused.
I only smiled.
Aside from questionable s****l preferences, I knew her personality better than anyone.
…
We stepped outside into brilliant sunshine—perfect weather for an outdoor event.
Back in the car, my eyes roamed the streets again.
Yangzhou’s women came in all shapes and styles—delightful sights for a wandering gaze.
And maybe—with a bit of luck—I’d see that woman again.
The Porsche woman.
The one who treated autumn like a race track.
A woman like that must have wildness in her bones.
Taming such a woman would take extraordinary skill.
Not that I planned to try—my heart gravitated to the quiet kind.
The Mo Han kind.
“When we get to the venue, stay close to the chief planner,” Shen Man said. “He’ll walk you through the event structure and execution details.”
“Okay,” I replied absentmindedly.
“Zhang Yixi, look at your lazy attitude. I’m embarrassed for you.”
“How am I lazy? I’m just… relaxed. It’s a site visit, not a war.”
She sighed—deeply.
“Same age—twenty-five—and the gulf between you two is staggering.”
“What do you mean ‘same age’?”
“The chief planner handling this event? He’s twenty-five. Don’t you feel ashamed?”
“Tch. People aren’t comparable. Yang Mi was already a star at twenty-three, had a boyfriend at twenty-five. And you? You’re already twenty-eight.”
I flicked my hand dismissively—taking a jab at her age while I was at it.
This time, she didn’t retaliate.
Maybe she’d grown numb to me mocking her twenty-eight years.
Or maybe… twenty-eight was a wound I’d been ripping open too many times.
A wound that still hurt.
I glanced at her.
A few stray hairs framed her face, slightly out of place.
Guilt pricked me.
“Your hair… it’s a bit messy,” I murmured.
She checked the mirror and tucked the strands neatly behind her ear—still refusing to speak to me.
Right now, I must have been the most annoying presence in her world.
…
We arrived at exactly eight.
The event wouldn’t begin for another thirty minutes, yet the venue was already buzzing with a large crowd.
Good marketing did its job well.
I stepped out casually—sunlight prickling my skin.
The temperature had miraculously climbed a few degrees as if summer was giving one last breath.
Shen Man parked and joined me. She called someone—clearly a contact from the Yangzhou dealership’s marketing team.
Soon, a lively middle-aged man hurried toward us, arm already extended long before he was within reach.
“Director Shen! Welcome to Yangzhou!”
Shen Man shook his hand with her flawless workplace smile.
“Director Jiang, thank you for all the trouble.”
She turned to me.
“Yixi, this is Director Jiang Yan from Buick Yangzhou’s Marketing Department.”
“A pleasure, a pleasure.”
I offered my hand—finally forcing him to release hers to accept my handshake.
“This is my junior, Zhang Yixi,” Shen Man added, “Here to learn from your expertise.”
“Since he’s Director Shen’s apprentice, leave it to me! By the way, aren’t you hiring an execution agency for your Nantong event?”
“We’re handling it internally between marketing and operations,” Shen Man replied. “Better for the budget. And with Yangzhou’s experience as reference, it’ll be much easier.”
That was partly true.
But I knew the real reason—she wanted to give me a chance.
Two years at the company, and I had contributed little more than oxygen consumption.
If she wanted to promote me—it wouldn’t be easy.
Director Jiang spoke into his radio.
“Wang Jing, come over here. I need you.”
While he was busy calling, I wiped my hand discreetly on my pants—a useless display of disdain—earning myself yet another icy glare from Shen Man.
She leaned close and whispered:
“That guy is the chief planner. Learn properly. Don’t disgrace Nantong here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And remember—you represent more than just yourself now.”
Before I could respond, a figure in a black jacket approached briskly—a man with sharp posture and a walk that said he had no time for nonsense.
Had to be Wang Jing.
“Wang Jing, the chief planner,” Director Jiang introduced. “This is Director Shen from Nantong.”
Handshakes, polite greetings, introductions.
Then:
“I’m Wang Jing, with Insight Advertising,” he said to me.
“Zhang Yixi.”
We shook hands.
Shen Man gave him her courteous smile.
“Wishing you success with the event. And please—guide my junior well.”
“Of course. Happy to help.”
Just then—
A ripple tore through the crowd, followed by shouts:
“Look! Someone’s street-racing!”
Before I could even turn fully, the roar of engines erupted—
Three cars blasted forward shoulder-to-shoulder, kicking up dust like a sandstorm—
A modified Mitsubishi Lancer Evo.
A BMW Z4.
And wedged recklessly between them—
A red Porsche Boxster.
No space between them.
Metal so close it looked fused—one wrong move and they’d tangle into disaster.
Gasps echoed through the spectators.
But my heart recognized the scene instantly.
That was her.
The woman who raced the wind.
A Porsche Boxster wasn’t exactly common on the streets of Yangzhou.
No way it was a coincidence.
She was here.
- Writer
