Chapter 145: NO POWER!
Whether in the pit lane or in front of television screens around the world, everyone had begun to subconsciously estimate the pole position lap time for this year's Singapore Grand Prix.
Most calculations followed the same logic used earlier by the Six Star Sports commentators. When the numbers lined up, even seasoned observers felt a jolt of disbelief.
Some people began asking the unthinkable:
Could this kid actually be running at pole-position pace… in free practice?
Wu Shi's progression was simply too violent to ignore.
From 1:51.625 on his first push lap to 1:49.201 by lap ten — a gain of more than two seconds — it defied normal learning curves.
"Is this really his first time in a Formula One car?"
Rosberg finally voiced what everyone in the Mercedes garage was thinking.
No one answered him.
Tony's palms were slick with sweat.
Toto felt the balance inside him begin to tilt.
Sir Frank Williams' eyes gleamed.
Wu Shi, meanwhile, felt something far more immediate.
He was exhausted.
After just ten laps, his neck was burning, his forearms were cramping, and his feet felt heavy. Simulator work and physical training could never replicate the brutality of being strapped into an F1 monocoque at speed.
Still, there was no point pushing the tyres any further. Their performance had plateaued. He backed off and settled into a steady rhythm, circulating in the 1:51 range.
Based on experience alone, Wu Shi judged that this was roughly the race-pace window for the W05 — possibly slower, depending on fuel load and traffic.
Over the next ten laps, he replayed every corner in his head.
Once he switched to supersoft tyres, there would be very few chances. Those tyres degraded brutally.
Toto watched in silence for a long time. Then he removed his headset and glanced at Niki Lauda beside him.
Almost on cue, the legendary Austrian removed his own headset.
"If he really pulls off this miracle," Lauda said flatly, "you should thank me for interfering with that agreement back then."
Toto laughed — then immediately suppressed it, though the corners of his mouth still betrayed him.
Anyone with real Formula One experience understood now:
Wu Shi's talent wasn't limited to F3.
First time in an F1 car.
Continuous lap-time improvement.
Immediate access to race pace — lap after lap.
This wasn't a rookie learning curve.
---
Wu Zhenlin abruptly ended a meeting, checked the time, and realized there was no way he could reach Singapore.
He returned to his office instead and opened an overseas livestream.
He didn't really understand racing, but he understood English — and that was enough.
"This is lap fifteen," the commentator said. "Wu Shi has been running steadily for fifteen laps now. His lap times are remarkably consistent, and his fastest lap still stands. The two Sauber cars have switched to supersoft tyres."
"Oh, that's unfortunate — Gutiérrez pits after a 1:52.171. And Alonso is in the pit lane as well. He's on supersofts too. Are we seeing early qualifying simulations?"
"It appears Wu Shi's presence has disrupted several teams' run plans. Under his agreement with Mercedes, he is expected to push. Now we wait and see whether this young driver from China delivers something extraordinary."
---
In an office thousands of kilometers away, Martina leaned back in her chair, holding Louise.
"Mom," Louise asked softly, "can Wu Shi really get into Mercedes?"
Martina stroked her daughter's hair and smiled.
"It's difficult," she said. "But he's already shown everyone in the paddock how special he is. He's done what he needed to do."
She paused, then laughed quietly.
"But if a miracle happens… then we fly to Singapore."
---
On lap seventeen, Alonso finished warming his tyres and pushed.
On lap eighteen, he set a 1:47.299 before returning to the garage.
He wasn't fighting anyone. He simply showed what a competitive lap should look like — ahead of schedule.
On lap nineteen, Hamilton boxed for supersofts.
"Box, box."
Tony's voice was calm.
On lap twenty, Wu Shi was called in.
The pit crew moved with perfect coordination, but the mechanic responsible for the front jack felt his palms sweating.
Wu Shi's pit entries were frighteningly precise.
After turning into the pit lane, Wu Shi engaged the pit limiter immediately.
A €2,000 fine on your first F1 day? No thanks.
The car stopped dead on its marks.
"Hey!" a technician barked.
"Oh—!"
The jack man flinched. The nose was aligned perfectly — almost too perfect.
Buzz. Crack.
Buzz. Crack.
Fresh supersofts on.
The car dropped and launched.
As the crew cleared the lane, the jack mechanic felt Toto's gaze on him and shivered.
"Let's get used to the tyres first," Tony said.
"Copy."
Hamilton's first push lap came in: 1:47.729.
Then the floodgates opened.
Vettel: 1:47.711
Ricciardo: 1:47.350
Massa: 1:47.909
No one pushed further.
This was still practice. Revealing too much too early only made life harder later.
The circuit gradually emptied as drivers returned to their garages.
Wu Shi sensed it immediately.
This is the window.
After the warm-up lap, he accelerated.
"I've enabled qualifying mode," Wu Shi said over the radio. "I'll manage the battery deployment myself."
He rolled onto the main straight.
Supersoft grip.
Full electrical deployment.
The speed climbed.
310 km/h.
Four kilometers faster than before.
Then—
The car suddenly slowed.
The left-front tyre locked, smoke trailing behind it as the car dove toward Turn 1.
"We made a mistake!"
The Six Star commentator blurted it out instinctively.
Sid sighed in the garage.
Toto didn't move.
"Left-front lock-up," Tony reported. "You've got a flat spot."
Wu Shi didn't respond.
A lock-up here wouldn't cost much.
Maximum speed mattered more.
Three meters before the corner, he eased the brakes. The wheel rotated again. The car bit.
Perfect apex.
From the left curb to the right, the Mercedes ran completely beyond the white line, clinging to the red-and-white kerb.
A wider radius.
Earlier throttle.
The engine roared.
Turn 3 arrived immediately.
Entry speed was terrifyingly high.
The car drifted toward the right-hand barrier.
Just as it seemed inevitable—
Scrape.
A whisper of contact.
"That's insane!" the commentator gasped.
The onboard showed nothing but blur and steel.
At Turn 5, the left-front came just as close.
Then the main straight.
Sector 1: 27.678
The garages went silent.
Wu Shi's earlier time here had been 29.645.
Alonso's best was 28.712.
Wu Shi was more than a second quicker.
"If this continues—"
Someone whispered it aloud.
Pole pace was projected at 1:45.
Wu Shi just needed one more second across the final two sectors.
---
The car kept coming.
DRS open. Battery emptying.
316 km/h.
Turn 7.
Turn 8.
Turn 9.
At the exit, the right side nearly brushed the barrier again — tyres even kissing the advertising board, smoke flickering.
"He's dancing on a knife edge!"
Heart rate: 196.
Turns 10 through 13 slammed his neck from side to side.
At Turn 12, the car almost scraped the rail continuously into Turn 13.
Exit speed: 214 km/h — seven faster than before.
No hesitation. No correction.
Just trust.
Sector 2: 40.096
Fastest again.
Total so far: 1:07.741.
Alonso froze, then ran a hand through his hair.
Inside Mercedes, Toto's fists were clenched tight beneath crossed arms.
Twenty laps.
Then this.
It was outrageous.
Entering the final sector, the car swept through Turn 21 cleanly.
Wu Shi exhaled for the first time.
The rest is easy.
Then—
The car accelerated.
And didn't.
"NO POWER! NO POWER!"
Wu Shi's voice cracked over the radio.
Top speed: 223 km/h.
It should have been 248.
Somehow, even here, he noticed.
The last seconds stretched endlessly.
The car crossed the line.
Sector 3: 38.138
Lap time: 1:45.879
The paddock exploded.
"What the hell was THAT?!"
In Ferrari's garage, Alonso smiled openly, cheering with the Italian mechanics.
Red Bull's pit wall stared in disbelief.
Williams' Sir Frank nearly leapt from his chair.
Across the paddock, team principals were already recalculating futures.
Mercedes alone was silent.
Everyone had heard those hoarse words.
NO POWER.
Toto's face was dark.
Telemetry confirmed it immediately — this wasn't simple.
Wu Shi rested his hands on the wheel.
"I need another push lap," he said.
"Agreed," Toto replied instantly. "Full recharge, box for tyres, then we go again."
Rosberg opened his mouth.
"That's my tyre—"
He stopped.
There would be tyres.
For now, silence was better.