## The Curse on the Hillside
The sun was a bit glaring, scorching the back of my neck. Su Qing and I sat side-by-side on a grassy hillside outside the racetrack, a perfect viewing spot that allowed us to take in most of the track without being too conspicuous. Down below, the roar of the engines was like thousands of angry bees circling our ears, making one's heart tremble.
I still felt the plan was too risky; my palms were sweating. "Qingqing, are you sure we're just watching? I have a bad feeling about this. What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to shout down at the track, 'Wang Hao, crash your car'? Then neither of us will be getting out of here today." I lowered my voice, my tone laced with unconcealable anxiety.
Su Qing didn't look at me. Her gaze was locked onto the tire-scorched black asphalt of the track below like a hawk's. Today she wore a simple white T-shirt and jeans, her long hair blown by the wind, a few strands brushing against her smooth profile. She held a pair of binoculars, her tone as calm as if she were discussing what to have for dinner.
"Don't worry, the best part is just beginning. Remember, our goal isn't to injure him, but to humiliate him. To make the thing he's most proud of shatter into a million pieces, right in the place where he's most arrogant." She put down the binoculars and turned to me, a glint in her clear eyes I had never seen before—calm, sharp, with a hint of a chess player's excitement before making a move.
Her slender finger pointed to a section of the track below, a seemingly unremarkable straightaway, the longest and widest section of the entire circuit. This was where every driver would floor the gas pedal, showing off their car's performance and their own courage.
"See that straightaway?" Su Qing asked.
"I see it. So what? The part that requires the least skill," I scoffed.
"No," she shook her head, the corners of her mouth curling into a cold arc. "This is precisely where Wang Hao is most arrogant. He loves to overtake on the straightaways, loves to bask in the cheers of the audience. For him, curves are about technique, but the straightaway... that's about glory."
Her finger moved along the straightaway, finally stopping at a huge Billboard at the end, printed with an ad for some energy drink. "And that Billboard, it's like a giant eye, recording everything that happens here. If, on this very straightaway he's so proud of, under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of spectators and live-stream cameras, Wang Hao were to lose the race not because of a technical error, but because of a ridiculous, laughable 'accident'... just imagine. That would destroy his pride far more than crashing a hundred times on a curve."
I understood in an instant. Su Qing's plan wasn't simple physical sabotage; it was a meticulously planned public execution. What she wanted wasn't for Wang Hao's car to break down, but for Wang Hao himself, in front of all his admirers, to become a joke.
"But... how do I do it?" I was still confused. "I can't just run down there and chant a spell at his car, can I?"
"You don't need to." Su Qing's gaze returned to the track, where several colorful race cars were making their final preparations, about to start. "You just need to say the line, the way we discussed, at the right moment. Remember, be quiet, as if you're muttering to yourself, as if you're mocking him. It's so noisy around us, no one will notice."
My heart started to race. This felt too surreal, like an assassin holding an invisible blade.
As the signal lights went out, the race cars roared out like arrows from a bow. Wang Hao's flashy red Porsche 911 took the lead, the roar of its engine仿佛宣告着他的胜利. He was truly an expert; after just a few curves, he had already pulled half a car-length ahead of the second-place car.
"He's getting arrogant," Su Qing said softly, as if she could see through the car window to the man's expression.
Sure enough, as he entered the long straightaway, Wang Hao's speed reached its peak. He even had the leisure to wave at the audience from inside his car, enjoying the tsunami of cheers.
My heart leaped into my throat. This was it!
Su Qing's finger gently tapped the back of my hand, a cool touch that instantly brought me back to my senses.
I took a deep breath, watching the red Sports Car speed down the straightaway, getting closer and closer to the Billboard at the finish line. Surrounded by the shouts of the audience and the roar of engines, I lowered my head and, in a voice only Su Qing and I could hear, lightly, with a hint of self-mockery, uttered the prepared reverse phrase.
"With Wang Hao's driving skills being so awesome, he'll be rock-solid on this straightaway. Not a single tire bolt will come loose. There's absolutely no way there'll be any accident."
The moment the words left my mouth, down on the track, the unstoppable red Porsche suddenly jerked violently!
A piercing screech of metal grinding cut through the air, exceptionally clear even amidst the deafening roar of the engines. I saw Wang Hao's car seem to lose control in an instant, the rear end swinging uncontrollably. He was clearly fighting to correct his course, but the steering wheel felt as if it had been seized by an invisible force, shaking violently.
The cheers from the audience abruptly stopped, replaced by a wave of terrified screams and gasps.
"Oh my God! What's wrong with that car!"
"Look at his wheel! The wheel is shaking!"
My pupils contracted sharply. Through Su Qing's binoculars, I could clearly see that the screws on the right rear wheel of Wang Hao's race car were, one by one, automatically loosening and falling off in a way that defied the laws of physics! The wheel was already crooked, ready to fly off at any moment!
Wang Hao's face inside the cockpit had turned deathly pale from terror. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, but could only watch helplessly as his race car, like an out-of-control beast, carved a twisted arc on the straightaway and hurtled toward the guardrail.
## The Chain Reaction on the Track
The collective gasp from the audience hit my eardrums like a heavy punch. My heart pounded wildly, feeling like it would leap out of my throat. The wind on the hillside seemed to freeze as I stared fixedly at the red sports car dancing its dance of death on the track, my mind a complete blank.
I did it? I really did it?
This feeling... was too bizarre. I had just casually uttered a reverse phrase, a blessing even I found ridiculous, and it had turned into the most malicious curse. This Crow's Mouth of mine, which Wang Hao had mocked countless times for "jinxing things," now felt like the hand of God controlling his destiny.
"Lin Fan, look," Su Qing's voice was exceptionally calm. She gripped my hand tightly, the warmth of her palm bringing me back from my extreme shock.
Following her gaze, I saw that Wang Hao's car was completely out of control. It was like an enraged bull, swinging wildly from side to side on the wide straightaway, its tires friction-burning against the asphalt, releasing bursts of acrid smoke. He was clearly struggling desperately, trying to regain control of the steel beast, but it was all in vain. Those few loose tire screws had already sealed his fate in this race.
"Haha! He deserves it!" A young man in a baseball cap next to me jumped up excitedly, shouting at the track, "That's what you get for showing off your wealth! That's what you get for being so arrogant! Crash! Go on and crash!"
The crowd erupted. The audience members who had been cheering for Wang Hao moments ago had all turned into gloating spectators. Phones, cameras, video cameras—countless lenses were all aimed at the battered red sports car, capturing the Rich Second Generation's most humiliating moment. This was a hundred, no, a thousand times more spectacular than him winning the race.
A surge of indescribable exhilaration washed over me, like a breath I'd been holding for ages was finally released. Wang Hao, you think money can solve everything, don't you? You think people like me are only fit to shine your shoes? Well, right now, your millions-of-dollars sports car, the racing skills you rely on to show off, are nothing but a joke in the face of my "reverse phrase."
However, just as I thought the car would simply skid and crash into the guardrail, ending the race in disgrace, something even more bizarre happened.
Perhaps the violent shaking had dislodged a component, or perhaps fate had decided to play another joke. With a dull "thud," the hood of Wang Hao's sports car suddenly popped open without any warning!
It was like a giant iron shield, completely blocking Wang Hao's view.
Through his helmet, I could almost see his face turn deathly pale in an instant. He was blind. A race car driver speeding at over two hundred kilometers per hour had suddenly become a blind man.
"Holy crap! The hood flew off!"
"He's done for! He's dead for sure this time!"
"Look, look! He's going to crash!"
The audience's gasps turned into screams of despair. The red sports car, now like a blindfolded man, rampaged across the track. Wang Hao was clearly panicking; all he could do was frantically turn the steering wheel, letting the car carry him toward an unknown fate.
I could feel Su Qing's grip on my hand tighten. Her nails were almost digging into my flesh, but her voice remained steady: "Lin Fan, don't be afraid. He deserves this."
Was I afraid? To be honest, I was terrified. I never expected things to escalate to this degree. I just wanted to embarrass him, to make him lose face, but I never wanted to kill him. That car was now an uncontrolled cannonball, and a curve was just ahead. If he hit it, the consequences would be unimaginable.
My lips moved, wanting to say something to salvage the situation. For example, "He definitely won't hit the guardrail," or "He'll be able to stop safely." But I immediately clamped my mouth shut. Whatever I said now would develop in the opposite direction. If I said he'd be safe, he would die a more tragic death. My mouth was now more dangerous than anything.
As I was battling with myself, the red sports car, after one final wild maneuver, didn't charge toward the protective wall of the curve. Instead, at a bizarre angle, it charged straight toward a huge Billboard at the side of the track.
On that Billboard was Wang Hao's smugly handsome face, next to the slogan for a luxury watch he endorsed—"Master time, master life."
How ironic.
The red sports car, like an arrow from a bow, with unstoppable momentum, slammed fiercely into that arrogant "Wang Hao." Time seemed to stretch in that moment. I could clearly see the terror on Wang Hao's face in the cockpit, see the giant smiling face on the Billboard shattering amidst the breaking glass.
My heart, along with the impending crash, sank to the bottom of the pit.
## The Comedic Crash
Time seemed to stretch into thick syrup, each second agonizingly slow. I watched helplessly as the out-of-control red sports car, like a blindfolded bull, roared toward the giant Billboard. On the Billboard, Wang Hao's meticulously retouched, devastatingly handsome face wore a mocking smile, as if admiring a death tragedy he had directed himself.
It's over.
Those were the only two words in my mind. My heart felt like it was clenched in an icy hand, and even my breath tasted of rust. I just wanted to embarrass him, to make him lose face, to let him taste the feeling of falling from the clouds. I never wanted to take his life! This damn Crow's Mouth of mine, it was out of control, turning my deepest fears into reality. I didn't even dare to say, "He won't die," afraid this damn curse would twist my words into the most malicious verdict. I could only clench my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms, watching the tragedy I had created unfold.
The audience's screams had merged into a piercing wave of sound. Su Qing gripped my arm tightly; her palm was cold, but she didn't let go. Just as the front of the car was less than ten meters from the Billboard, when everyone thought a bloody impact was unavoidable, something bizarre happened.
With an ear-splitting "SCREECH—" of tires, the violent sports car's rear end swung violently outward! The entire car began a magnificent yet clumsy spin at an angle that completely defied the laws of physics. It wasn't a drift; the posture was more like a drunken husky trying to perform an elegant ballet on ice, only to trip over its own feet.
I stared dumbfounded at the scene before me, my mind a blank. What... what was happening? A miracle? Or did my Crow's Mouth... have a change of heart at the last second?
The red sports car traced a strange arc through the air, perfectly avoiding the solid Billboard support, then, in a move worthy of being called the "Divine Dragon Swings Its Tail," it nosedived, elegantly, almost gently... straight into the buffer zone of hay bales beside the track.
There was a soft "thump," like a watermelon being plunged into soft sand.
The world fell silent in an instant.
The million-dollar luxury sports car now looked like a giraffe stuck in the mud, its rear end sticking high in the air, its two rear wheels spinning helplessly, kicking up a few blades of grass and clumps of soil. The whole scene was comical to the extreme, full of surreal absurdity.
After a few seconds of dead silence, the driver's side door creaked open and was pushed from the inside.
A disheveled figure stumbled out of the car.
Wang Hao.
His custom-made, brand-name racing suit was covered in grass clippings and dirt. His meticulously styled hair was now a mess like a bird's nest after being struck by lightning. His face was smudged with black marks here and there, as if he had just crawled out of a chimney. He leaned against the still-shaking door, seemingly trying to stand steady, but his legs were as weak as noodles. He staggered and nearly fell.
He looked around, dazed, seemingly unable to comprehend why he hadn't been turned into a puddle of flesh.
Then, the audience erupted in laughter.
It wasn't just a few scattered chuckles, but a tidal wave that instantly flooded the entire racetrack. From initial disbelief, to roaring laughter, and finally to side-splitting, tear-inducing howls. The audience doubled over, pointing at the pathetic figure in the middle of the track, laughing so hard they couldn't stand up straight.
"Look! Is that Wang Hao? Is he performing some kind of performance art?"
"Divine Dragon Swings Its Tail! I'd give that technique a perfect score! The circus should consider recruiting him!"
"Hahaha, he endorses racing, but he drove his own car into a haystack! The advertising effect is amazing!"
"Click! Click! Click!"
Countless flashbulbs, as if by prior agreement, went crazy at this moment, freezing Wang Hao's sorry state for eternity. The Reporters who usually chased him, trying to capture his dashing figure, were now like Columbus discovering the New World, excitedly aiming their lenses at the joke of the year.
The daze on Wang Hao's face, upon seeing the flashing magnesium lights and hearing the deafening laughter, instantly froze. Then, that frozen expression began to crack. A profound humiliation and rage, like magma, erupted from the depths of his eyes. His face turned the color of a pig's liver, his fists clenched with cracking sounds, his body trembling with extreme anger.
He, Wang Hao, the favored son of heaven, the eternal center of attention under the spotlight, had now become the laughingstock of the world.
I stood in the crowd, watching the distant figure surrounded by flashbulbs and ridicule. The huge rock of fear in my heart finally lifted, replaced by a exhilarating sense of relief, tinged with a trace of fear. I had won. In this moment, I had won completely.
However, just as I was about to pull Su Qing away from this trouble spot, I inadvertently caught a glimpse of Wang Hao's face. After that moment of anger and humiliation, his expression suddenly changed.
He smiled.
It wasn't a smile of pride or anger, but a strange, cold smile, like a viper flicking its tongue, his eyes filled with poisoned resentment and calculation. The smile vanished in a flash, so quickly it might have been an illusion, but I saw it clearly.
My heart sank. A chill shot from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.
I think... I've stirred up a hornet's nest.
## The Vow of Fury
The track was first dead silent, then erupted into a tsunami of mockery. Mixed in with the crowd, my heart was still pounding, but looking at the pathetic figure in the center of the track, a surge of indescribable exhilaration still rose from the bottom of my heart.
Wang Hao, that Rich Second Generation who was always dashing and walked with a swagger, was now struggling to climb out of a pile of soft hay bales. His flashy red racing suit was covered in mud and grass clippings, and his face was smudged with black and white marks, as if he had just crawled out of a chimney. His meticulously styled hair, waxed to stand on end, was now a mess like a bird's nest struck by lightning, with a few blades of grass still stuck in it, swaying with his movements, full of comical effect.
He struggled to his feet, seemingly trying to maintain some last shred of dignity, but his legs gave way and he sat back down with a "thump." This action completely ignited the audience's laughter. Whistles, jeers, and undisguised mockery surged toward him like a tide.
"Click! Click! Click!"
Countless flashbulbs, as if by prior agreement, went crazy at this moment, freezing Wang Hao's sorry state for eternity. The Reporters who usually couldn't get a single shot of Wang Hao's face even if they tried were now like Columbus discovering the New World, their faces flushed with excitement as they aimed their long lenses and short barrels at him, afraid of missing any humiliating expression.
A thin Reporter with black-rimmed glasses was the first to break through the security cordon, pouncing on him like a cheetah and shoving his recorder almost into Wang Hao's mouth.
"Young Master Wang! Young Master Wang! May I ask about your 'Divine Dragon Swings Its Tail' parking technique just now? Does it have a special meaning? Are you paying homage to a classic racing god?"
The question was sharp and mean. Wang Hao's face instantly turned the color of a pig's liver. He shoved the Reporter's microphone away and roared, "Get lost! All of you, get lost!"
But his roar sounded more like the wail of a wounded beast to the Reporters, only making them more excited. More people surrounded him, microphones and recorders forming an impenetrable forest.
"Mr. Wang Hao, what do you have to say to your fans after this unexpected failure?"
"It's said you boasted before the race that you would win easily. What are your thoughts on this result?"
"There are rumors that there were internal problems within your racing team. Is that true?"
"Young Master Wang, is this new look on your face the latest punk style?"
Every question was a knife, stabbing precisely at Wang Hao's most painful spot. The pride he had built with money and status was stripped bare in this moment, shattered to pieces. He panted heavily, his chest heaving violently, his eyes burning with a raging fire that seemed ready to spew flames.
Suddenly, as if he had grabbed a last straw, he threw his head back and howled at the cameras and microphones, "It wasn't me! This wasn't my fault! Someone sabotaged me! My car was tampered with!"
This roar silenced the commotion for a moment. The Reporters' eyes lit up. This was much more newsworthy than a simple failure! Conspiracy theories were always fertile ground for headlines.
The black-rimmed glasses Reporter immediately pressed, "Oh? Young Master Wang, you're saying someone deliberately sabotaged you? Do you have evidence? Who do you suspect?"
Wang Hao's lips trembled. He had no evidence at all. He just couldn't accept failing in such a humiliating way. His spoiled brain couldn't process possibilities like "being out-skilled" or "bad luck." The only explanation was that someone had schemed against him.
"Evidence... of course I have!" he blustered. "You just wait! I'll find that bastard! I'll make him pay!"
His voice became sharp and piercing with excitement, sounding more like a bluff. The Reporters, of course, didn't let him go, and the questions surged again like a tide.
"Who is the suspect? A competitor?"
"A business enemy, or a romantic rival?"
"Young Master Wang, you just looked toward the stands. Have you already found a clue?"
At the mention of the stands, Wang Hao's body stiffened. His gaze subconsciously swept across the crowd, no longer just angry and humiliated, but gradually turning cold and sharp, like a poisoned dagger. It was a look mixed with hatred, suspicion, and madness.
I could feel that gaze, like a searchlight, slowly, inch by inch, scanning the crowd. I instinctively shrank my neck, hiding behind a tall, fat man. My heart skipped a beat, and a chill shot from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.
He suspected.
Though he didn't know it was me, he was starting to suspect this wasn't an accident, but man-made. His self-esteem, humiliated to the extreme, was beginning to desperately search for a target on which to vent all his hatred.
His gaze roamed through the crowd, finally seeming to lock onto the general direction where I was. He didn't see me, but I felt that cold line of sight pierce through the crowd and nail itself directly to me.
"Lin Fan..."
I could almost read the name from his lips.
Just then, Wang Hao's assistant and a few security guards finally broke through the Reporters' encirclement and shielded him. Wang Hao was escorted, stumbling, toward the rest area. As he walked, he kept turning back, staring fixedly at the crowd, the resentment and killing intent in his eyes making me certain that if he found me, he would tear me apart on the spot.
He left with one final sentence, not loud, but clearly heard across the entire track.
"You just wait. I swear, this is not over!"
The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving only the sports car stuck in the haystack on the track, like a comical tombstone. I stood frozen, my hands and feet ice-cold. The exhilaration of revenge had long since vanished, replaced by an unprecedented fear.
I knew I had stirred up a hornet's nest. This war had only just begun.