Irritation. Frustration. Anxiety.
Shi Yiying was not in much better shape. Chaotic thoughts piled up in her head, clashing and overlapping until the noise threatened to burst through her skull.
But even so, she forced herself to cling to a thread of clarity.
They had already missed one opportunity. They could not afford to miss a second.
"Teacher Wang…"
"Teacher Wang!"
She hurried after him. Wang Yang was clearly storming off, anger rolling off his back as he walked straight toward the car. Just as he was about to get in, Shi Yiying broke into a short run and caught him at the door.
Wang Yang's expression was ugly. "Xiao Shi, don't say anything more. This is impossible. How could a national broadcaster cooperate with a local sports channel on a project like this?"
The words came out sharp. He realized it immediately and added stiffly, "I'm not targeting you. It's just that this whole idea is wildly unrealistic."
Shi Yiying finally caught her breath and waved it off. "I understand, Teacher Wang. Of course I wouldn't blame you."
Then she changed tack, cutting straight to the point. "But Teacher Wang, motorsport hasn't exactly been prioritized at the network, has it? Compared to football, basketball, volleyball… even tennis. Lately, it's barely holding on. Rallying sometimes gets more resources. That's true, isn't it?"
Television stations followed the same logic as sponsors. Market value determined resource allocation.
Over the years, CCTV had continued broadcasting Formula One, but F1 never truly broke through. One reason was obvious. No Chinese driver in the paddock. Another was that, thanks to Honda's presence, F1's commercial focus leaned toward Japan, leaving China's potential largely untapped.
As a result, F1's status at CCTV never improved.
When schedules conflicted, F1 was often the first to be sacrificed. Worse still, races that were not aired live rarely received full replays. It was treated like an unwanted orphan.
As Shi Yiying said, even rallying now held higher priority. At least rallying had Chinese drivers and teams.
Wang Yang felt the anger knot in his chest. "What are you trying to say?"
Shi Yiying stepped back half a pace. "I'm not attacking you."
"What I'm saying is this. You genuinely love Formula One. You want it to grow, to reach more people. You still believe that one day, we might have our own driver fighting on the world's highest stage. Fighting for podiums. Fighting for wins."
"That's why you came to Maranello in the first place. Isn't it?"
"Because you care."
Wang Yang stared at her, guarded, unmoving. But he did not interrupt.
She knew she had found the crack.
"In a way, Nicholas is right. We're all constrained in different ways."
"You have a full production team, but not enough creative freedom or narrative depth. And realistically, the network isn't eager to expend political capital persuading Ferrari. Next year is a World Cup year. Everything is tilting toward football. Italy hasn't even qualified yet, and all eyes are still locked there. F1 simply doesn't rank."
Wang Yang's heart sank.
Their trip to Italy had indeed piggybacked on the football reporting team. Motorsport had fallen that far.
Fortunately, Shi Yiying did not dwell on it.
"And we're not much better off. We have an experienced, passionate team, but we lack funding. One person does the work of three. We're willing to negotiate with Ferrari, but our leverage is weak."
She paused.
"But if we work together, it changes everything. One plus one becomes more than two."
She stepped forward slightly, her gaze steady. "Teacher Wang, have you actually met Kai in person?"
Wang Yang choked, turning his head away. He did not answer, but the silence said enough.
"In my personal opinion," Shi Yiying continued, "he didn't reach Ferrari by luck."
Wang Yang snorted. "Obviously. Ferrari isn't charity. Even Leclerc didn't walk in smoothly, and this kid jumped the queue."
She nodded. "Exactly. Which is why I believe he might create more possibilities."
"We all want a future for motorsport. This opportunity matters. If you don't trust my judgment, meet him yourself."
Wang Yang looked back at her, puzzled. "Is he really that special?"
Shi Yiying shrugged.
He tried to joke. "You're not biased because he's handsome, are you?"
She laughed helplessly. "He's seventeen. Seventeen."
Then she added lightly, "But I do think he has more charm than Leclerc."
Wang Yang widened his eyes. "That high a rating?"
"Seeing is believing," she said. "Judge for yourself."
After a moment, the anger drained from his face, leaving something closer to clarity. "If we cooperate, who's the producer?"
Shi Yiying answered without hesitation. "You. We'll handle executive production. Creative direction, narrative structure, themes. From now until winter testing, we need a complete story arc. His journey. His appeal. The appeal of racing itself."
Wang Yang exhaled slowly. "I need time to think."
"Of course."
She knew this was no small decision. Even if both sides agreed, dividing responsibilities would be a headache. But they shared one conclusion.
Speed mattered.
The season was ending fast. If they wanted to capture Kai's final sprint toward Formula One, filming had to start immediately. Every wasted day meant lost footage.
Otherwise, as Nicholas said, walking away cleanly would be wiser.
And then, unbelievably, it worked.
Two broadcasters joined hands for the first time at a historical crossroads.
Three days later, a film crew was already following Kai to ART for shooting.
Ferrari was still unresolved.
Not just Nicholas. Netflix was stuck there too.
Exactly as expected.
Ferrari became the hardest wall. The F1 paddock documentary stalled. Kai's personal documentary stalled. Everything stalled.
Underneath the surface, tides were shifting.
Netflix. Streaming. North America.
Kai. Disruptor. Asia.
Undercurrents surged.
The question was who would dare to gamble, who could see far enough, and who would act at the right moment.
Netflix hit the wall.
Not just Ferrari. Mercedes and Red Bull were cautious as well.
First came technical secrecy.
Ferrari and Mercedes were title contenders in 2017. Red Bull was the only team capable of threatening them. Letting cameras into garages risked exposing technical details and strategic thinking.
Then came philosophy.
Ferrari valued mystique. Marchionne was bold with young drivers but conservative with media. Arrivabene agreed.
Mercedes was different. Toto Wolff understood marketing but feared distraction. Not just filming itself, but the social media storm afterward.
And he did not want a repeat of Hamilton versus Rosberg.
Red Bull, however, had no such qualms.
Horner was a gambler. High risk, high reward. If someone cracked under pressure, so be it.
Control became the sticking point.
Ferrari, Mercedes, and Red Bull all wanted editorial influence. Netflix and its production partner refused. Authenticity meant all or nothing.
Stalemate.
Kai's personal project followed the same path.
CCTV and Shanghai Sports focused on this year. GP3 to F1. Entry into the paddock. Winter training was only a fragment.
Netflix wanted the entire rookie season. Full access. Every breath.
Ferrari refused.
They were not Red Bull. Marchionne believed in Kai. He would not rush him.
So things froze.
Fortunately, Shanghai Sports' plan centered on Kai himself. Training. Preparation. Team integration. Balancing racing and studies. Nights spent studying after full training days.
Ferrari was background. Kai was the core.
That earned approval.
Limited access was granted.
A team stayed behind, following Kai through the final months before his F1 debut.
Netflix, meanwhile, was completely blocked.
Big ambitions came with big complications.
Smaller teams wanted Netflix's revenue share. Netflix promised equal distribution. They won over most of the grid.
They even convinced Red Bull, offering Horner a choice.
Ricciardo or Verstappen.
Red Bull signed.
In the end, Netflix secured eight teams. Ferrari and Mercedes stayed out.
Kai's Netflix project died with it.
History rolled on.
In 2018, Netflix would enter the paddock.
Whether that was good or bad, no one knew.
The 2017 season still had two months left.
But change was already here.
"Race over!"
"Bottas wins his third race of the season, closing Abu Dhabi and the 2017 championship."
"Hamilton claims his fourth World Championship. Mercedes secure their fourth consecutive Constructors' title."
Commentary washed over the circuit.
Ferrari finished second. Vettel second. Raikkonen fourth.
In GP2, Leclerc dominated. His teammate Fuoco finished eighth. Russia Time took the teams' title.
GP3 had no suspense.
ART swept the top four.
Kai. George Russell. Jack Aitken. Anthoine Hubert.
Kai went undefeated in feature races.
Four sprint wins. One anomaly at Monza.
A historic season.
The paddock buzzed.
Russell stood still, nineteen years old, watching Jack Aitken retreat under the weight of attention.
He felt the same urge to disappear. But he didn't.
He walked to Kai and extended his hand. "What a season."
Kai shook it, smiling. "This doesn't feel like the end."
Russell lifted his chin. "I'm going to F2. I'll catch you."
Then, sharper, "Don't get fired after a few races."
Kai laughed. "I'll wait."
Then added lightly, "But George, words alone won't beat me."
Russell was still thinking when Kai turned back, singing theatrically, "Baby, baby, baby…"
Laughter exploded. Reporters doubled over.
Russell stood frozen, defeated.
ART dominated. Critics complained.
Kai ignored them.
Because the answer lay on the track. And because, at season's end, ART handed him a check.
Eight hundred fifty thousand euros. His first real salary.
A year ago, five thousand euros had lured him to Rome.
Now, he had earned his first million.
But this was not the end.
A new season waited.
And somewhere behind a door, someone forgot to finish the countdown.
"One!"
Kai blinked. Something was wrong. Very wrong.