Chapter 161: If You're Going to Do It, Do It to Mercedes!
"Wu Shi moves up to second! He's pushed Rosberg back! What a lap!"
Amid the cheers from the grandstands and the rising excitement in the commentary box, Wu Shi felt no joy at all.
His mind replayed the moment at Turn 15 over and over—the brief lock-up, the lost line, the fraction of hesitation that had cost him everything.
He should have known.
The steering load.
The grip threshold.
The braking margin.
So why had he still misjudged it?
There were two reasons.
The first was greed.
He had adjusted the brake bias rearward, hoping to gain extra rotation and front-end bite mid-corner—just enough to keep the car tucked in. On paper, the math worked.
In reality, it hadn't been enough.
A tiny miscalculation.
A human error.
The second reason was the wind.
Jonathan had warned him about the north wind affecting Turn 9—but no one had mentioned Turn 15.
The airflow crossed the artificial lake in the center of the circuit, funneling straight into the braking zone as a tailwind.
That extra speed.
That extra load.
The front tyres lost grip instantly.
Wu Shi had corrected—but physics had already decided.
His thoughts were interrupted by Jonathan's voice.
"It's not your fault," came the reply over the radio. "You drove brilliantly. I should've been tracking the wind changes more closely and warned you."
Moments earlier, Red Bull had warned Ricciardo about a strong tailwind at Turn 15.
The Williams crew had heard it—but dismissed it.
Wind data was displayed clearly on their monitors. No one thought it required escalation.
Jonathan made a note in his book.
A mistake. My mistake.
After the cool-down lap, Wu Shi returned to the pit lane.
He had been the first to complete Q3.
And he was still second.
---
Vettel crossed the line shortly afterward—
1:27.757, fourth place.
Williams still had the edge over Ferrari on a single lap.
Wu Shi glanced at the timing screens, already thinking ahead.
Three-stop?
Soft–Medium–Soft?
It was worth discussing with strategy—after simulations, not instincts.
Then Rosberg appeared on-screen.
His first two sectors were identical to Wu Shi's.
But in Sector 3, the Mercedes pulled away.
1:26.921.
Second place reclaimed.
And then—
Hamilton.
Final flying lap.
He didn't need it.
But why not?
From the first sector alone, the speed was obvious. By the time he reached the back straight, the Mercedes looked unreal—stable, violent, effortless.
At Turn 15, the front-left tyre also locked briefly.
The line was almost identical to Wu Shi's.
But the result wasn't.
1:26.327.
Even with a mistake, it was untouchable.
"Damn alien car…" Wu Shi muttered.
His race suit was half unzipped now, Williams T-shirt visible as he stared at the data.
Massa crossed the line soon after—
1:27.718, fourth place.
Q3 was over.
Final grid:
Mercedes – Row 1
Williams – Row 2
Ferrari – Row 3
Clean.
Symmetrical.
Almost insulting.
---
Interviews began immediately.
Hamilton and Rosberg were swarmed.
Rosberg had lost nearly six-tenths to Hamilton—a gap as large as an entire Williams.
"Do you expect pressure from Williams tomorrow?" a reporter asked.
"I don't think so," Rosberg replied quickly. "Our long-run pace is strong."
It sounded more like reassurance than confidence.
Wu Shi's interview came next.
"You were just one mistake away from the front row. What happened?"
"The wind today was very tricky," Wu Shi said evenly. "I underestimated its effect. That's something I need to learn from."
"And tomorrow?"
"Our long-run pace isn't outstanding. As a rookie, I'll focus on maintaining position. Ferrari will be strong."
"So you can't fight Mercedes?"
Wu Shi smiled politely.
"That's one way to put it."
Inside, his thoughts were very different.
Why look backward?
If you're going to fight—fight the fastest.
---
That evening, his father called.
He couldn't make it.
Wu Shi understood. They were both busy, in their own worlds.
Martina called too—Ferrari's internal situation made travel impossible.
Louise was too young to come alone.
Jos Verstappen did come.
"You've already reached a height most never will," the older man said. "What comes next belongs to your generation."
Wu Shi didn't reply.
"You gave up a world champion seat," Jos added.
"The champion's still there," Wu Shi said calmly. "It's not going anywhere."
That night, Albert Park filled to the brim.
Sunday.
Race day.
Twenty degrees.
Clouds rolling in.
Tyre wear was lower than expected.
One-stop strategy.
Only seventeen cars on the grid.
Manor absent.
Bottas sidelined.
As the field formed up, Jonathan's voice came over the radio:
"Oil on track between Turns 3 and 5. Be careful."
"Copy."
The warm-up lap ended.
The grid settled.
Hamilton slowed deliberately at Turn 15, compressing the pack to keep tyre temperature.
Five red lights.
Wu Shi flexed his fingers.
The lights fully illuminated.
And the season truly began.