GOD MODE FRESHMAN: Trillionaire Simulator-Chapter 42 - : The Ice Queen’s Sanctuary

Fang Hongxiu's designer sneakers crunched gravel as he surged toward Ye Chen, his earlier racing gloves still smeared with track residue. The scent of burnt rubber clung to his Armani jacket like war paint. "That inverted drift through turn seven..." His voice cracked with the fervor of medieval monk discovering sacred texts. "You shifted weight distribution mid-air during the corkscrew descent!"

Ye Chen discreetly extracted his arm from the young tycoon's death grip. The crowd's murmured speculations about mental breakdowns dissolved into relieved chuckles - this wasn't madness, but automotive rapture.

When Fang produced a Montblanc pen to autograph his own collar, security discreetly herded paparazzi away.

Dawn painted Jiangzhou University's limestone columns peach-gold as Ye Chen's Koenigsegg purred through mist. The dashboard clock blinked 10:47 AM when his cousin's panic vibrated through the Carrera audio system.

"Emergency! Ningshuang's thesis draft..."

In the dormitory quadrangle, Su Ningshuang stood statue-still beneath wisteria vines, her Chanel flap bag spilling stationery. The morning breeze toyed with her usually pristine chignon.

"Your... seventh vehicle?" Her arched eyebrow twitched at the matte-black Regera.

"Rental." Ye Chen deadpanned, triggering her first recorded eye-roll.

Century Rivers' security gates parted like Red Sea waves. Number 3 Villa's glass atrium refracted sunlight into diamond shards across Su's cheekbones as she inputted biometric codes with trembling fingers.

"Mother's at the opera," she murmured, the admission carrying unexpected weight.

The grand staircase's marble balustrade chilled Ye Chen's palm. Second door left - paneled in blush silk, handle shaped like frozen teardrop.

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Chaos reigned within.

Beneath the princess-pink canopy bed, draft pages fluttered like wounded doves. A half-packed Gucci suitcase vomited cashmere sweaters. On the vanity, fragmented mascara tubes testified to rare imperfection.

"Six minutes." Su's whisper cut through jasmine-scented air.

Ye Chen moved with forensic precision - lifting couture gowns on wooden hangers, scanning beneath the Breguet watch winder. His fingers closed on cold metal beneath La Perla lace.

The collision was inevitable.

Su's momentum carried them against the walk-in closet's cedar paneling. For three heartbeats, her frost-demon façade melted into warm human frailty. Valentino chiffon whispered secrets as her Burberry trench slid off slender shoulders.

"Time." Ye Chen's throat tightened around the word, USB drive biting his palm.

At 10:59:47, the email whooshed into cyberspace.

In the villa's elevator mirror, Su watched bloodstain-pink bloom across her throat. "You'll..." Her reflection swallowed. "...keep inventory of my lingerie collection to yourself."

Ye Chen's grin ignited dormant dimples. "What happens in the walk-in closet..."

Her stiletto connected with his Italian loafer.

Somewhere in Geneva, a bespectacled linguistics professor received the most passionately punctuated competition entry in academic history.