Huang Chong knew, of course, that Dewey was just joking and teasing him.
While his family was by no ans poor by ordinary standards, a clear gap existed between him and this crowd.
Whether he could one day stand among them as an equal, or even surpass them, all depended on if he could beco a world-class cyclist and reach the pinnacle of the sport.
Essentially, he was only moving in Zhou Ming’s circle for the ti being because of his connection to Dewey; he wasn’t truly one of them.
Fortunately, Huang Chong wasn’t weak-willed. He would never bow and scrape or grovel before those in a higher social class.
Of course, with Dewey introducing him to this world of fa and fortune, there was no need for that anyway.
These rich kids all had a baseline level of decorum; they wouldn’t be so crude as to openly look down on him.
But other people not looking down on him was one thing; he couldn’t afford to be too flashy himself.
For instance, Dewey telling him to go "ride a white horse" to boost his power was clearly a joke between friends, not sothing to be taken seriously.
’Those girls are all part of other people’s harems. Stirring up that kind of trouble would be completely irrational.’
He had no interest in "riding a white horse," but the champion’s prize money Dewey just ntioned? That he was very interested in.
He and Dewey had co here to knock Zhou Ming down a peg. He didn’t care if this competition was just a side-show for a business gathering or a genuine friendly match between enthusiasts—
a prize of 28,888 was on the line.
That was indeed higher than the prize for a stage victory in many amateur cycling competitions in China.
In terms of prize distribution, Zhou Ming had only set prizes for the top three places: 28,888, 18,888, and 8,888. It certainly couldn’t compare to the total prize pool of a formal competition.
But their cycling club, plus the other rich guys who had been invited, only amounted to a handful of people.
And judging by the way these rich guys were living it up tonight—all drinking and debauchery—who knew how many of them would even manage to crawl out of bed for the race tomorrow morning.
So, the prize money Zhou Ming had put up really wasn’t bad at all.
Huang Chong was desperate for cash right now. While winning here wouldn’t even be enough to buy a top-tier fra, he still had his salary.
If he went on to compete in other races and scraped together the prize money from a few wins, he could definitely afford a World Tour Level bike by the end of the year.
In any case, upgrading his equipnt was an urgent priority.
His current ninth-generation TCR was fine for training, but it definitely wouldn’t cut it in a real race.
It was an all-around fra with external cable routing, which ant poor aerodynamics. On top of that, all its components were too basic, so there was no guarantee it wouldn’t have a chanical failure during a high-intensity ride.
The worst part was, for an entry-level bike, its total weight was far too high.
A road bike over 9 kg was a complete tank. It was more than 2 kg over the UCI’s regulated weight limit of 6.8 kg.
If he rode this bike in a real race, he’d be at a huge disadvantage.
"Old Du, you finally made it! We’ve been waiting forever. Co, have a seat. Little Mili, get General Manager Du and his brother a drink."
Zhou Ming looked thrilled to see Dewey and Huang Chong. He greeted them warmly and added,
"Dinner will be ready soon. The chef’s already on it!"
Dewey smiled and nodded, accepting a specialty cocktail from a woman with striking, sultry makeup nicknad Little Mili. He then gestured for Huang Chong to relax.
Huang Chong wasn’t an idiot. He knew better than to be standoffish in a place like this, so he took the cocktail and had a small sip.
But Dewey, Zhou Ming, and the others were business partners, after all, and they soon fell into a conversation about comrcial matters.
Throughout dinner, the group of rich kids discussed which businesses were worth investing in, idly suggesting they all chip in to start so new, fun venture.
Dewey wasn’t short on money. At his level, he couldn’t possibly limit himself to just the bicycle business.
From his vantage point, he saw things with perfect clarity.
The bicycle business that was booming across the country right now couldn’t last.
After all, road bikes are built to last. Besides the rich kids in this room, who had the money to swap out their bikes with every new product release, who would casually replace a bike that costs tens of thousands, or even over a hundred thousand?
Therefore, you could only make a quick buck off it for a year or two.
Once the hype died down, the equipnt market would beco saturated, even with an increasing number of road cycling enthusiasts.
That wasn’t even counting all the bandwagoners who would buy a bike, discover their backs couldn’t handle it, and end up selling it secondhand online for a loss after riding less than 50 km, just trying to recoup so of their costs.
Huang Chong wasn’t interested in their business talk. He was broke, so even if he were interested, he couldn’t get involved.
Not just anyone could get a slice of the pie these guys baked together.
So he only started to show so interest when they finally finished their business talk and the conversation drifted to the next day’s ride.
The slick, dapper-looking Zhou Ming shot him a strange glance and teased Dewey,
"Old Du, this friend of yours looks a little familiar, but I can’t quite place him."
"He isn’t that kid who was talking big when I picked up my bike at your shop, is he? The one who said he was going to the three Grand Tours to take on Pogačar and the others?"
Zhou Ming genuinely didn’t recognize Huang Chong. After all, Huang Chong used to weigh 75 kg, and now he was under 65 kg.
That was a difference of about ten days. Huang Chong had been dropping a kilogram a day—who would even believe that?
And as his weight dropped and his muscles grew, his physique and appearance had undergone a dramatic transformation. Only the look in his eyes remained unchanged.
He used to be slightly chubby with a fleshy face. Now, not only was there no excess fat on his body, but his face had slimd down to the sharp, oval shape he’d had in high school.
Paired with his now sharp, well-defined features, he looked strikingly handso.
If the Riding Beauties present hadn’t found him a bit too quiet, and if the brands of his clothes and bike weren’t so ordinary—unlike the other rich kids dripping with Prada, Gucci, Givenchy, Trek, Lightning, Colnago, and Look—
they would have already taken the initiative to get to know him.
They might even have had a few more drinks, gotten a little tipsy, and found a hotel room to "work on their core strength" with him.
"Brother Zhou, you’ve got a sharp eye. His na is Huang Chong. He’s my college classmate and my best friend."
Dewey had had a lot to drink. He had a slight alcohol intolerance that made his face flush, and now he was as red as a baboon’s ass.
But even half-drunk, his loyalty to Huang Chong was unquestionable.
Seeing Zhou Ming dismiss Huang Chong, he was quick to clarify their relationship and defend him.
"Brother Zhou, I’m not just blowing smoke. My friend here is serious about becoming a Professional Cyclist."
"You saw it yourself. The way he dropped all that weight in such a short ti to beco a cyclist—that takes a level of willpower most people don’t have."
"And I’ll be honest, the whole reason I brought him to this event was so he could prove his skills to you, Brother Zhou."
Zhou Ming caught the protective and sarcastic undertones in Dewey’s words. He understood that they were here to crash his party.
But he was a fanatical cycling enthusiast himself; otherwise, he wouldn’t have poured so much ti and money into the sport.
He was destined never to fulfill his own dream of becoming a Professional Cyclist. His parents would never allow it, not when there were billions in assets waiting for him, their only son, to inherit.
But seeing Huang Chong work so hard for his dream stirred sothing in him.
Who could possibly understand his frustration and lancholy? On the surface, his life was all glamour, but in reality, his parents had planned out every single stage. His own passions were never taken seriously, let alone allowed.
He knew he couldn’t share these thoughts with anyone. It would sound too lodramatic.
But the long-festering, unfulfilled ambition was painfully real.
That was why he now spent money on his cycling hobby almost vengefully—buying top-of-the-line road bikes, keeping an entourage of Riding Beauties, and even funding an entire cycling club.
He knew his parents let him have cycling as a hobby—they couldn’t be bothered to control him like they did when he was a kid—but if he ever wanted to beco a Professional Cyclist, it was absolutely out of the question.
But precisely because he was such a cycling fanatic, he knew just how hard it was for soone from China to beco a Professional Cyclist. He knew how massive the gap was between them and the established pros from the sport’s traditional powerhouses in Europe.
So, after a mont’s thought, he slipped back into his arrogant persona. Or perhaps, he was just venting the frustration of a dream he had long been forced to hide, one that would never be realized. A sneer crossed his face.
"Talk is cheap. You think it’s that easy to beco a Professional Cyclist?"
"Old Du, you don’t actually think becoming a Road Cyclist is just about losing so weight and building a few muscles in the gym, do you?"
"I know you’re a loyal friend and can’t stand anyone looking down on your buddy. And to be honest, I’m not trying to single out Brother Huang."
"But I’ll say it again: you have to be able to back up your words."
"But since you two ca here to crash my party, I can’t exactly be cheap about it."
"We’ll settle this tomorrow morning. I’m actually curious to see if this friend of yours really has the strength he claims."
"If he can’t even take first place here, then he should stop spouting all that bullshit about the three Grand Tours and the five Monunts. It’s getting on my nerves."
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