Chapter 745: Chapter 745



The village chief let out a weary sigh, muttering, “Here they come again.”

Despite the village’s tranquility, the raucous cheers of audacious racers frequently pierced the air.

Curious, Fannie turned to the chief and inquired, “What’s happening over there?”

With a resigned shake of his head, the chief explained, “It’s been the same story for years. Each season, thrill-seekers from Illerith storm our mountains to race. We’ve attempted to halt them several times, but to no avail.”

As Fannie savored a bite of the sweet, juicy persimmon, she asked, “Don’t the police intervene?”

“Those racers have connections in high places. The police might make a show of scolding them, but ultimately, nobody truly steps in to stop them.”

Setting his cup down with a frustrated sigh, a businessman added, “They’re completely spoiling the atmosphere. Without these disturbances, our village could attract even more visitors.”

Fannie mulled over her purpose deeply.

She was in Greenfield primarily to lead a charity initiative, addressing the town’s annual dilemma of excess unsold persimmons. The purpose of today’s assembly was to devise potential solutions.

Yet, the recent havoc wreaked by unruly racers had cast a shadow over the village’s good name.

She turned to the chief. “Where are they now? Could you take me to them?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s hardly a place for a young woman.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fannie countered resolutely, rising to her feet. “I hail from Illerith as well. Perhaps I’m acquainted with them. If it’s difficult for you to intervene, allow me the chance.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the chief relented. He instructed his two sons to accompany her.

They made their way through the dense woods, arriving at a chaotic scene illuminated by a bonfire. Four heavily modified cars skidded wildly around the flames, their tires sending showers of sparks into the night air.

A group of scantily clad women, bottles in hand, cheered on the spectacle.

The racers’ identities were obscured by their helmets, making it impossible for Fannie to recognize anyone.

Then, the scene intensified with the sudden growl of a motorcycle engine from atop the nearby cliff.

In the moonlit night, a figure clad in black leather, mounted on a Harley, made a striking appearance.

Though his face was largely concealed by a helmet, Fannie still recognized him.

Bobby, with a flick of his wrist, intensified the roar of his engine. “Go for it, Bobby!” yelled an onlooker from the crowd.

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