Chapter 65: Joining the Society

Zhang San pointed inside the shop, where a black beast sat at the highest point of the display.

Yang Meng drew a sharp breath. “H2R? You really have such a giant machine here?”

Sitting on the platform was none other than the Kawasaki H2R, one of the fastest motorcycles in existence. Though its displacement was ‘only’ 998cc, the bike was strictly forbidden on public roads—this was a true ‘monster’.

Its specs were staggering: three hundred horsepower, a top speed breaking four hundred kilometers per hour, a supercharged engine, and a full carbon-fiber aerodynamic kit. It was no exaggeration to say that even the 1,200-horsepower Bugatti Veyron paled in comparison to it.

Unlike ordinary motorcycles, the Kawasaki H2R had no headlights or mirrors. Wrapped entirely in carbon fiber, its body hid various large and small aerodynamic fins, which allowed it to remain stable even above three hundred kilometers per hour.

But what did a top speed of four hundred kilometers per hour really mean? Well, at that speed, your chances of meeting your maker increased exponentially. To put it another way, no aircraft in the world takes off at a speed exceeding three hundred seventy kilometers per hour, and commercial planes never reach even three hundred, because their tires simply can’t handle that velocity! If you fitted the H2R with wings, it would undoubtedly take flight.

Even more terrifying: the H2R that set the four hundred kilometer record was a stock production model. The only modifications were a new set of tires, the removal of the front winglets, and a different rear sprocket; everything else was straight from the factory!

Of course, not every daredevil would push it that far, but this bike could hit one-eighty in first gear! Breaking three hundred felt as easy as a stroll. If that ‘female assassin’ really bought this thing, it would surely be a death sentence.

Zhang San smiled wryly. “Now you understand why I sold her the ‘Baboon’? She nearly scared me to death just now. That’s what it means to be rich and reckless. She refused anything but the H2R, and it took all my effort to talk her into the ‘Baboon’ ST. You missed it—she acted as if I was cheating her out of her money.”

Quan Yajing, standing to the side, pursed her lips. “‘Baboon’ isn’t so bad. My first bike was a ‘Baboon’ too, though not the ST, the classic version.”

The ‘Baboon’ motorcycle referred to the domestic Chunfeng CF-125, a mini-bike with a 125cc engine and a top speed of ninety kilometers per hour, slightly more for the ST version.

Its biggest advantage was its compactness: a seat height of just seven hundred ten millimeters, making it easy for even girls around one-sixty tall to plant both feet firmly on the ground.

There were two styles: one retro, the other a street-style ST. The ‘Baboon’ was a big engine in a small package, offering loads of fun, and with its flashy looks and sub-10,000 price tag, it was the go-to entry-level model for many riders. Once familiar with it, most would upgrade to heavy bikes above 400cc.

Yang Meng grinned at Zhang San. “You know the old saying: don't fear a thief stealing, but fear a thief coveting. Now that woman has her eyes on your H2R, you’d better be careful. With her wealth, she has all sorts of ways to get it.”

Zhang San sighed. “You’re telling me. I’d better hide it somewhere soon. The H2R… I can barely handle it myself now. If I sold it to her and something happened, that’d be a heavy burden on my conscience.”

“Come on, isn’t she loaded? Just sell it to her and make a killing!” Chongfeng interjected.

Zhang San shook his head. “Chongfeng, everyone loves money, and selling her this bike would make me a tidy sum. But I’d never feel at ease spending that money. I’d always worry something would go wrong.”

Chongfeng chuckled. “She couldn’t ride it anyway—it’s not street legal and can’t be registered. What’s to worry about?”

Zhang San shot her a look. “You think getting plates is hard for people with that kind of money? Let’s be honest, even you could find a way to get an H2R registered if you really tried. Swap the front fairing and it’s doable. For someone as rich as her, it’s even easier. There’s no way her family couldn’t pull the strings. Selling her the bike would be putting her in harm’s way. That’s not money I want.”

Yang Meng gave him a thumbs up. “You’ve got principles, Third Brother! By the way, isn’t this supposed to be a riders’ club? Tell me about it?”

Zhang San pulled out a cigarette and handed one to Yang Meng. “Club? It’s just a bunch of us hanging out. When I first started it, I didn’t think much—just wanted a place for the guys to talk bikes and maybe go for a ride. But it turned out to be much more complicated. Rent costs money. Gear costs money. And when we went on group rides, everyone had different preferences—some liked long hauls, some liked night rides up to five or six hundred kilometers, some liked to stop and play along the way. Every time we set out, everyone promised to follow the rules and stick together. In practice, all sorts of problems cropped up—some ditched halfway, some got pulled over, some blew a tire or seized an engine. Organizing an event was always a headache.”

Qiao Yu shrugged. “Some people are even worse. Their bikes get dirty, so they come here to wash them, but when it’s time to buy gear, they go to online shops and just leech off Third Brother. Even as he expanded—running driving schools, hosting salons—he still barely kept afloat. In the end, he had to switch to a membership model. The moment people heard about a fee, most quit. Not gonna lie, at its peak, the club had almost three hundred people. Now there are just twenty-something left, but at least they’re all true friends. So, you thinking of joining?”

Yang Meng nodded. “I am! How much is the fee?”

Zhang San raised a hand. “Wait, don’t ask about the fee yet. Let me tell you what we offer. First, we organize occasional events, but rarely, because everyone’s so busy—it’s hard to coordinate. Usually, a few close friends just arrange something privately. Official club events are infrequent.”

Yang Meng laughed. “Third Brother, are you trying to talk me out of joining? Why not just say the club sucks?”

Zhang San laughed too. “I’d rather be upfront. Other clubs run all sorts of events and care about what brand you ride. Here, none of that—any bike is welcome, as long as you love riding. We do have perks. Members get twenty percent off drinks in the lounge, and the same discount on repairs and maintenance. I’ve been in the scene for years, so I have contacts to source OEM parts. Maintenance here is a lot cheaper than at dealerships. For example, my own ‘Big Devil’—a fifteen-thousand-kilometer service at a dealership costs over three thousand yuan, just for inspections, spark plugs, air filter cleaning, and oil change. Here, for members, it’s less than half that. As for skill, don’t worry—all the old hands who used to ride with me now fix bikes. They might not ride as wild anymore, but their repair skills are better than ever.”

Yang Meng nodded. “That alone makes me want to join—I can learn maintenance! To be honest, my first job in this city was as an apprentice in a motorcycle repair shop.”

Qiao Yu was curious. “So what do you do now?”

Yang Meng spread his hands. “Unemployed. Didn’t I tell you? My last job was delivering food, but I got fired last week.”

“You delivered food on the ‘Six-Eyed Demon’? Could you be any more creative?” Chen Jiao quipped from the side.

Yang Meng quickly clarified, “No, no! I never used that for deliveries. It guzzles over eight liters per hundred kilometers—the pay wouldn’t even cover the gas! I actually delivered on a JianShe 125. But it got stolen, and this bike was a gift from someone else. I’ve only had it a few days.”

Chongfeng blinked. “Are you some rich kid slumming it as a delivery guy? Who gives away a nearly three-hundred-thousand-yuan ‘Six-Eyed Demon’?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m cute?” Yang Meng batted his eyes. “My name even sounds cute!”

Chongfeng scoffed, “Being cute is a crime, acting young is shameful!”

Just then, Zhang San walked over holding a few pink forms. “Let’s make it official. If you want to join, fill this out!”

Yang Meng took a look—it was just personal info, license details, waiver clauses, nothing special.

“Hmm?” Yang Meng suddenly asked, “Third Brother, why do we have to fill in vehicle information?”

Zhang San replied, “We’ve got all kinds of bikes here. If we need to repair yours, it helps to know the model so we can source parts in advance. Just write down what you ride, no big deal.”

Yang Meng explained, “Actually, besides this one, I have three other bikes. Should I list them all?”

“You have more?” Chongfeng was intrigued.

Yang Meng nodded. “A 2013 Triumph Bonneville T100, a Harley 833 Super Low, and a 2015 Triumph Rocket V.”

The room fell silent, everyone staring at Yang Meng. Finally, Qiao Yu spoke. “Yang Meng, you expect us to believe you were a delivery guy? Just admit it, are you secretly rich, or do you sell bikes?”

Yang Meng smiled bitterly. “I’m not lying, I know these bikes are expensive, but they were all gifts—I didn’t buy a single one myself!”

Chongfeng’s eyes widened. “You think you’re some idol and your crazy fans just give you bikes?”

Zhang San propped his chin and mused, “There’s only one Rocket V in our city, and as far as I know, it belongs to Zheng DaPao in Zhao Village, known as ‘Sticky Rice Chicken’—that’s how stingy he is. Don’t tell me he gave it to you, because I’d never believe it!”