Just three hours ago, Christian Horner resigned from his position as Team Principal and CEO of the Oracle Red Bull Racing team, effective immediately, exiting the F1 team. Twenty years, 405 races, 141 championship titles—eight drivers’ championships, six constructors’ championships. He was the longest-serving team principal in Red Bull’s history.
An era has completely ended.
Last year, Verstappen secured the drivers’ championship for Red Bull, but the constructors’ title was snatched by McLaren. The Thai and Austrian sides of Red Bull have been in constant dispute over control of the F1 team.
Christian Horner’s departure adds a solemn final touch to the fading golden years of the Red Bull team in F1.
A commentator named Guaji says that your qualification to comment on something depends on whether your adjectives for it are sufficiently nuanced, rather than just simply saying “good” or “bad.”
There’s one thing Lin Song can’t figure out. Christian Horner is already fifty-one, his beard is almost completely white, so why is his hair still so thick?
Under the continuous broiling heat, getting heatstroke has become commonplace. The female host on the radio was whining coquettishly to her younger male co-host, complaining that her throat has been dry and sore lately. She blames all her summer bodily discomforts on the air conditioning. Yes, summer colds, headaches, excessive “dampness”—it’s all the AC’s fault.
As for women, it seems there are only two suitable things for them to do in the summer. One is to go to the Cainiao Post station to pick up packages after dinner; the other is to chat with their best friends. It doesn’t matter if the person on the other end of the line is on the toilet; it won’t stop them from talking, since you can’t smell anything from this side anyway.
Although the weather in Wuhan has been thirty-eight or thirty-nine degrees for a week, that auntie still shouldn’t have worn a low-cut dress. The visible sagging was so oppressive you couldn’t even look away.
What is being pretentious? It’s when someone, for no reason, suddenly says something where you understand every word, but no one has any idea what they’re actually trying to say. For example:
“I no longer have my original pride, and I’ve lost the way I used to be…”
You’re probably just a damn underachiever; what the hell is there to be proud of? Perhaps the only thing to be proud of is that he wasn’t born in Mianyang, but in Hankou.
Lin Song had just dropped off his wife, Xiao Li, to play mahjong when he received a message from Boss Zhao.
“Busy lately?”
“Not too busy~ (Grinning emoji)”
“Then come over for a coffee when you’re free. No business, just a chat. (Facepalm emoji)”
No business? On a day this hot, driving from Hankou to Hanyang—doesn’t that use gas? Lin Song grumbled to himself, He must be placing an order. It’s worth the trip. He checked the travel time on his map and replied to Boss Zhao:
“I’m on my way now. I’ll get to your place around 1:02 PM.”
“Okay, I’ll go charge my car then. Let me know when you arrive.”
Lin Song pulled his car into the parking garage of the Donghe Center and was surprised to see only a single Peugeot 308, a model that had been out of production for years. It completely lacked the aura of a “landlord.” Lin Song could only sigh.
Boss Zhao was sitting in his charging Tesla, blasting the AC. Seeing Lin Song wave, he quickly got out and treated him to a cafeteria-style meal where you pay by weight. Boss Zhao’s plate was mostly rice with few vegetables, while Lin Song’s was the opposite.
“Weren’t you driving a ‘Tank’ before?”
“Used too much gas. Switched it.”
The black Tesla, having been baked under the midday sun, was basically a bucket of boiling water. As Lin Song got in and reached to close the door, his hand directly touched the outer panel of the frameless door. It was an intense shock, like plunging his hand into boiling water. In his entire life, Lin Song had never touched anything that had gotten so hot from the sun.
Boss Zhao wanted to chat with Lin Song because he was thinking of sourcing higher-grade raw materials at the current price. The current material prices had already surged to a fifty-year high, and Boss Zhao’s purchasing price was already at the industry’s rock bottom. However, he felt the current grade of materials was a bit lacking and wanted Lin Song to provide him with some samples. Lin Song said to him:
“A fifty-year business cycle. You’re witnessing history.”
Boss Zhao chuckled good-naturedly.
After getting home and parking his car, Lin Song made an appointment with Tony for a haircut.
The young man washing his hair asked Lin Song, who was leaning back over the sink, “Which stylist are you here for?”
“Tony Ma.”
“Tony Ma is a Director. He charges 49 yuan for a haircut.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Lin Song thought to himself: What’s the meaning of specifically reminding me that Tony Ma charges 49 yuan for a haircut? I’ve been getting my hair cut by him for almost ten years. You think I don’t know how much it costs?
Seeing the silent Lin Song, the young man washing his hair perhaps realized he was a regular customer of Tony’s and didn’t say anything more, just diligently washed his hair. As if to apologize for his earlier verbal offense, he even shampooed Lin Song’s hair twice. Lin Song washed his own hair every day, regardless of the season, and his scalp never itched.
In front of the barber’s mirror, Lin Song fiddled with the thinning hair on top of his head. It was then that he understood. The young man who had washed his hair earlier didn’t think he couldn’t afford the 49 yuan fee. The young man’s meaning was probably that the amount of hair on his head was no longer worth the 49 yuan price of a haircut.