deltrittennovels Chapter 442 Liu Chuanzhi's Conspiracy
Chapter 442 Liu Chuanzhi's Conspiracy
The China Electronics and Information Industry Summit Forum is an annual event held at the end of each year. This year's venue was the banquet hall of the China World Trade Center Tower 3, with two rows of flower baskets at the entrance and a red carpet stretching from the elevator entrance to the registration table.
There were quite a few people there—government officials, industry experts, business representatives, and media reporters carrying cameras.
Each person wore a laminated guest badge on their chest, with three different colored straps: red for leaders, blue for guests, and yellow for staff.
Liu Chuanzhi's ID card was blue, but he didn't wear it around his neck. He folded it in half and stuffed it into his suit pocket, leaving only a corner sticking out.
He arrived just as the tea break was starting, and people were gathered in twos and threes around the long tables, eating snacks from small plates. Someone recognized him and raised their cup from a distance; he raised his cup in return, but didn't go over.
He sat down in the second row by the aisle and placed his thermos in the cup holder on the armrest. The sound system was still being adjusted on stage, and a staff member in a gray vest squatted next to the podium, using duct tape to stick an audio cable to the carpet.
When Ling Yun entered, the tea break was almost over. He was wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, all the buttons fastened, and the collar was a bit tight. He kept tugging at the collar as he walked.
Zhao Hu walked behind him, carrying a black briefcase. The two entered through a side door, bypassing the registration area, but the reporters at the entrance still spotted them.
"Mr. Ling, may I say a few words?"
Ling Yun waved his hand. "Those who came to listen to the meeting today will not speak."
He sat down in the third row, three rows of chairs and an aisle away from Liu Chuanzhi. There was no eye contact between them, but Zhao Hu noticed that Liu Chuanzhi paused for a moment while twirling his thermos.
The meeting was opened by a vice minister in charge of the electronics and information industry. His prepared remarks lasted about twenty minutes, covering several key points: industry growth, export restructuring, and the importance of independent innovation. When he read the words "independent innovation," a few people applauded, but the applause was sparse.
Several company representatives then took turns speaking, discussing topics such as the breakthrough of domestic PC brands, software legalization, and the construction of internet infrastructure. Each person spoke for fifteen minutes, and their content was rather predictable. Some people in the audience were taking notes, some were flipping through the conference manual, and one person in the back row was slumped in his chair, asleep with his mouth open.
Liu Chuanzhi was the last company representative to take the stage. When the host called his name, he stood up, buttoned up his suit jacket, and walked onto the stage carrying a thermos. He hadn't brought a prepared speech.
"Distinguished leaders, fellow colleagues," he placed his thermos on the podium, unscrewed the lid, didn't drink from it, and screwed it back on, "Today I'd like to share a few words from my heart. These words may not be pleasant to hear, but at my age, I'm not afraid of offending anyone."
Someone in the audience looked up. The person sleeping in the back row turned over and continued sleeping.
"In the past two years, a new term has emerged in the industry: smartphone," Liu Chuanzhi said, his lips twitching slightly as if he had a tea leaf stuck in his mouth. "Some companies say they're going to make it a computer that can replace a computer. It can access the internet, chat, and watch videos—it's like a computer crammed into a phone case. When you ask them when they can make it, they say next year. When you ask again, they say the end of next year. When you ask again, they start talking about ideals, ecosystems, and the future."
He raised his hand from the podium and gestured in the air, as if shooing away an invisible fly.
"Everyone, where does the foundation of a business really lie? It lies in the factory, the production line, the supply chain, and in every single, tangible product you make. It's not about making grand promises or telling stories. Some companies come up with a bunch of fancy concepts, like mobile internet or app stores—I ask you, where are your chips? Where is your baseband? Where is your production line? You have none of those, yet you think you can redefine the mobile phone based on just a few renderings."
The air in the room suddenly felt thin. Someone coughed, then immediately covered their mouth.
"Isn't it better to just focus on making PCs?" Liu Chuanzhi picked up his thermos and took a sip. The lid wasn't tightened properly, and a few drops of water dripped onto the podium. He wiped it with his sleeve. "We've been making PCs for over a decade, and every single machine comes off the assembly line. We don't play with concepts or make empty promises. Let me be blunt here today—those companies that constantly talk about revolution and disruption often end up revolutionizing themselves."
After he finished speaking, he placed the thermos on the podium. The bottom of the thermos hit the wooden board, and the sound came through the microphone with a buzzing sound.
The audience's gazes began to drift towards the third row. Ling Yun sat there, neither bowing his head nor turning it. One hand rested on the armrest, his fingers tapping slowly and steadily. Zhao Hu sat next to him, having moved his briefcase to his left.
As Liu Chuanzhi stepped off the stage, he passed by Ling Yun. The two were less than half a meter apart, and Liu Chuanzhi's trouser leg brushed against the back of Ling Yun's hand, which was resting on the armrest. Neither of them turned their heads.
After the event ended, the corridor outside the banquet hall was packed with people. Liu Chuanzhi was surrounded by several reporters, with microphones held only a fist's distance from his chin.
"Mr. Liu, was your statement just now directed at a specific company?"
Liu Chuanzhi smiled, his mouth smiling but his eyes remaining still. "I'm not targeting anyone in particular; I'm only addressing the industry's atmosphere."
"But you mentioned smartphones—"
"Smartphones aren't something you can just make on a whim. Microsoft tried and failed. Motorola tried and failed too. Chinese companies still lag behind international giants in terms of technological accumulation. Instead of pursuing unrealistic things, we should focus on doing what we're good at."
He nodded after speaking, then turned and walked towards the elevator. The reporters chased after him for a few steps, but were stopped by security guards.
When Ling Yun came out through the side door, Zhao Hu had already driven the car to the entrance. Before getting in, Ling Yun took out his phone and glanced at the text message Zhao Weiguo had just sent.
"Yixiang has started hoarding mobile phone parts. Screens, cameras, batteries, anything that can be scanned is being bought up. They've driven up prices by nearly 20%."
Ling Yun put his phone in his pocket and got into the car. As the car door closed, he glanced through the window at the row of flower baskets at the entrance of the China World Trade Center Phase III. The flowers on the baskets were blooming too profusely in the heated room, and some of them had already drooped.
"Let them buy," Lingyun said, "the more the better."
Zhao Hu started the car without saying a word.
As the car drove out of the parking lot, Ling Yun's phone vibrated again. This time it was a message from Li Mo: "Brother Ling, the systems department has found an account with very high privileges. It logged into the code repository again last night. They haven't found out who it belongs to yet, but—it's definitely not one of ours."
After reading the text message, Lingyun turned her phone over and placed it on her lap.
"Zhao Hu".
"Um."
"Tell me, when someone is cornered, what do they most want to do?"
Zhao Hu glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Bite."
"Yes," Ling Yun rolled down the car window a crack, letting in the dry, chilly wind typical of Beijing in December. "So, what was he most afraid of before he bit someone?"
Zhao Hu thought for a moment. "I'm afraid I'll bite off more than I can chew."
Ling Yun didn't speak again. Outside the car window, a row of streetlights on Chang'an Avenue were lit, their yellow light shining on the asphalt road. As the wheels rolled over them, the light spots flickered, like something slowly counting down.