Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

279: Chapter 279 The World’s Talented Individuals Enter the Stars2:00 PM, Xingchen Human Resources Department

The moment the door was pushed open, Zhao Min felt as if she had stepped onto a battlefield.

It wasn’t a metaphor—it was a literal wall of sound. Phone rings rose and fell like alarms; twenty landlines rang simultaneously, mixed with the sounds of cell phones, fax machines, and printers, creating a deafening white noise.

”Xingchen HR, who are you looking for?”

”Yes, we are still hiring, but please submit your application through the official website first...”

”Sorry, Director Zhao cannot take the call right now; she is handling urgent matters—”

Over a dozen HR staff members were shouting into their receivers, their voices all hoarse.

The printer in the corner had been working continuously for four hours, and the resumes it spat out had piled up like a small mountain on the floor. Three boxes of printing paper had been used up. The cleaning lady pushed her cart in but was scared back out—the floor was covered in paper, with no place to step.

Zhao Min stood in the center of the office, her hand holding a water cup trembling slightly.

This was her seventh cup of water today. From eight in the morning until now, she had taken at least two hundred calls—no exaggeration, she had counted them herself.

Headhunting firms, university career offices, international talent agencies, and even consulates from three different countries had called to inquire about Xingchen’s talent recruitment policies.

”Xiao Zhang!” She called out to the assistant running past her. ”Are today’s resume statistics out yet?”

The assistant, Xiao Zhang, was about twenty-five or twenty-six and had only been on the job for six months; her face was currently as pale as a sheet of paper. She stared at the computer screen, her fingers trembling on the mouse.

”Dir... Director Zhao, statistics up to 1:00 PM...”

”How many?”

Xiao Zhang swallowed hard, her voice shaking:

”97,000.”

Zhao Min nearly dropped her water cup.

”How many?!”

”97,000!” Xiao Zhang’s voice rose an octave, carrying a strange tremolo of mixed excitement and fear. ”From 120 countries globally! MIT, Stanford, Cambridge, ETH Zurich, Tsinghua, and Peking University... over 20,000 PhDs!”

The entire office suddenly went silent for a second.

Everyone stopped their phone calls and turned to look at Zhao Min.

”Three Nobel laureates!” Xiao Zhang almost shouted.

”What fields?”

”A Chemistry laureate wants to join the Materials Research Institute! A Physics laureate wants to join the AI Basic Theory Group! And an Economics laureate—he wants to be a strategic consultant!”

Zhao Min felt her temples throbbing.

She had been an HR professional for twenty years and had seen all kinds of recruitment seasons, talent waves, and job-hopping cycles. But never—never before had a Nobel laureate proactively submitted a resume.

”Let me see.” She walked to Xiao Zhang’s computer.

On the screen was an email. Sender: Robert F. Curl III.

Subject: Application for Research Position

The body contained only one sentence:

”I am a Nobel laureate in Chemistry. I have read about your materials breakthrough. I want to work with you. I don’t need salary. I just need a lab.”

Zhao Min stared at the screen, speechless for a long time.

The printer nearby was still frantically spitting out paper—new emails were still pouring in. She glanced up at the real-time statistics in the top right corner of the screen:

97,324... 98,001... 98,567...

Every second, new resumes were flying in from all over the world.

The subjects were almost identical:

”I want to join Xinghuo.”

”Application for Starfire”

”Xingchen, please accept my resume.”

Some were submitted directly through the official website, some were forwarded via headhunters, and some were introduced through intermediaries. The thickest one was from an associate professor at the Stanford AI Lab, who sent a PDF collection of all 47 of his papers, with only one sentence in the postscript:

”I don’t want a salary, I just want a workstation.”

Zhao Min slowly set down her water cup.

She turned to look out the window—under the blue sky and white clouds of Shenzhen was the Spark headquarters building, the densely packed office buildings of Nanshan District, and countless young people who were working overtime, striving, and dreaming.

She suddenly remembered three years ago.

Back then, Spark was on the verge of bankruptcy, with only a few million left in the accounts and suppliers blocking the door to demand payment. The HR department had only three people, and every call they received daily was from debt collectors, people cursing, or those wanting to terminate contracts.

At that time, she thought: Can this company even survive?

Today, 97,000 resumes were flying in from around the globe.

Three of them were from Nobel laureates.

”Director Zhao...” Xiao Zhang asked cautiously, ”How many people are we hiring?”

Zhao Min took a deep breath.

She remembered what Su Chen said at the strategy meeting yesterday:

”This year, we are going to expand our recruitment by 10,000 people.”

At the time, she thought Su Chen was crazy. 10,000 people? How to recruit? How to manage? How to arrange?

Now she understood.

Su Chen wasn’t crazy.

He saw what Zhao Min was only seeing now.

The global talent pool was tilting toward Spark.

”10,000,” Zhao Min said.

Xiao Zhang’s eyes widened. ”10,000?! But our HR team only has 50 people...”

”Then expand the HR department,” Zhao Min interrupted, her voice suddenly becoming decisive. ”First, hire 20 more HR staff specifically to handle resume screening. Then, ask headhunting firms for help—McKinsey, Korn Ferry, and Heidrick & Struggles, contact them all. If that’s still not enough, use AI.”

”AI?”

”Zhulong.” Zhao Min looked at the computer screen. ”President Su said Zhulong can screen resumes, so let it. Feed the resume data in and let the AI do the first pass, picking the top 10% for manual review.”

She paused. ”Tell President Su that a talent tsunami is coming. We need to be ready to welcome it.”

Xiao Zhang recorded it quickly and then asked, ”What about the Nobel laureates?”

Zhao Min was silent for three seconds.

”Handle them separately,” she said. ”Arrange video interviews for them—no, let President Su interview them personally. Nobel laureates are worth President Su’s time.”

The HR departments of both Spark and Xingchen groups were busy with group recruitment expansion, while the financial markets had already settled.

3:00 PM, market close

The Shenzhen Stock Exchange and the Shanghai Stock Exchange closed simultaneously.

The big screen froze:

Xinghuo Electronics: 150 rmb (Limit up, with 3 million lots on the buy order)

Spark Technology: 4,023 rmb (Limit up, with 800,000 lots on the buy order)

Total market capitalization: 7.43 trillion rmb.

On this day, the turnover of the two markets exceeded one trillion, with the Spark series contributing one-third.

On this day, the Shenzhen Component Index surged by 4.2%, recording its largest single-day gain in three years.

On this day, countless people realized for the first time that a single company could support an entire market.

While the echoes of the afternoon opening bell still vibrated in the air, everyone’s eyes were already locked onto the big screen.

Xinghuo Electronics, 150.00 rmb

What does 3 million lots mean? One lot is 100 shares, so 3 million lots is 300 million shares. At 150 rmb per share, it would take 45 billion rmb to consume this buy order.

But on the screen, the number of buy orders was still ticking up—3.01 million, 3.02 million, 3.05 million...

No one was selling.

Everyone was scrambling to buy, but no one was willing to sell.

Investor Old Zhang stood in the center of the trading hall, his legs feeling weak.

In the trading hall, some were opening champagne, while others were taking photos of the screen to post on their social feeds. The security guard stood at the door with a complex expression.

Meanwhile, at the Shanghai Stock Exchange.

Spark Technology, 4,023.50 rmb

A month ago, this stock was still hovering around 2,800 rmb. At that time, people said ”the tech bubble is about to burst” and ”Spark’s valuation is too high.” Su Chen didn’t say a word; he pulled out 300 billion in cash for a buyback, forcibly pulling the stock price back up.

Today, 4,023 rmb.

The WeChat groups of brokerage researchers had already exploded. Someone posted a screenshot—it was the minutes of an emergency internal meeting of a top brokerage, titled:

“Spark Series: From ‘Buy’ to ‘Must Hold’”

4:00 PM, Xingchen Headquarters Grand Conference Room

The moment the door was pushed open, over three hundred pairs of eyes turned toward Su Chen simultaneously.

He stood at the door, backlit by the light from the hallway, his expression unclear.

Sitting in the conference room were the three hundred core employees of Spark Group—engineers, scientists, product managers, marketing directors, and financial mainstays. Some had graying hair, some had just graduated two years ago, some wore work uniforms, and some still wore white lab coats.

A laptop was placed in front of everyone.

On the screens were their respective stock accounts.

Su Chen walked through the crowd and onto the podium.

No PPT, no script, no teleprompter. He stood on the stage, facing these over two hundred familiar faces.

The room was very quiet.

So quiet that the sound of the air conditioning could be heard.

”I know many people have become multimillionaires overnight,” Su Chen began, his voice as calm as if he were chatting about everyday matters. ”This is what you deserve.”

He paused.

”Over the past three years, you’ve worked 60 hours a week, given up countless weekends, missed your children’s parent-teacher meetings, and missed your parents’ birthdays.”

Some in the audience lowered their heads.

In the corner, a forty-something-year-old engineer raised his hand to wipe the corner of his eye. This was Old Li, an early employee who held 100,000 shares, worth 15 million on paper. Three years ago, during Spark’s most difficult time, he worked in the office until three in the morning, sleeping for two hours on a folding bed when he was tired. At that time, some said he was foolish—how much better it would be to go to DJI, where his salary would double. He said: I like it here.

Today, 15 million.

”But I want to remind you—” Su Chen’s voice rose slightly, ”this is only paper wealth.”

He walked to the edge of the stage, closer to the audience.

”The one-year lock-up period is to let you cool down, and also to let you think clearly about one question.”

He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping across the room.

”Do you want to get rich overnight and then retire, or do you want the sea of stars?”

Silence.

Only the sound of breathing filled the conference room.

Old Li looked up at Su Chen on the stage. The twenty-eight-year-old young man was wearing a dark gray shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms, just like when he usually discussed technical solutions in the lab.

”If you choose the former, you can cash out and leave in a year; you have my blessing,” Su Chen’s voice was soft, but every word was clear. ”You are entitled to enjoy life; this is what you deserve. Go buy a house, buy a car, travel the world, spend time with your family. You are worth it.”

Some in the audience nodded gently.

”But if—”

Su Chen’s voice suddenly became powerful, like a hammer striking steel.

”If you choose the latter, stay and keep fighting.”

He straightened up and walked to the center of the podium.

”Five years from now, ten years from now—”

He raised his hand and pointed to the ceiling above. No, not the ceiling—the sky above the ceiling, the universe above the clouds.

”When you stand on a lunar base looking at the Earth, you will know—”

”Today’s tens of millions are just pocket change.”

His voice fell.

The conference room was silent for three seconds.

Then—

Thunderous applause.

Not polite applause, not perfunctory applause, but heartfelt, overwhelming applause.

Old Li stood up and clapped, his eyes red.

A female engineer in the corner stood up and clapped; she was six months pregnant, with a due date in August, and had been hesitating until today about whether to take maternity leave.

The applause lasted for a full minute.

Su Chen stood on the stage, not stopping them nor leaving. He just watched these people quietly—these people who had endured the hardest three years with him.

The applause gradually subsided.

Su Chen picked up the microphone and said one last sentence:

”Starting tomorrow, keep working and stay true to your original intention.”

”The sea of stars won’t come to us on its own; we need to strive toward it.”

He put down the microphone and turned to leave the stage.

No one cheered.

But everyone was smiling.

Because they knew that by following Su Chen’s footsteps, the day they would see the sea of stars would truly come.

The world is not handed to you on a silver platter—it requires generations of engineers to fight for it one after another.