Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

291: Chapter 291 Negotiations in Progress - Automotive PowerSunlight filtered through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden spots on the oak floor. Outside, the Moskva River shimmered under the May sun.

On both sides of the negotiation table, the atmosphere was even more solemn than in the morning.

Russian Energy Minister Novak pushed back his chair and stood up, sliding a stack of documents toward Gu Yanting. The cover featured an aerial photo of the Siberian tundra—an endless expanse of white snow, with only a few black oil pipelines snaking toward the horizon.

”Winter in Siberia.” Novak’s voice was as hard as the frozen ground. ”Temperatures drop to minus sixty degrees. Our mines, railways, and oil pipelines are all on that snowy plain.”

He opened the documents and pointed to a chart:

”This is the test data for Japan’s Panasonic batteries in Yakutia. At minus thirty degrees, only forty-eight percent of the power remains. At minus forty degrees, they shut down completely.”

He turned another page:

”This is from South Korea’s LG Chem. A bit better; fifty-three percent remains at minus thirty degrees. But the price is thirty percent higher, and supply is often cut off.”

Novak closed the documents and looked directly at Gu Yanting.

”CEO Gu, Russia needs batteries that can work in extreme low temperatures. Not laboratory data, but the real thing that can run for ten years on the Siberian plains.”

Gu Yanting did not answer immediately.

He opened the laptop in front of him and pulled up a test report. Then he stood up, walked to the window, and turned the screen toward Novak.

A video was playing on the screen.

A test vehicle with the Xingchen logo was driving across the vast snowy plains. The dashboard displayed the temperature: minus forty-one degrees. Remaining range: seventy-eight percent.

”This is a test we did in Mohe last winter,” Gu Yanting pointed at the screen. ”Mohe, the coldest place in China, minus forty-three degrees. Our ’Bedrock Generation 3’ Lithium Iron Phosphate Battery ran continuously for seventy-two hours, with the power dropping from one hundred percent to twenty-one percent. There was no heating or insulation throughout the process.”

He returned to his seat and pulled up more data:

”Energy density of one hundred and eighty watt-hours per kilogram. At minus forty degrees, discharge efficiency is eighty percent. After ten thousand charge-discharge cycles, the capacity retention rate is over eighty percent.”

Novak’s eyes lit up.

He turned to look at the expert team behind him. An elderly man with glasses quickly flipped through the data and then nodded to Novak.

”We want this.” Novak turned back. ”We’ll build a joint venture factory in Irkutsk with an annual output of fifty gigawatt-hours to serve the entire Eastern Siberian market. For mines, railways, pipelines, and cities. Russia’s winter needs Russia’s batteries.”

Gu Yanting was well-prepared.

He took a proposal from his folder and pushed it toward Novak:

”Xingchen will take a thirty percent stake through technology. Twenty percent will be in cash. The Russian side will provide land, factories, and minerals—lithium will be mined from Irkutsk Oblast, nickel will be transported from Norilsk, and we can source cobalt from third parties.”

He paused:

”Profits will be distributed according to equity. The Russian side will hold forty-nine percent, and Xingchen will hold fifty-one percent. Each side will appoint half of the management team, and the general manager will be nominated by Xingchen.”

Novak flipped through the proposal, his brow furrowing slightly.

”The general manager will be nominated by you?”

”A technology-intensive industry needs someone familiar with the Xingchen system,” Gu Yanting said calmly. ”The Russian side can appoint the deputy general manager and the chief financial officer.”

Novak was silent for three seconds, then closed the proposal:

”Agreed. But we want priority purchasing rights. The Russian federal government and state-owned enterprises must have the right to prioritize purchasing batteries produced at the Irkutsk factory.”

”Priority purchasing rights can be granted,” Gu Yanting nodded. ”But the price will fluctuate with the market, not be locked in. If the international market rises, we rise. If it falls, we fall.”

Novak looked at Borisov.

Deputy Prime Minister Borisov had been listening in silence, and now he nodded slightly.

”Deal.”

Gu Yanting shook it.

Sunlight streamed in from the window, casting their shadows long across the floor.

Outside, the Moskva River flowed quietly.

This river led to the Volga, to the Caspian Sea, to the Black Sea, and to places even further away.

Just like these batteries, they would eventually flow to the Siberian plains, the icy seas of the Arctic, and every corner of Russia’s vast land.

The negotiations continued, only the representatives for both sides had changed. The intense negotiations showed Russia’s urgency; there was no haggling or delay, only a desperate determination.

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, casting golden spots on the long oak table.

Outside, the Moskva River flowed quietly. On the opposite bank, the golden dome of the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour reflected a dazzling light.

Russian Minister of Industry and Trade Denisov stood up and walked to a large map on the wall. He was in his early fifties, with a receding hairline but sharp, shrewd eyes.

”Russia sells 1.8 million cars annually.” He pointed his teaching stick at the European part of the map. ”Chinese brands currently account for ten percent. Japanese brands thirty percent, European brands thirty percent, Korean brands twenty percent, and local brands twenty percent.”

Zhou Qingyu, forty-eight years old, held a PhD in mechanical engineering from MIT and was the former global vice president of Volkswagen. He listened intently, his fingers lightly tapping the table.

”Does Minister Denisov mean there is still room for Chinese brands?”

Denisov turned around, revealing a businessman-like smile.

”If Xingchen sets up a factory in Russia to produce new energy vehicles, the government can provide policy support.” He walked back to his seat and opened the document in front of him. ”Zero tariffs, zero VAT, and corporate income tax exemptions for ten years.”

Zhou Qingyu closed his eyes, numbers flashing quickly through his mind.

Moscow Oblast, the heart of Europe, dense rail and road networks, high-quality labor force. Annual output of 200,000 vehicles, targeting the Russian and Eastern European markets. Total investment of about 8 billion rmb, breaking even in five years, and profitable in eight.

He opened his eyes and looked directly at Denisov.

”Agreed. But Xingchen will be the sole owner, and we will have control.”

Denisov’s brow furrowed instantly.

”Sole ownership? The Russian side only provides land and policies?”

”Xingchen provides the technology, the management, and the brand,” Zhou Qingyu’s voice was steady and powerful. ”The Russian side provides the land, the policies, and market access. We can cooperate, but control remains with Xingchen. This is a matter of principle.”

Denisov turned to look at Borisov.

Deputy Prime Minister Borisov narrowed his eyes slightly, not immediately stating his position. He leaned over and whispered a few words in Russian to Vladimir Sergeyevich in the observers’ gallery.

Vladimir Sergeyevich remained silent, sitting as straight as a pine tree, his blue eyes as deep as Lake Baikal. He nodded slightly, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible.

Borisov turned back and gave Denisov a look.

Denisov took a deep breath.

”Very well.” His voice was lower than before. ”But there is one condition—at least thirty percent of the components must be produced locally in Russia.”

Zhou Qingyu did not hesitate.

”We will achieve that within three years.”

Denisov stood up and reached out his hand.

Zhou Qingyu shook it.

The two hands remained clasped in the air for three seconds.

”Deal.”

Outside, a tugboat slowly passed on the Moskva River, its horn sounding low and long.