Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

292: Chapter 292 Negotiations in Progress - Mobile Phone ChipsSunlight slanted in through the tall windows, casting golden spots of light on the long table. Outside, the Moskva River flowed slowly as a cruise ship passed through a bridge arch.

The air in the negotiation hall, however, was as frozen as Siberian permafrost. This was already the fourth negotiation session of the day, and both sides were somewhat exhausted.

Shadayev, the Russian Minister of Digital Development, pushed a document to the center of the table, its cover embossed with the Russian National Emblem.

”Russia needs its own chip industry.” His voice was low, carrying an unquestionable hardness. ”Zelenograd—our ’Silicon Valley’—once had thirty-five chip factories. Now only three remain, all producing outdated 65-nanometer technology.”

He paused and looked directly at Li Wanqing.

”We want to rebuild. Twenty-eight nanometers, sixteen nanometers, with a monthly capacity of fifty thousand wafers each. This is the bottom line for Russia’s national security.”

Li Wanqing did not avoid his gaze.

She opened the folder in front of her, her movements as composed as if she were debugging equipment in a laboratory.

”Technology transfer for twenty-eight nanometers is possible.” Her voice was calm, but every word was as clear as ice being struck. ”Starry will provide the full process package, dispatch engineers for training, and assist in building the production lines. Mass production can be achieved within three years.”

Shadayev nodded, waiting for her to continue.

”Sixteen nanometers can only be licensed for use.” Li Wanqing closed the folder. ”Furthermore, a remote monitoring system must be installed to monitor production capacity, yield, and wafer flow in real-time. This is to prevent technology leakage.”

Shadayev’s expression changed instantly.

”Remote monitoring?” His voice rose an octave. ”This is a lack of trust in us! Russia is not Ukraine, nor is it Kazakhstan; it is a country that respects the spirit of contracts!”

The members of the Russian delegation behind him began to whisper among themselves. Some frowned, some shook their heads, and some closed their notebooks.

Li Wanqing did not back down.

She met Shadayev’s gaze and said word for word:

”This is Starry’s uniform standard for all partners. Micron in the United States, STMicroelectronics in the European Union, and Toshiba in Japan are all subject to the same conditions. Sixteen-nanometer technology involves national defense, aerospace, and communications infrastructure; it must be fully traceable.”

She paused, her tone calm but unyielding: ”If Russia does not accept this, we can cooperate only on the twenty-eight-nanometer technology. Starry can reserve the sixteen-nanometer production lines for other markets.”

Silence.

Ten full seconds of silence.

In the negotiation hall, only the ticking of the antique clock on the wall could be heard.

Shadayev slowly turned his head toward the observation seats at the end of the long table.

Vladimir Sergeyevich sat there, having listened in silence the entire time. At this moment, he picked up the water glass in front of him, took a sip, and set it back down.

The sound of the glass touching the table was as crisp as a judge’s gavel.

”Ms. Li,” Vladimir Sergeyevich spoke, his voice as steady as if he were discussing the weather. ”If Russia accepts remote monitoring, how will the monitoring data be distributed?”

Li Wanqing was well-prepared.

”Shared by both parties. The Russian side can access it at any time, and Starry can also access it at any time. The data will not pass through third-party servers; it will be encrypted and transmitted directly back to the data centers in Moscow and Shenzhen. Any time one party accesses the records, it will be visible to the other party simultaneously.”

Vladimir Sergeyevich’s eyebrows rose slightly.

”Mutual supervision?”

”Yes. Transparent, reciprocal, and traceable.”

Vladimir Sergeyevich nodded.

Shadayev grew anxious: ”Your Excellency, the President, this is equivalent to exposing our chip factories to—”

Vladimir Sergeyevich raised his hand, stopping him.

”Shadayev.” Vladimir Sergeyevich’s voice remained steady but carried unquestionable authority. ”In the Soviet Union era, we also had ’sovereignty,’ ’independence,’ and ’not being subject to others.’ And the result? After thirty years, we can’t even manufacture 65-nanometer chips properly.”

He stood up, walked to the window, and stood with his back to everyone.

”Either accept the monitoring and get sixteen nanometers, and in three years, Russia will have its own advanced chips. Or refuse the monitoring and continue using 65 nanometers, and in three years, the gap with Starry will widen to twenty years.”

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across every face in the Russian delegation.

”You choose.”

No one spoke.

Shadayev lowered his head, and his clenched fists slowly relaxed.

”I accept.” His voice was so low it seemed squeezed out from between his teeth. ”The monitoring data will be shared by both parties.”

Li Wanqing looked at Su Chen.

Su Chen nodded slightly.

”Agreed.” Li Wanqing closed her folder and extended her hand. ”It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

Shadayev shook her hand with great force but said nothing.

Outside the window, the cruise ship on the Moskva River had already drifted away, leaving only a faint wake behind.

At 9:00 AM the next morning, the negotiations continued in the Kremlin negotiation hall.

Morning light streamed through the tall arched windows, casting golden spots on the negotiation table.

The Russian lead negotiator, Dubovik, pushed aside his laptop, took a document from his briefcase, and slid it toward Zhang Yang.

The cover was embossed in gold with the National Emblem of the Russian Federation.

”The Russian Federation Government Procurement Plan.” Dubovik’s voice was low and steady. ”Two million units annually for civil servants and state-owned enterprise employees.”

Zhang Yang opened the document.

The numbers jumped out at him: 2 million units per year, with a budget cap of 5,000 yuan per unit.

He looked up: ”Are you currently using Samsung and Apple?”

”Yes.” Dubovik nodded, a bitter smile touching the corner of his mouth. ”Fifteen billion rubles a year, handed over to South Korea and the United States. We need to change that.”

Zhang Yang closed the document: ”What are the conditions?”

Dubovik took another document from the assistant behind him and spread it out on the table. It was a map—a specific location in the Moscow suburbs was marked with a red circle.

”Establish a mobile phone assembly plant in Moscow. With an annual output of five million units, it will serve Russia, Belarus, and the five Central Asian countries.”

He pointed his finger at the map.

”Starry provides the core chips and system. Russia handles assembly, sales, and after-sales service. The land will be allocated by the government, with full tax exemptions for five years and a fifty percent reduction for the following ten.”

Zhang Yang did a quick mental calculation.

Two million government procurement units at five thousand yuan each is ten billion.

Adding the civilian market, that’s at least thirty billion in annual revenue.

The cost of building the factory? Around 1.5 billion. It would pay for itself in a year.

He looked at Su Chen. Su Chen nodded slightly.

Zhang Yang turned back to Dubovik: ”Agreed. But there is one prerequisite—it must run the Starry Operating System, and no third-party software may be pre-installed.”

Dubovik’s brow furrowed slightly.

He was silent for three seconds before saying slowly:

”The Federal Security Service of Russia has regulations. All imported equipment must pass an information security review. Your operating system...”

Zhang Yang was ready for this.

”The Starry Operating System is entirely open-source. The source code can be hosted on a mirror server established in Moscow, available for review by the FSB at any time. No backdoors, no data transmission back to us, and no forced updates.”

Dubovik stared into Zhang Yang’s eyes.

Zhang Yang did not flinch.

Fifteen seconds of silence.

Then Dubovik smiled, a hint of admiration in his expression.

”Three years ago, Huawei said the same thing. Later, as soon as the U.S. applied pressure, they couldn’t guarantee anything.”

Zhang Yang said calmly:

”Huawei’s chips were from ARM, and their system was from Google. Starry’s chips are our own, and the system is our own. No one can hold us by the throat.”

Dubovik stood up and extended his hand.

”Deal.”

The two hands shook firmly.

Outside, the Moskva River shimmered under the sunlight.

In the negotiation hall, camera flashes went off, recording this moment.