Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

294: Chapter 294 Joint Press ConferenceMay 15th, 5:00 PM, St. Catherine’s Hall, Signing Ceremony Site

Inside the Golden Hall, hundreds of reporters were waiting in formation.

Rows of camera tripods were set up, flashes were ready, and translation headsets were being distributed.

On the long table, eight agreements were neatly arranged, each fifty pages thick, with the national emblems of both countries embossed on the covers.

”Material Industry Cooperation Framework”

Krasnoyarsk Material Base, total investment of eight billion dollars. Starry Sky holds fifty-one percent, the Russian side holds forty-nine percent. To be completed in five years, with an annual output of one million tons of engineering plastics and five hundred thousand tons of metal-matrix composites.

”Battery Industry Cooperation Agreement”

Irkutsk Joint Venture Factory, annual output of fifty gigawatt-hours. Starry Sky contributes thirty percent via technology and twenty percent in cash, while the Russian side provides land, factories, and minerals. To be completed in three years.

”New Energy Vehicle Cooperation Agreement”

Moscow Wholly-Owned Factory, annual output of two hundred thousand vehicles. Starry Sky invests eight billion rmb, while the Russian side provides land, tax incentives, and government procurement support. To be completed in two years.

”chip Industry Cooperation Agreement”

Zelenograd production line, transfer of twenty-eight nanometer technology, and authorized use of sixteen nanometer technology. Monthly capacity of fifty thousand wafers each. Total investment of six billion dollars, to be completed in four years.

”Telecommunications Industry Cooperation Agreement”

5G base station coverage for one hundred cities, total investment of eight billion dollars. Starry Sky and the Russian National Telecommunications Company each hold fifty percent, to be completed in three years.

”Consumer Electronics Cooperation Agreement”

Moscow Mobile Phone Assembly Plant, annual output of five million units. The Russian government will procure two million units, for a total amount of ten billion rmb.

”Machine Tool Industry Cooperation Agreement”

Starry Sky sells five Xingtian units, ten Taishan units, and thirty Heavenly Work units to Russia, for a total amount of four hundred million dollars. Simultaneously helping to renovate three machine tool plants using Starry Sky’s CNC systems.

”Military-Industrial Strategic Cooperation Agreement”

Starry Sky acquires a fifty-one percent stake in the Kazan Helicopter Plant and a fifty-one percent stake in the Uralvagonzavod plant. Joint development of the next-generation fighter jet. Russia procures twenty Peregrine Falcon systems, three hundred comet missiles, and one hundred war mastiff robot dogs. Total amount approximately fifteen billion dollars.

Total: Approximately eighty billion dollars.

Vladimir Sergeyevich and Su Chen took their seats simultaneously.

The signing pens touched the paper.

Click, click, click—the flashes lit up the hall as bright as day.

In the evening, a grand press conference was held in St. George’s Hall of the Kremlin, where crystal chandeliers spilled golden light beneath the three-story high dome.

Over three hundred reporters packed the hall, cameras forming a three-tier wall of people, all lenses aimed at the podium. Simultaneous interpretation headsets transmitted six languages at once—English, French, German, Spanish, Arabic, and Japanese.

Vladimir Sergeyevich stood behind the podium, with the Russian national flag on his left and the presidential flag on his right. In a dark gray suit and light blue tie, he stood as straight as a pine tree.

Su Chen stood half a step to his right. In a dark gray shirt with no tie and sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the two were similar in height and equal in presence.

Spotlights hit from both sides, casting two long shadows behind them.

The first question was given to CNN.

“Mr. President, I am Clarissa Ward, CNN’s Chief International Correspondent.” The blonde female reporter stood up, her voice clear. “Does this agreement mean that Russia is officially turning away from Europe and pivoting fully toward the East?”

Vladimir Sergeyevich tilted his head slightly, listening to the simultaneous interpretation.

Then he smiled.

It wasn’t a polite smile; it was a smirk with a hint of mockery, the corners of his lips curling upward.

“Clarissa, let me ask you a question.” He leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the podium. “Can Europe give Russia a 16-nanometer chip production line?”

The hall fell silent.

“Can Europe give Russia 16-megawatt offshore wind turbines?”

It grew even quieter.

“Can Europe give Russia artificial intelligence, robotics, and a digitized industrial system?”

Vladimir Sergeyevich withdrew his hand and stood up straight.

“No. For thirty years, all Europe has given Russia are sanctions, accusations, and NGO instruction manuals.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Therefore, when they have no right to give anything, they also have no right to comment on who we choose.”

The CNN reporter wanted to follow up, but Vladimir Sergeyevich had already turned to the next person.

A Reuters reporter stood up, in his forties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

“Mr. Su, I am Peter Hobbs, Reuters Moscow Bureau Chief. Will Starry Sky signing such a large-scale agreement with Russia trigger a new round of sanctions from the United States?”

Su Chen took the microphone.

His voice was younger than Vladimir Sergeyevich’s, but just as steady. “Peter, Starry Sky is already on the U.S. sanctions list. What difference does one more make?”

Low laughter rippled through the press gallery.

Su Chen did not laugh. He looked directly into the lens that was transmitting the signal to the entire world.

“But I want to take this opportunity to remind the decision-makers of certain countries.”

He paused to let the translator catch up. “Sanctions cannot stop technological progress. They only accelerate technological decoupling. While you are still in conference rooms discussing which round of sanctions to impose—”

He pointed out the window, though the Moscow night outside was already deep. “We have already worked with Russia to drive the first pile into the Siberian permafrost, raise the first flag on the Arctic Sea Route, and install the first lithography machine in a cleanroom in Zelenograd.”

He withdrew his hand and faced the camera. “The times have changed. The rules have changed as well.”

A TASS reporter was called upon, a Russian woman in her forties wearing a red suit.

“Mr. President, I am Irina Petrova, TASS Chief Political Correspondent. What does this agreement mean for Russia? Please tell the Russian people in one sentence.”

Vladimir Sergeyevich was silent for three seconds.

Then he spoke slowly, his voice lower than before. “After the collapse of the Soviet Union, we lost thirty years of industrial accumulation. Factories closed, talent fled, and technology gaps formed. A generation of Russians only knows how to sell oil, not how to manufacture.”

He looked at Su Chen, then back at the reporter. “Today, with eighty billion dollars, we have bought back those thirty years.”

“No.” He shook his head, correcting himself.

His voice rose slightly. “Together with Starry Sky, we are creating a new thirty years.”

The hall was so quiet that the hum of the air conditioning system could be heard.

Then, someone was the first to clap.

The applause spread from the press gallery to the back, and from the back to the sides. It wasn’t enthusiastic applause; it was heavy, rhythmic clapping, like a hammer striking steel.

Vladimir Sergeyevich nodded slightly and turned to shake hands with Su Chen.

The flashes froze this moment in time.

Under the crystal chandeliers, the shadows of the two men were stretched long, projected onto the walls of St. George’s Hall, overlapping with those oil paintings from the Tsarist era.

History, at this moment, took a turn.

At 10:00 PM, the Moscow night was like a heavy piece of velvet, pressing down heavily over the city.

Su Chen stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights off. Outside was the Moskva River, its surface reflecting the lights from the Kremlin’s spires, those golden glows shattering into ten thousand pieces in the ripples. In the distance, the dome of the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour was lost in the night, with only the top of the cross reflecting the last bit of faint light.

He had been standing by the window for ten minutes.

His phone vibrated, the screen’s light illuminating his profile.

Lin Wan’s messages came one after another:

“The U.S. stock market just opened. Boeing is down 5%, Lockheed Martin is down 4%, Intel is down 3%, and AMD is down 4%. Average decline of 4%.”

“The EU issued an emergency statement saying they are ’concerned that China-Russia military-industrial cooperation may affect European security’.”

“The Japanese Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry is holding an emergency meeting tomorrow.”

“The German Ministry of Economic Affairs has postponed the originally scheduled hearing on technology exports to Russia.”

Su Chen did not reply.

He just looked out the window, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

The door was pushed open gently.

Gu Xinghe walked in, carrying a bottle of wine. The bottle was frosted glass with no box, only a hand-written Russian label stuck to it.

“Vladimir Sergeyevich had someone send it over. He said it’s from his private collection.”

Su Chen took the bottle and leaned in to look at the hand-written Russian line.

Gu Xinghe translated, “‘The wind and snow of Siberia—from now on, we shall weather them together.’”

Su Chen placed the bottle on the windowsill, the glass clinking crisply against the marble.

“The translation isn’t good enough,” he said. “The original Russian has more weight.”

Gu Xinghe walked to the window and stood side-by-side with him. The reflections of the two men were cast on the glass, overlapping with the night view of Moscow.

“Give the team two days off to let them explore Moscow,” Su Chen said. “Then, we go home.”

Gu Xinghe was silent for a few seconds. “Next stop?”

Su Chen didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze crossed the Moskva River, past the sleeping city, and toward the north. There were no lights there, only boundless darkness.

“Do you smell something?” Su Chen suddenly asked.

Gu Xinghe sniffed. “No.”

“I do,” Su Chen said. “The smell of ice.”

Gu Xinghe turned his head to look at him.

“The Arctic Ocean.” Su Chen slowly uttered those three words, each word rolling over his tongue. “Under that ice cap lies 30% of the world’s natural gas, 20% of its oil, and a shipping route four thousand nautical miles shorter than the Suez Canal.”

He turned to look at Gu Xinghe:

“The eighty billion signed today is just the appetizer. The main course is in the Arctic.”

Gu Xinghe was silent for a long time.

“That place... the Russians can’t handle it themselves.”

“That’s why they need us.” Su Chen looked out the window again. “Vladimir Sergeyevich knows it, and we know it. This deal, from the very beginning, wasn’t about factories in Siberia; it was for the Arctic Sea Route.”

The phone vibrated again.

A message from Lin Wan:

“The White House just announced an emergency meeting of the National Security Council tomorrow. Agenda: How to respond to the Soviet-Russian industrial alliance.”

Su Chen glanced at it and put the phone back in his pocket.

“Washington won’t be able to sleep,” he said.

Gu Xinghe gave a light chuckle. “Let them lose sleep.”

The night outside remained deep.

But Su Chen knew that on the other side of the planet, countless conference rooms were brightly lit. People in suits were drawing arrows on maps, signing names on documents, arguing, compromising, and plotting over the phone.

They thought they were in control of the situation.

They didn’t know that the real chess player was currently standing by a window in Moscow, looking north.

“After dawn,” Su Chen said softly, “everything will be different.”

This world was about to be reshuffled by a twenty-eight-year-old madman.