Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

304: Chapter 304 Hanoi’s ChoiceMornings in Hanoi always carry the moisture of the Red River.

The yellow building left over from the French colonial era shimmered with a soft luster in the morning light.

The Presidential Palace—formerly the Governor-General’s Palace—is now the place where the Prime Minister of Vietnam works.

The shutters were tightly closed, blocking out the tourists who had already begun to gather in Ba Dinh Square outside.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc stood before the window, looking outside through the gaps in the shutters.

The Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum was solemn and dignified, with guards in white uniforms standing watch at the entrance.

Further away, the Red River meandered through the city, cutting Hanoi in two.

He had been standing like this for ten minutes.

Behind him, six people sat around the conference table.

The Minister of Industry and Trade, Nguyen Van Cuong, spoke first.

He had just returned from Shenzhen and had slept very late last night; his eyes were bloodshot, but his voice was steady: ”Comrade Prime Minister, I have negotiated the terms with Xingchen. A 28-nanometer chip packaging and testing plant, a new energy vehicle factory with an annual output of 100,000 units, and a mobile phone assembly line for 5 million units. The total investment is 18 billion USD, with Xingchen contributing 40% and us contributing 60%, providing the land and policies.”

He paused and opened the folder in front of him: ”The technology transfer terms have also been negotiated. For the 28-nanometer mature process, Xingchen will send 200 engineers to train our personnel. Within five years, we need to achieve a 70% localization rate.”

The Minister of Planning and Investment took over: ”According to calculations, after the project is put into production, it can increase Vietnam’s annual exports by 15 billion USD, create 80,000 direct jobs, and drive employment for 300,000 people in supporting industries. The GDP growth rate can be increased by 1.5 to 2 percentage points.”

The Secretary of the Treasury tapped his fingers lightly on the table, a habitual action when he was nervous: ”The problem is the funding. If we pay 60%, that’s 10.8 billion USD. Foreign exchange reserves will be tight.”

Nguyen Van Cuong shook his head: ”Installment payments. The first installment is 30%, to be paid off in three years. Moreover, Xingchen has agreed to allow agricultural products and rare earths to offset part of the payment.”

The Secretary of Defense had been silent, but spoke up at this moment: ”What are the concerns from the military side?”

Nguyen Van Cuong looked at him: ”Xingchen’s ’technology protection clause’ is very clear—not for weapons, and not to be transferred to third parties. Our military industry system is independent of civilian use, so it won’t be affected.”

The Secretary of Defense nodded and said nothing more.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs sighed and took off his glasses to wipe them: ”The problem is not the technology, nor is it the money. It’s the United States.”

Everyone fell silent.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc turned around.

His sixty-five-year-old face had deep wrinkles, but his eyes were bright.

He was wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking like a farmer ready to work in the fields.

”How will the Americans react?” he asked.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs put on his glasses: ”The worst-case scenario: cancellation of trade preferences, restrictions on exports to the U.S., suspension of military cooperation, and opposition to our demands in international organizations. They might also unite with allies to apply pressure.”

”And the best?”

”The best? There is no best. Only different degrees of bad.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc walked to the conference table, pressed his hands on the surface, and looked at everyone.

”I have a question for you all.”

He paused.

”Can the Americans give us a 28-nanometer chip production line?”

No one answered.

”Can they help us build a car factory with an annual output of 100,000 vehicles?”

Still, no one answered.

”Can they provide stable jobs for 5 million Vietnamese workers?”

Silence.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc straightened up.

”What the Americans could take, they have already taken. What they cannot take is our right to develop.”

He looked at Nguyen Van Cuong: ”Prepare the private plane. We fly to Shenzhen this afternoon.”

9:30 AM, U.S. Embassy in Vietnam.

When Ambassador Daniel Kritenbrink received the call, he was looking at the CIA’s morning briefing.

The voice on the other end was brief: Nguyen Xuan Phuc will fly to Shenzhen this afternoon.

He froze for a second, then stood up and grabbed his coat.

Fifteen minutes later, his car had already entered the gates of the Presidential Palace.

10:00 AM, reception room.

Kritenbrink was fifty-five years old, his blonde hair combed meticulously, and his dark blue suit was perfectly tailored.

He had been in Vietnam for three years and considered himself to have a sufficient understanding of this country and its leaders.

But at this moment, he realized he might have been wrong.

”Mr. Prime Minister, I have been ordered to convey the position of the U.S. government.” He went straight to the point, without pleasantries. ”If Vietnam signs a comprehensive cooperation agreement with Xingchen, the consequences will be very serious.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc sat on the sofa, his expression calm: ”What consequences?”

”The U.S. will re-evaluate the comprehensive partnership with Vietnam. This may include: cancellation of trade preferences, restrictions on Vietnam’s exports to the U.S., suspension of military cooperation, and opposition to Vietnam’s demands in international organizations.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc was silent for three seconds.

Then he asked a question.

”Mr. Ambassador, can the United States give us a 28-nanometer chip production line?”

Kritenbrink was stunned.

”Can they help us build a car factory with an annual output of 100,000 vehicles?”

Silence.

”Can they provide stable jobs for 5 million Vietnamese workers?”

A longer silence.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc stood up and walked to the window.

”Mr. Ambassador, what has Vietnam gained from the United States over the past decade?” He did not look back, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. ”A few thousand study abroad quotas? A few decommissioned Coast Guard ships? A trade deficit of several billion USD?”

He turned around and looked at Kritenbrink.

”And Xingchen, in just one month, gave us a complete industrial blueprint.”

Kritenbrink opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc walked back to the sofa but did not sit down.

”Please tell Washington: Vietnam does not choose sides. Vietnam only chooses development.”

Kritenbrink stood up. He knew that this conversation was over.

When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc was already standing at the window again, his back to him.

Outside the window, tourists in Ba Dinh Square were taking photos in front of the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. The sun was shining brightly.

11:30 AM, Noi Bai Airport.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc’s motorcade drove onto the tarmac.

A Vietnam Airlines private jet was on standby, and the boarding stairs had already been lowered.

Twenty staff members were standing by the plane—the Minister of Industry and Trade, the Minister of Planning and Investment, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Minister of Science and Technology, and fifteen technical and negotiation experts.

When Nguyen Xuan Phuc got out of the car, Nguyen Van Cuong came to greet him.

”Comrade Prime Minister, Su Chen has confirmed. He is waiting for you at the headquarters.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc nodded and walked toward the boarding stairs.

Before boarding, he looked back at the sky over Hanoi.

The sky was very blue, the clouds very white.

He didn’t know what this country would become when he returned next time.

But he knew that without change, it would always remain like this.

3:00 PM, Baoan Airport.

When the private jet landed, the sun was blazing. The heat waves on the runway distorted the scenery in the distance.

The boarding stairs were lowered, and Nguyen Xuan Phuc appeared at the cabin door.

He had expected to see a red carpet, an honor guard, and a large group of officials. After all, this was the private jet of the Prime Minister of Vietnam.

But the tarmac was very quiet.

There were only two people.

A young woman in a dark suit, with short, capable hair—Lin Wan, President of Xingchen International.

A middle-aged man in a light-colored shirt, wearing glasses—the Mayor of Shenzhen.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc was taken aback for a moment, then smiled.

He walked down the boarding stairs, and Lin Wan came up to greet him.

”Prime Minister Nguyen, welcome.” She shook his hand with a firm grip. ”Mr. Su is waiting for you at the headquarters.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc looked around: ”Shouldn’t he be here to meet me?”

Lin Wan also smiled: ”Mr. Su says that the airport is a place to welcome guests. The headquarters is a place to welcome friends.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc’s smile deepened.

This young man is interesting.

4:00 PM, Xingchen Headquarters.

The elevator stopped at the 68th floor. The doors opened to a short corridor, with a wooden door at the end.

No signs, no logos.

Lin Wan pushed open the door: ”Mr. Su, Prime Minister Nguyen is here.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc walked in.

The office was not large and was simply furnished. A desk, a set of sofas, and a world map hanging on the wall. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of Shenzhen Bay was in full view.

Su Chen was standing at the window; hearing the sound, he turned around.

This was the first time Nguyen Xuan Phuc had met this young man.

He was younger than he had imagined and calmer than in the live broadcasts. Twenty-eight years old, wearing a simple dark gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking like a product manager who had just gotten off work.

”Prime Minister Nguyen, please sit.” Su Chen extended his hand and then pointed to the tea set on the coffee table. ”Vietnamese tea, right?”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc was taken aback.

He sat down, picked up the teacup, and smelled it. A familiar aroma drifted into his nostrils.

”Thai Nguyen tea?” He looked up at Su Chen, ”How did you know I like Thai Nguyen tea?”

Su Chen sat down opposite him and poured himself a cup as well.

”To be friends, one must always understand a friend’s preferences.”

Nguyen Xuan Phuc picked up the teacup and took a sip.

It was indeed Thai Nguyen tea. And it was the kind he often drank.

The two sat opposite each other drinking tea and chatted for ten minutes. Tea, the weather, the flood season of the Red River, the scenery of Ha Long Bay. They didn’t discuss any official business.

Nguyen Xuan Phuc put down the teacup.

”Mr. Su, let’s talk business.”