Live Stream 1980: Netizens Teach Me How to Make a Rocket by Hand

"Director!" Xue Jianhua looked at his superior in disbelief.

"I'm letting you sign!" Director Zhou slammed the pen on the table.

"What's a little sacrifice compared to the greater good of the nation's foreign exchange earnings?"

"If you're capable of developing such a product, I'll let you charge me a technology fee!"

Xue Jianhua's face was ashen.

He knew that the situation was hopeless.

From this day forward, the once-dominant industry leader, Huasheng Factory, has become a mere employee of this little-known Hongxing Service Center.

With trembling hands, he signed his name on the agreement.

At that moment, it was as if you could hear the sound of the old era collapsing.

Lin Xi put away the contract, a bright smile spreading across her face.

He stood up and took Xue Jianhua's cold hand in his own.

"Director Xue, it's a pleasure doing business with you."

Don't make that face.

"You'll thank me when the year-end bonuses are distributed."

Xue Jianhua squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth:

"Manager Lin...you are a promising young man."

……

The two Hongqi sedans left, their arrival marked by arrogance, their departure by utter disarray.

Zhao Dagang stood at the office door.

Watching the taillights of the departing car, I felt completely exhausted and had to hold onto the door frame to keep from falling.

"Manager Lin... Manager Lin..." Zhao Dagang stammered.

"We...we really took over Huasheng Factory?"

"It's not so much an acquisition, it's more like finding a contract manufacturer."

Lin Xi stood by the window, looking down at the busy assembly site that had resumed its operations, her eyes deep in thought.

......

Shanghai, Huasheng Electric Fan Factory.

All five production lines are operating at full capacity.

The foundry workshop that originally produced cast iron bases has been shut down.

Instead, dozens of injection molding machines were brought in overnight.

The air was filled with the smell of burning plastic and engine oil.

"Quick! Line 3 is running out of materials!"

"Bring the modified PP particles over!"

"Quality inspection!"

"The surface finish of this batch of mesh is not smooth enough; it needs to be reworked!"

Xue Jianhua stood on the second-floor corridor, looking down at the bustling scene below, his face a complex mix of emotions, as if he had swallowed a dead fly.

The workshop that originally belonged to Watson now produces only "Red Star" logos with red five-pointed stars.

What frustrated him even more was that he, the deputy factory director, had now become a high-level employee of that young man surnamed Lin.

Lin Xi only gave him a thin "SOP Standard Operating Procedure" and then sat with his legs crossed, drinking tea in the office.

But he has to keep an eye on these thousands of workers, and he will be held accountable even for a millimeter of error.

A week later.

The Shanghai office of Hongfeng Machinery Factory (which was actually just a suite in a guesthouse).

Lin Xi was leaning back on the sofa, twirling a pen in her hand.

Zhao Dagang was squatting on a chair, holding a remittance slip he had just retrieved from the Huaguo Bank.

His eyes were wide open like copper bells, and his hands were shaking like someone with Parkinson's disease.

"Manager Lin..."

Zhao Dagang swallowed hard.

"This number... isn't right?"

"What's wrong?" Lin Xi asked without looking up.

"This is the first settlement payment that Huasheng Factory made to the service provider, $32,000..."

"That's close to 50,000 RMB!"

"The service center did absolutely nothing, just watched them work, and they get so much in commission?"

Zhao Dagang's worldview collapsed.

At Hongfeng Factory, workers have to work hard, sweat and bleed, develop calluses on their hands, and work three shifts in a row to earn a few hard-earned coins.

But now, Lin Xi has only provided a blueprint, a mold, and a standard.

Then he took a stroll around Shanghai, and money seemed to grow legs and flow into his pockets.

"Old Zhao, shut your mouth, you're drooling on the check."

Lin Xi put down her pen, picked up her teacup, blew on the foam, and spoke in a calm tone, as if she were discussing the weather.

"This is called a 'technology licensing fee' or 'brand premium'."

"You'll have to get used to it."

"Our Red Star is the brain, not the limbs."

"Let the Huasheng factory sweat, and let the service company count the money. That's what top-level design of the industrial chain is all about."

Zhao Dagang slapped his thigh and shouted:

"Damn! This is so...so awesome!"

"Is that satisfying?"

Lin Xi smiled and pulled a telegram from her briefcase. "Take a look at this."

The telegram was entirely in English and originated from Los Angeles, the United States.

Zhao Dagang couldn't understand it, but he recognized the name at the end—Harrison.

"Mr. Harrison of Sears said that the first batch of 100,000 typhoon fans was snapped up by distributors waiting at the dock as soon as it arrived at the Port of Long Beach."

Lin Xi pointed to the calendar on the wall.

"Today, temperatures on the west coast of North America exceeded 41 degrees Celsius."

"Our fans are now more valuable than gold in California."

"Harrison called me 'Magic Lin' in the telegram and wanted to increase his order for the next quarter to 800,000 units."

Zhao Dagang opened his mouth wide, completely speechless.

Looking at the excessively young man in front of him, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

This is no magician.

This is simply a genius who can calculate everything perfectly.

……

On the other side of this planet, with the explosive popularity of the "Red Star Fan," some keen-eyed individuals have already been alerted.

Osaka, the land of cherry blossoms.

Triangle Electronics, Far East R&D Center.

In the bright, dust-free laboratory, a dark blue "Red Star Gentle Breeze" electric fan was disassembled into parts scattered all over the floor.

Several engineers from Japan, dressed in white lab coats, stood around the test bench, their expressions serious, as if they were dissecting the corpse of an alien.

"President."

Technical Director Matsumoto bowed, holding the fan blade with its strange curvature in his hand. "We've tested it."

"This fan, made in China, has a noise level of only 42 decibels and provides an extremely gentle breeze."

"And our latest flagship model, 'Gale,' has a noise level of 55 decibels."

President Tanaka, seated in the main seat, had a gloomy expression.

"What's the reason?"

"The Chinese are still at a post-war level of industrial development; how could they possibly manufacture something like this?"

"It's design."

Matsumoto pointed to the fan blades,

"The airfoil design of this blade is very advanced and completely breaks the conventional rules of fluid dynamics."

"Moreover, they added a special toughening agent to their material formula, which prevents the blades from fluttering at high speeds."

"Can it be copied?" Tanaka interrupted him.

"Very easy."

A hint of disdain and mockery appeared on Matsumoto's face.

"Although the Chinese have good precision in mold processing, it is like a primary school student's scribbles in front of our Okuma five-axis CNC machine tool."

"As long as we input the data, we can produce steel molds with ten times the precision of theirs within three days!"

"These idiots."

President Tanaka sneered and slammed the iron walnut in his hand heavily onto the table.

"Then let's get started!"

"Using the finest steel and the most precise machine tools, we can create an identical product!"

"Put on a Triangle Motor label and price it at $25."

"I will squeeze this 'Red Star' out of the international market within three months!"

"Hi!"