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

Lin Xi sat behind the glass counter, toying with a matte black razor in her hand.

Opposite him stood two foreigners whose nostrils seemed to bulge into the sky.

The tall man on the left, with a typical Germanic square jaw, is Hans, the technical director of the German company, Bolognese.

The one on the right, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and with a shrewd, calculating look, is Philip's chief engineer, Van der Sar.

These two companies are currently the world's top manufacturers in the electric shaver industry.

"Vandersard, look, our Chinese counterparts are starting to make razors too."

Hans, speaking in a German-accented English that sounded like he was eating a hot potato, pointed to the huge thing behind Lin Xi and laughed so hard his shoulders shook:

"This is a good sign, indicating that the market is expanding."

"But... why did they put razors and missiles together?"

He gestured exaggeratedly: "Is it because they're worried the motor won't turn, so they're using missile fuel to give the blades a boost?"

Van der Sar pushed up his glasses and continued with a forced smile:

"Perhaps they're worried about lacking motivation and need to muster some 'fire'?"

"After all, Asia's electrical technology... well, let's just say it's not that advanced."

The two exchanged a glance and burst into unrestrained laughter.

The translator was quietly translating on the side, and Sun Erga's face instantly turned a deep liver color.

His fists clenched so tightly they cracked, and he was about to rush forward to argue when Lin Xi's indifferent gaze froze him in place.

Lin Xi slowly poured two cups of tea for the two of them and pushed them to the edge of the table:

"You two gentlemen are very humorous."

His tone was calm, showing no sign of anger.

"Our booth arrangement is indeed special, but this precisely demonstrates that Red Star Cyclone adopts aerospace-grade technical standards."

"Aerospace-grade?"

Hans said with a look of disdain, "Interesting."

"These days, young people think they can just learn a few technical terms and then start swindling people?"

Hans leaned forward, exuding a sense of imposing superiority.

"Young man, you can't make a razor just by talking."

"Its core lies in the micro motor and the precision of the blade."

"Currently, only the Germanic countries and the windmill country possess the capability for industrial-scale mass production of these two technologies."

"As for you..."

He glanced dismissively at the shabby counter and shook his head.

"Let's go back to making thermos flasks."

Van der Sar took a delicate velvet bag out of his briefcase, carefully took out a silver-gray razor, and placed it next to Lin Xi's glass cabinet.

"This is a new product that Philips will be releasing soon."

Van der Sar's tone was full of boasting.

"It adopts a double-layer blade and a 2800 RPM high-speed motor, a world first."

Hans, not to be outdone, pulled a bulky black machine from his pocket and slammed it on the table:

"The one we are about to release uses a 0.08 mm cold-rolled steel stamped blade."

"Although the scrap rate is as high as 30%, this is the physical limit of metal processing. This is the craftsmanship of the Germanic people!"

Although the two giants are competitors, they are as in sync as twins when it comes to "crushing newcomers".

Van der Sar glanced at Hans's machine and scoffed:

"Hans, your cold-rolled steel is heavy and hard, like a tractor."

"The user experience must be terrible, right? We at Philips prioritize comfort."

Hans retorted with a cold laugh:

"Comfortable?"

"That 2800 RPM toy motor of yours will jam and snag your stubble when you're shaving a stiff beard; that's something only women use!"

"Our Bolang may be loud, but that's a symbol of powerful performance! A real man should hear the roar of this engine!"

The two of them started a Versailles-style banter, talking back and forth as if no one else was around.

In their words, it's a 2800 RPM motor and a 0.08 mm blade.

It seems to be the pinnacle of human industrial civilization, an insurmountable red line drawn by God for mortals.

After arguing for a few minutes, the two seemed to feel thirsty.

He then turned to Lin Xi and asked in a teasing tone, as if a senior were instructing a junior:

"Young man, don't just stand there watching."

"Tell me about your so-called 'aerospace-grade' razor."

What is the motor speed? What is the thickness of the blade?

Just as Lin Xi was about to speak, the live stream chat in her mind exploded.

[Hahaha! This is hilarious! 2800 RPM is called a high-speed motor? Even the ones I get for 9.9 yuan with free shipping on Pinduoduo are faster!]

[0.08 millimeters is the limit? Hans, do you have some misunderstanding about the word "limit"?]

[Don't talk, streamer! Let them pretend! Don't interrupt!]

Is this the industry ceiling in 1980? That's truly a case of being a frog in a well.

Seeing Erga's face almost exploding with anger makes me want to laugh. Hang in there, Erga, you're about to feel good!

Lin Xi suppressed a smile, picked up her teacup, and took a sip.

Before he could speak, Hans stared at the Red Star Cyclone in the glass case and began his even more unrestrained "professional commentary":

"The design is quite good, all black and matte, it has a very modern feel."

"but--"

Hans abruptly changed the subject, his eyes sharpening.

"A razor is not a work of art; it is a precision machine."

"Your country's light industry base is weak; you can't even manufacture a stable electric motor, so how could you possibly make a good razor?"

Van der Sar followed up with a finishing blow:

"Hans is right."

"I suggest you focus on the exterior design and outsource the motor and blade net to us."

"Philip can provide manufacturing services; you just need to put on a label."

"Of course, we will not transfer the core technology."

"This is better for everyone; at least it ensures that the thing can keep spinning."

"What makes you think we can't build it?!"

Listening to the translator's words, Sun Erga finally couldn't hold back any longer and angrily rushed to the counter.

"Not only did we build it, but it's ten thousand times better than yours!"

"Ten thousand times better? Hahahaha!"

After the translator whispered the message, Hans laughed so hard he almost fell over, as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

"Young man, ignorance is not your fault, but it is wrong of you to embarrass yourself in public."

He wiped away the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.

"To achieve high speeds in micro motors, permanent magnet materials with high magnetic energy product are required."

"That stuff is a strategic material; your China can't even get hold of the formula."

"Without that, your motors can only reach a maximum speed of 1000 RPM!"

Van der Sar added, his tone dripping with sarcasm:

"As for the blade foil, 0.08 millimeters is already the limit of the stamping process."

"Even the thinnest material will tear if it's a German stamping press."

"If you could make an even thinner one..."

He pointed to the Braun razor on the table: "I'll eat this machine, Hans, right here and now!"

Hans was taken aback: "Hey, why are you eating mine?"

"Because yours is harder, it tastes better."

After they finished speaking, they looked at each other, their faces full of smug expressions that said, "We've already won."

Around the booth, more and more merchants from various countries gathered, drawn by the noise of the argument.

Some people pointed and whispered, and the air was filled with a gleeful atmosphere of watching a good show.

"Boram and Philips have both spoken out, so it seems that Chinese products are indeed not up to par."

"It's probably just a model. Look at that black paint; it might have been painted with shoe polish."

"What a pity, it would have looked quite intimidating next to a missile."

Large beads of sweat rolled down Section Chief Wang's forehead. He tugged at Lin Xi's sleeve, his voice trembling:

"Manager Lin... what should we do?"

"Should I go and call General Manager Zhang over to put things in order?"

"These two foreign devils are too arrogant. With so many people watching, they're making our Seventh Ministry of Machinery Industry look bad..."

"Need not."

Lin Xi put down her teacup, her gaze passing through the crowd to the end of the exhibition hall corridor.

There, a middle-aged, overweight man in a bespoke suit, his face glowing, was being escorted by a group of people.

"Our 'Tuo'er' has arrived," Lin Xi said softly.