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

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in the Germanic country of Frankfurt.

On the top floor of the Brown headquarters building, the rich aroma of cigars mingled with the spiciness of whiskey, filling the extremely luxurious conference room.

"Gentlemen, this is the best news I've heard all year."

Bolon's president, Olsen, swirled the crystal-clear ice cubes in his glass and gave the board members a confident smile.

"Hans sent a telegram back from the East."

"He discovered a micro-motor technology that was ahead of its time."

"God bless, those Easterners are so adorably naive, they actually agreed to license this aerospace-grade treasure to us."

Olsen proudly propped his feet up on the table, the tips of his shoes even touching the antique globe:

"As long as we secure the 'priority authorization'."

"Before Christmas, our 'Super Shaver' will be able to sweep Philip's pile of 2000 RPM junk into the trash!"

"By then, we'll have 80% of the global market share!"

The board members raised their glasses, and the air was filled with a joyful atmosphere.

In their view, this was yet another typical case of "technology harvesting"—

They exploit their brand advantages and capital to plunder the research and development achievements of underdeveloped regions, making huge profits from nothing.

Just then, the conference room door was kicked open.

The secretary frantically connected to speakerphone, and Hans's overseas call exploded like a high-explosive grenade right in the center of the conference table.

"President...the situation has changed!"

Everything has changed!

Hans's voice sounded extremely distorted through the receiver, carrying a desperate tone as if he were about to cry.

Olsen frowned slightly, somewhat displeased:

"Hans, as a Germanic gentleman, please maintain your dignity."

"Did those Asians suddenly raise the price?"

"Give them the money! We don't need those dollars!"

"No! This isn't about money!"

Hans interrupted his superior almost with a roar.

"They don't engage in any monopolistic practices at all!"

"That bastard Lin Xi, he sold the license to Philip!"

"Sold to Yue Li! Sold to Si Xing!"

"He even sold it to a pizza factory that used to make umbrellas!"

"Right now, you can sign a contract as long as you pay! Thirty-two manufacturers have already received licenses!"

"A $4 'technology tax' will be deducted from each machine! No bargaining!"

"What's most outrageous is that he demanded that all outer packaging clearly state 'Made in China!'"

Click!

The crystal glass in Olsen's hand shattered, and pale yellow liquid splattered all over the floor.

"Thirty-two?"

Olsen's breathing became heavy, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"Is he crazy?"

"Everyone has the same technology, so what about our brand premium?"

"Where is our moat?"

"That's the most insidious part!" Hans's sobs grew louder and louder.

"Lin Xi said that if we, Bolang, don't sign, the other 31 companies will quickly launch low-priced high-end products."

"We can squeeze Braun out of the market within six months."

"We...we had no choice but to sign!"

Olsen slumped in the leather chair, as if all the bones in his body had been removed.

He thought he was a superior hunter, but the young man from the East simply sprinkled the entire forest with deadly poison.

This isn't selling technology; it's wholesaling cabbages!

Not only did they have to pay money, but they were also forced to fight hand-to-hand with a group of second-rate factories in the mud.

What's most frustrating is that all the contestants, regardless of winning or losing, have to pay protection money to that "Red Star Service Agency"!

"$4 per unit..." Olsen stared intently at the ceiling, his brain racing with calculations.

If this is signed, Poland will have to give China at least several million US dollars in net profit every year.

"President, should we break the contract?" the technical director asked cautiously.

"Breach of contract?" Olsen gave a bitter smile.

"If they don't sign, Poland will be doomed."

"We signed it. We're just working for that Eastern kid now."

"Tell me, which way should I choose to die?"

The meeting room was deathly silent.

For the first time, these arrogant European industrial giants experienced the taste of being bullied by both technology and rules.

"No, we still have a chance!"

Olsen suddenly stood up, a ruthless glint in his eyes.

"All licensed manufacturers need that kind of high-performance motor."

"The key to that high-performance motor lies in the magnet material!"

"That kind of magnetic force absolutely requires rare earth elements and top-tier sintering technology!"

"Investigate! Seal off the area!"

Olsen's face contorted in rage as he gritted his teeth and roared:

"We must cut off his access to raw materials!"

"Once the supply of magnets is controlled, technology licenses become worthless!"

"Since we can't beat the rules, we'll just flip the table!"

……

Under the same sky, joys and sorrows are not shared.

The last day of the Canton Fair.

As closing time approached, the booth of the Seventh Ministry of Machinery Industry was still packed with people, its popularity comparable to a popular online photo spot in later years.

However, the core deal has already been finalized.

In the temporary back-office storage room.

Sun Erga squatted on the ground, holding a broken abacus in his hand, making a clattering sound as he turned the keys.

His face was beaming like a bursting pomegranate, he couldn't stop smiling.

"Manager, that's amazing! Absolutely amazing!"

Sun Erga suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with nothing but US dollar symbols:

"I just checked it again."

"Orders for the 'Cyclone' shaver alone, including both in-stock and pre-orders, have already exceeded 16000 units!"

"That's over a million US dollars!"

"And then there are those suckers who signed the licensing agreements..."

"Oh no, international competitors."

Sun Erga wiped his drool: "The deposits add up to nearly 200 million US dollars."

"And there's a fan!"

"Due to the booming sales this summer, the orders for this year's Canton Fair have just been tallied..."

Sun Erga held up one finger, trembling, and said, "150 million units!"

"If all of this is delivered, our factory could sit on a mountain of gold and still not spend it all next year!"

Lin Xi sat on the cot next to him, with her legs crossed.

He held an enamel teacup in his hands, his expression calm.

But the slight upturn of his lips betrayed his good mood at that moment.

In the field of vision, on the semi-transparent light screen, the bullet comments were drifting by like snowflakes.

[The streamer has won big this time! It looks like the fan could become a cash cow that generates continuous revenue!]

Seeing Erga's naive and unworldly demeanor makes me want to laugh. Who understands this kind of joy?

[Upstairs, I get it! We were so poor back then, this wave of riches is really satisfying to see!]

[This is what they call the tears of capitalists, our source of joy, hahaha!]

"Stay calm, it's just basic stuff, don't overdo it."

Lin Xi blew on the tea leaves.

"When these foreigners sell out our fans next year and treat our razors like family heirlooms, that's when we'll really start counting our money."

"This is just pocket money now; it's not even enough to fill a gap in Qian Lao's teeth when he buys some experimental equipment."

Sun Erga chuckled foolishly and scratched his head:

"Manager, what kind of tone is that?"

"It's just that my education level isn't high, otherwise I would have composed a couple of poems to praise you."

In this joyous atmosphere, which could even be described as having a "nouveau riche" vibe,

A burst of hurried footsteps, accompanied by heavy breathing, abruptly shattered the tranquility.

"Manager Lin... Manager Lin! Something's happened!"