Peter Pu had already spent millions bribing bloggers, trolls, and dark PR firms.
His goal was to flood the Chinese internet with harmful noise.
False claims. Shady "analysis." Manufactured outrage.
The target? China Star and its Harmony X2.
He didn't stop there.
He paid troll farms to mass-report China Star's official Weibo page. According to platform rules, once enough complaints stack up, the account gets automatically suspended for 24 hours.
It worked—temporarily.
But he wasn't done.
Peter also hired international hackers.
His final move? Take over China Star's official website on launch day.
The damage would be catastrophic if they couldn't sell the X2, even for an hour.
A ruined debut—shame on the brand.
He paced his office, eyes gleaming.
"What if they got their Weibo back? When the X2 goes on sale, I'll crash the store. Let's see how they survive that."
He thought the situation was under control.
What didn't he expect?
The tech industry closed ranks around China Star.
Rival brands, former competitors, and even state media began pushing back.
Then, Weibo lifted the ban early.
China Star posted its patent proof, and the narrative flipped instantly.
Peter's smile was gone.
He picked up his phone—the one linked to his black-hat hacking team.
A call came in from their lead contact.
He answered, fully expecting confirmation.
Instead, his face went stiff.
He turned pale.
Then:
"Shiba, you incompetent idiot! Useless rice bucket!"
He slammed the phone onto the desk hard enough to rattle his secretary.
But before he could smash it completely, it rang again.
Peter cursed, picked it up, and froze.
Caller ID: the Chairman of Samsung Asia-Pacific.
He answered with a strained voice.
"Chairman, I—"
"Shiba, you stupid thing... Who told you to do these things?"
The line went dead.
Peter stared at the cracked screen, his hands cold.
It was over.
The next morning at 8:00 a.m., Peter Pu, head of Samsung China, issued a public apology.
"I wasn't aware of China Star's proprietary fast-charging patent. This was a misunderstanding caused by miscommunication."
No one believed it.
The phrasing was cold, corporate, and completely insincere.
Everyone knew it was a forced apology, made under pressure from public backlash.
Inside China Star's office, Haifeng sat at his desk reviewing a list from Zhao Lan.
Bloggers. Troll accounts. Paid analysts.
The ones who had danced for Samsung.
He memorized the names.
"Not now," he muttered. "But we'll settle this later."
He didn't want to risk drama on launch day.
The Harmony X2 was going on sale tomorrow.
Everything needed to be perfect.
But Haifeng wasn't relaxed.
He knew the smear had done real damage.
Before the attack, pre-orders had exceeded 1 million units.
After?
Half of them canceled.
Five hundred thousand buyers backed out in less than 24 hours.
He said nothing, but the weight hung in his chest.
Launch day arrived: October 15th.
10:00 a.m. sharp—the Harmony X2 went live.
No concerts. No fanfare.
Just the quiet sound of millions of fingers tapping Buy Now.
At 10:30, Liu Jianyu entered Haifeng's office holding the first sales report.
Haifeng glanced at him, eyes sharp.
"How many units?"
"Including the surviving preorders… 500,000 units sold."
"Total?"
"Roughly one million."
Haifeng paused, processing the number.
Then he smiled.
Selling a million high-end phones in thirty minutes?
It wasn't perfect, but it was a win.
The Harmony X2 was nearly double the price of the S2.
In that range, these numbers were unheard of.
He nodded once.
"Post it. Make it public."
Within minutes, China Star's official Weibo posted:
Harmony X2: Over One Million Units Sold in 30 Minutes!
The post hit the hot search rankings instantly.
Despite everything—the smear, the sabotage, the chaos—China Star had pulled it off.
And now, the entire world was watching.