In the lavish reception hall of Yellow Dragon Group International Ltd.'s Shanghai headquarters, five middle-aged men sat, including two elderly figures. They were the national energy minister and a team of experts here to negotiate with Yellow Dragon.
"Their president's quite mysterious," one middle-aged expert remarked, turning to the minister. "Minister, have you met him?"
"No, only their executive president—his wife, I hear. Haven't seen her in years. The staff here are old subordinates," the minister replied.
"Their tech's advanced. With their support, we'd bypass years of research. Wonder if they'll agree," said an elderly man beside the minister, sighing. This was Huang Lao, deputy director of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, an energy research luminary.
"Huang Lao, you really don't know their energy source?" the minister asked, skeptical. A world-renowned scientist stumped? Shocking.
"We haven't cracked it. Tests alone floored us. Their car's core converter, if used in planes, could fly non-stop for twenty years. But no plane—or pilot—could endure that. The energy source is tiny, likely smaller than the converter. Imagine the savings for our nation, our space program freed from energy woes," Huang Lao said, animated.
"It's not just energy. Their materials are priceless—perfect for spacecraft. But we can't identify the synthesis," Huang Lao added, frustrated. A scientist his caliber had never faced such a mystery.
"Don't worry, Huang Lao. Today might yield something," the minister soothed, knowing what drove scientists.
"Easier said than done. We're not the only ones after their tech. Some nations sent spies—nothing. No data room, research lab's location unknown. They won't share something so valuable," Huang Lao said, disheartened. Their cars sold for billions, but the comfort—home-like, pristine air—was unmatched.
"Not necessarily. Our intel suggests their president's patriotic, prioritizing national interests. Remember their miracle drugs?" the minister asked the three younger experts.
"Who doesn't? The day China shone—humanity's cure-all drugs from one company. Mind-blowing," the middle expert said, proud.
"They pay two trillion in taxes annually from drugs and hospitals, funding much of your research," the minister noted.
"Heh, 'science is the first productive force' indeed. This group's the world's largest, even dabbling in toilet paper. Their president's a genius, wiping out competitors while earning foreign cash," the leftmost expert said, awed. If Feitian knew his early moves were legendary, what would he think?
As chatter flowed, the door opened. The receptionist entered, saying politely, "Please follow me. Our president's out of town, so we'll use video conferencing."
The five followed to a massive, luxurious circular conference room. A giant screen on the far wall displayed a handsome young man. Seeing them, he stood. "Welcome to Yellow Dragon Group. I'm President Makino Feitian. Please, sit."
Caught off guard by Feitian's voice, the group hesitated. The minister recovered first. "Hello, President Makino. You likely know our purpose. What's your stance?" Smart people preferred directness.
"No need for formality—call me Feitian. I understand your goals, but I need specifics. Some things we can't share, so I ask for understanding," I said.
The minister saw room for negotiation. "We seek large quantities of your new energy and converters, plus new material tech collaboration," he said, glancing at Huang Lao, who nodded.
Sly foxes, aiming high to settle low. Chuckling, I replied, "I can meet your first request, but not 'large quantities.' One thousand units annually, twice your current tech's performance, for three years—four thousand total. Deal?" Your move.
The minister winced. "That's too few. You know our needs." Tough gig. He pictured the military's demands—naval ships needed multiple units.
Feigning difficulty, I said, "Alright, I'll add two thousand megaton-class converters. That's my limit."
"Feitian, you're Chinese, a son of Yanhuang. Your contributions are immense. In this critical time, shouldn't we step up?" the minister pressed, wielding national pride.
Old fox, hitting me with patriotism. I'm a proud Chinese, but… "Minister, I get it. You want it all at once. Tough, but possible within a year. Pay in full—90% discount, $10 million per unit. How's that?"
Heh, bet he'd jump. "What?" The minister and his team gaped. Four thousand small units at $4 trillion, plus two thousand megaton units—China's annual budget, gone. Highway robbery. My smugness soared.
"Comrade Feitian, you're a People's Congress candidate. Your ideals should inspire youth," the minister countered. Cunning fox, outclassing this half-baked emperor. Huang Lao, a lifelong scientist, stared, impressed. Negotiation's an art.
"Minister, you're making this hard," I said, stalling.
"Feitian, think of the motherland. We're stronger, but the gap with advanced nations remains. Our people suffer. As a promising new-generation Chinese, isn't this your moment to serve?" he urged.
"Comrade, I've found the Party, touched by the motherland's nobility," I said, moved. "Keep striving!" If not for the screen, we'd have hugged.
"I'll take a loss for China's strength. Half price per unit," I declared. The minister's joy soured—one trillion USD was still steep. He dreaded the finance minister's face.
Behind me, Xue'er and the others doubled over laughing, hidden from the screen. Huang Lao, spotting my smirk, sipped tea, amused, knowing I was joking.
"Rear waves push the front, new talents replace old. I'm convinced," the minister conceded, seeing my game.
We settled on 100 billion RMB for material tech data and converters—a fair deal. The military saved billions on energy alone. China's forces were poised for a leap. New materials, power, and energy met reform needs. Weapons? Too advanced, but our energy enabled laser tech, boosting warship defenses to new heights.
In the bedchamber, my wives laughed uncontrollably, easing war's tension. Life's meant for loud laughs and raw tears—live freely, unburdened.
Two days, no alien fleet. Not coming? Impossible. Their scout ship lingered—empty? Too many ghost stories. They're awaiting their main force. "Stay sharp. The calmer it is, the more cautious we must be," I told everyone.
On the third day's noon, as soldiers rested post-lunch, warship instruments blared. Analysis showed a massive fleet emerging. Space around the monitored alien ship rippled like water, torn open as huge warships surrounded it.
Alarms rang across legion and district ships. "All legions except Rapid Response, retreat two light-years," I ordered calmly. To avoid detection and make room for their fleet, pulling back was key. Damn. Communicator footage showed their ships multiplying, already outnumbering our six legions' medium warships. Tens of thousands. To encircle them, we'd bet everything.
"All district warships, converge on Yanhuang Military District," I commanded. Four districts' ships equaled two legions, totaling eight fleets. Our edge? Eighty thousand small warships, nine thousand medium, one thousand large. Hell, their ships match our large ones, their biggest even larger. In space, size signaled strength. Their fleet, nearly twenty thousand strong, was overkill for a non-spacefaring race.
"Each small warship squad targets one enemy ship's same point; each medium squadron takes one enemy ship," I ordered. I'll chew you up. Our fleet used a decimal system: one large warship equaled ten medium, equaled one hundred small, organized into brigades, squadrons, and squads.
The alien fleet jumped toward the god realm—a short leap. "Majesty, they're in the trap. Attack?" Alang's excited voice crackled over the screen.
"Hold. They're targeting gods. We strike after they fight—maybe the gods'll thank us, eh?" I said, eyeing the curious stares onscreen. "Majesty, you're devious!" Strategy, not deceit.
The God King's unease peaked. Glancing up, he saw swarms of "flies" in the sky—trouble. "Assemble!" he roared. Before his voice faded, beams scorched the earth, charring playful cherubs. Fury surged; he unleashed a Divine Judgment skyward, potent but too distant to hit.
Centuries on, he'd never felt so powerless. "King, we're under attack. Hide!" The Baizhan brothers rushed in, dragging him to an underground shelter.
"Brother, these aliens are savage," Xiao Yan said, beside me. "Heh, their barbarity highlights our civility," I quipped, earning nods.
"Prepare. Large warships upfront, activate absolute defense. Others, target their center, then outer ships. Clear?" I ordered.
"Clear!" Warmongers, ignoring the gods' plight below.
Pompoko never expected an ambush mid-assault. Reports screamed heavy losses from a rear attack. A fledgling space civilization crushing my ships? A sharp commander, he knew his scout data was flawed. No time for blame—turn and fight. As his command ship pivoted, raising shields, a blast hit. One shot took 100 degrees. Ten more would end him. Their cannons are insane.
Through the viewport, Pompoko saw the trap—enemy ships everywhere. The surprise attack downed unshielded ships. He admired the enemy's cunning.
"Rear ships, form a wedge and charge. Outer fleets, raise shields—now!" he barked onscreen. Only this could escape annihilation. Their ships matched—perhaps surpassed—his. That shield-like defense was unreal, shrugging off barrages. Unbeknownst to him, Feitian's ships used absolute defense, unbreakable with energy.
The battle began. Their ships were tougher than expected, costing us a few small warships. But their attacks were useless against our absolute defense. Solid rounds bounced off; lasers were absorbed.
To minimize losses, I ordered medium and small ships to fire intermittently, baiting their shots, then targeting ships post-fire. Their cannons needed two to three seconds to recharge—a rare flaw I exploited.
With no recharge lag, our ships fired during their pauses, downing swathes of enemy ships. Our alternating energy devices eliminated downtime: one fired, the next was ready, cycling endlessly with ample energy.
Sadly, while we crushed their center and outer ships, it scattered our forces, giving survivors an escape. Victory was ours, but at a cost: one large warship, three medium, one hundred small—over ten thousand soldiers lost. Compared to their losses, it was light, but each life stung.
Reader's Corner: Yo, readers, Feitian's fleet smashed the aliens, but at what cost? Will his Earth deal fuel China's rise, or is Meilina's demon intel a double-cross? Can Pompoko's survivors regroup? Drop your interstellar predictions in the comments—let's unravel this cosmic saga!