Lei Zhengyang had no clue his profile had escalated to a Level Six classified file, nor that he'd become the Blade Group's secret audit target. His actions, seemingly mundane, had caught the eyes of those who mattered. A year ago, Zhengyang was an open book—a troublemaker constantly reported for harassing daughters or bashing some official's son, never a moment of peace. But the Zhengyang who reemerged after that mysterious year was a different beast. This conclusion, drawn from exhaustive data analysis, was unknown even to Old Master Lei.
The X-material breakthrough and the new operating system's development weren't secrets to the nation's elite. Traces pointed to one figure: Lei Zhengyang, the Lei family's supposed deadweight, long branded a stain on their legacy. Deploying the Blade Group to vet someone was unprecedented in its history. He was too critical to risk any oversight. First, they had to confirm: was he truly Lei Zhengyang, and no one else?
On the very day the Blade Group began its probe, the first-generation Longteng program launched. Within hours, this obscure software company rocked the world. Initially, skeptics scoffed. The program's claims—revolutionary, near-fantastical—sounded like a marketing stunt, hyped to draw clicks and ad revenue. But soon, testers and users unleashed a tidal wave of awe. Longteng was flawless, a soaring dragon destined to dominate the next fifty years.
The internet knew no borders. The Chinese-language Longteng sparked an IT revolution. Microsoft's partners pivoted, eyeing the new player. That day, Longteng held a press conference, showcasing the system's operation. Though it incorporated minimal AI, it outclassed Microsoft's Windows, with compatibility thirty-six times superior. From lightning-fast performance to intuitive visuals, every detail screamed user-friendly perfection. Installation was a breeze, using just a third of Microsoft's memory, leaving more space and speed.
Longteng's website offered a free one-month trial for all, with the initial version priced at a mere 100 yuan annually, including upgrades and a year's Longteng antivirus membership. At 100 yuan, it was a loss-leader, but Zhengyang insisted. Unlike Microsoft, Longteng's system was uncrackable—no piracy possible. Users had to choose: install or pass. With China's massive user base, the math worked out. Abroad, Zhengyang aimed higher—100 dollars per year, still a steal compared to Microsoft.
Resistance was fierce. Microsoft, unwilling to watch profits drain, sent envoys the next day with a blank check for acquisition. Wang Jiansheng, no fool, held a golden goose. Working for others, he didn't hesitate, rejecting Microsoft's offer outright. Spurned, Microsoft played dirty, smearing Longteng as worthless, urging users not to fall for the "scam." With decades of dominance, their clout swayed many nations to shun Longteng and back Microsoft.
Wang Jiansheng itched to brawl with these "damn foreigners," but his voice carried little weight. Longteng was still a fledgling, its influence nascent. Ignored, he fell ill from stress. Lei Xinping, livid, called Zhengyang. Against a titan like Microsoft, their husband-wife duo lacked the muscle. They needed the Lei family's might.
Zhengyang hadn't paid much attention, deliberately keeping his distance since handing the program's equations to his uncle-in-law. He'd assumed Wang Jiansheng could handle it. But he'd underestimated the enemy's filth. "A boycott? Fine, I'll play their game," Zhengyang growled. "Little Aunt, don't worry. They'll come begging. Up the foreign price fivefold—easy money." He was pissed.
The next day, a bizarre virus emerged, hitching rides in international emails. Click, and a picture popped up: Microsoft's logo, captioned with four bold letters: FUCK. It spread like wildfire, clogging Western networks within a day. Security ministers issued urgent orders to eradicate this "FUCK Microsoft" plague. It was a blatant middle finger to the tech giant. Microsoft's top engineers dove in, but the virus, burrowed deep in hardware, laughed off every antivirus. Networks ground to a halt, users raged, and governments demanded Microsoft fix it—fast.
In China, things were different. Users noticed computers running Longteng were immune. The news snowballed. Those plagued by the virus, after futile reinstalls, found salvation in Longteng's first-generation system, which obliterated the infection. The one-month trial became a lifeline for tech fans. Downloads skyrocketed—from two million pre-virus to fifty million by day three, a twenty-five-fold surge.
Human nature clings to comfort, but once users tasted Longteng, Microsoft's system felt like garbage. The internet erupted in one-sided praise. Eastern shifts caught Western media's eye, amplifying Longteng's rise. In virus-ravaged Western nations, Microsoft's pleas fell on deaf ears—fix the networks, or face riots. Microsoft, hemorrhaging resources, lost over three hundred computers and still couldn't crack the virus. A certain dark-faced president, pushed to the brink, roared, "Microsoft, FUCK!"
As orders flooded Longteng's offices and cash poured in, Wang Jiansheng's illness vanished. He faced a future of counting money till his hands cramped—and he loved it. At 100 dollars, they'd scoffed. Now, at 500 dollars a year, Wang wasn't polite. Buy or don't—plenty waited in line. Microsoft's allies, swallowing their bitter fruit, hoped to buy legit copies, reverse-engineer them, and pirate away. No dice. Longteng's system was a fortress—no cracks, no leaks. Annual updates and unique, one-use disc codes ensured every install required a fresh purchase. Furious but helpless, they bowed to reality. Once Microsoft's dumping ground, the West now welcomed Longteng into every home, fueled by the virus debacle.
Soon, a Microsoft-specific antivirus surfaced online, quelling the crisis. But Microsoft knew the cost: over half their global market, gone—a mere opening act. "I don't care how," their CEO bellowed at a senior meeting, "build a system better than Longteng, or you're all fired!" The next day, twenty-four resignation letters littered his desk.