Chapter Seventy-Seven: Taking the Initiative

Fourteen billion? Zhu Lan truly speaks rarely, but when he does, it’s always astonishing! Not a single person present could produce fourteen billion—not even ten billion would be a challenge, despite some among them having family assets worth hundreds of billions. Yet assets are not the same as ready funds; they are completely different.

“Mr. Zhu, isn’t this a bit much?”

Fourteen billion is simply too exorbitant.

Zhu Lan shook his head, “That price is actually conservative. The land alone will require thirty to forty billion. Of course, unless you can provide a coastal plot vast enough for the army, navy, and air force to maneuver in. If you have such a massive piece of undeveloped coastal land, that would suffice.”

His words left many silent. The price of land in China is well known, and all the good coastal plots have long been taken. If they truly needed a plot big enough for the club, the area would be immense, and the price terrifying. Zhu Lan’s thirty to forty billion was only a preliminary estimate; if they actually managed to acquire such land, the price could easily rise another ten or twenty billion.

It wasn’t just the land—the models themselves would each cost tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands to manufacture, and then there were shells and ammunition. If destroyed, they’d be ruined entirely.

A rough estimate: at least two hundred aircraft, three hundred tanks, no fewer than twenty warships, plus submarines and aircraft carriers—even with Zhu Lan’s intelligent systems and the simplest materials, the manufacturing costs would be enormous. If using Fantasy Technology’s manufacturing, it would take around seven to nine billion for all of this, not counting the ammunition.

If anyone else tried to manufacture this batch of equipment, even twenty billion wouldn’t suffice—unless you made those models with electric engines found on the market.

Beyond land and models, there was something even more essential: the remote control system. To achieve this, one would need to build remote control systems akin to those used for military drones. For authenticity, they couldn’t be too simple; each would cost millions to manufacture, and to form a scale, at least two hundred remote control systems would be needed. Only then could one fully simulate the conditions of war.

With remote systems, a specialized building would be required—a massive structure must be erected for the control center, which would be the heart of the war club. That meant more construction costs, and as for available plots, none had sufficient scale. Most undeveloped coastal lands would need a new road built directly connecting to the national highway, so the club could be accessed by car.

“Let’s do this. I’ll establish an independent project. If any of you are interested, you can contact my manager at Fantasy Technology. In principle, I welcome anyone to participate in this project!”

“I have other matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave.”

With that, Zhu Lan glanced at Tang Xuejian, who rose to her feet, “Let me see you out.”

Zhu Lan nodded.

Outside Chang’an, Zhu Lan’s bodyguard had already brought the car around. Zhu Lan turned to Tang Xuejian, “Sorry for the trouble.”

Tang Xuejian shook her head, “No trouble at all. Thank you for coming tonight.”

Zhu Lan waved, “I’ll be off then.”

As Zhu Lan’s car departed, Tang Xuejian frowned. Others might not see it, but Tang Xuejian could tell: Zhu Lan’s proposal was merely a diversion.

Without this project, many would surely have tried to secure the agent rights for the gene optimization serum directly from Zhu Lan—or even bypass the agent rights altogether and have him supply them directly. Tonight, many of Beijing’s elite were present; although they hadn’t spoken, if they had, Zhu Lan would have found it hard to handle.

But Zhu Lan struck first, launching the war club proposal—a completely new field, one that didn’t exist anywhere else in the world. At best, there were private collections by wealthy enthusiasts, but those were hobbies reserved for the ultra-rich and touched upon certain military taboos. No one dared approach such matters domestically.

It was a new domain. Making money? Not difficult—there are tens of millions of wealthy individuals in China.

The challenge was in communicating with the military, persuading them to relax the restrictions. Yet even those born to the highest military families didn’t dare claim they could do this. Now, Zhu Lan said he’d already negotiated with the military and had secured special privileges.

This was what captivated everyone. After Zhu Lan left, none remembered to ask about the gene optimization serum.

“Zhu Lan, are you truly as the files say? Hmph, everyone underestimated you!” Tang Xuejian murmured to herself, then turned and went back inside the hotel.

Fantasy Technology had entered its stride. With the gene optimization serum, it could earn a hundred million dollars per month. Recruitment for the third quarter had finished, and Fantasy Technology’s staff had surpassed twenty thousand. New evaluations were underway.

“How’s the market response?”

At the monthly meeting, Zhu Lan sat at the head of the table. The conference room was filled with representatives from every department, including Lan Tianyuan, who had returned from abroad.

“There’s been little response. According to online surveys and customer feedback, the efficacy of the gene optimization serum is considered low, though there have been several cases of noticeable changes.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Zhu Lan frowned at the marketing manager.

Zhu Zhouming, the new marketing manager, was forty-six and possessed extensive experience, having served as manager at several multinational firms. He’d been recruited by Kong Yan to Fantasy Technology, served three months as deputy manager, performed admirably, and was promoted by Zhu Lan.

Zhu Zhouming was shrewd. He realized he’d misreported.

“Boss, there’s been no negative impact from the gene optimization serum. The market response is lukewarm, but nothing unexpected.”

Zhu Lan nodded, “Lately, there’s been some feedback. Some employees are slacking off, which is a bad sign.”

“And one more thing: year-end is approaching. Have the finance department estimate and allocate one billion as year-end bonuses, to be distributed according to contributions.”

Time had slowly crept into November; the new year was just around the corner. Fantasy Technology had earned several tens of billions this year; if not for the heavy investment, Zhu Lan might have taken out even more.

“Yes, boss. I’ll have the numbers ready before the new year.”

“Good.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed—sales of the gene optimization serum in the Chinese market are poor, but in Europe and the Americas, they’re booming.”

“Boss, isn’t that outside our scope?” Lan Tianxin asked, frowning in confusion.

Zhu Lan shook his head, “Actually, there’s already a trend. The Chinese public simply doesn’t believe in the efficacy of the gene optimization serum; instinctively, they resist it.”

Everyone glanced around, puzzled. They hadn’t noticed such a phenomenon.

Zhu Lan knew what they were thinking.

Indeed, there were no signs on the market or online, but Kong Yan’s monitoring had already detected the emergence of such a trend—a worrying sign, and Zhu Lan had to prepare for it.

Next year, the first batch of model robots would be ready. Before then, Fantasy Technology couldn’t afford any bad reputation.

Originally, Zhu Lan planned to emulate the gene optimization serum’s launch: open the overseas market first, then the domestic one. Given the serum’s success, Zhu Lan naturally prioritized abroad.

Yet Li Hongjin sought Zhu Lan out specifically: model robots could not be exported without national approval.

The model robots hadn’t even gone into production and were already banned from export. Zhu Lan was stunned when he heard this.

Li Hongjin had to explain: model robots touched upon sensitive subjects and couldn’t be exported, and domestic restrictions were severe. Even in sales, Fantasy Technology would not handle distribution, as it would be managed by state-owned enterprises—so breaking into the market would be difficult.

Zhu Lan began considering other, updated model robots—medical robots, family doctors, like “Baymax” from the film “Big Hero 6.”

With Fantasy Technology’s current capabilities, Baymax would not be hard to manufacture, and could be made even better than in the movie. Zhu Lan had already begun attempts to realize Baymax; though not yet successful, he felt he was close.

Before that, Fantasy Technology needed a good reputation.

“Boss, I think the advertising isn’t strong enough.”

Lan Tianyuan’s comment drew nods from many. Fantasy Technology’s gene optimization serum had only been promoted online; there had been no real advertising, and many Chinese still didn’t use the internet.

Zhu Lan paused, then nodded, “Manager Lan, contact a dozen national TV stations and secure prime advertising slots. Don’t worry about the cost, especially prime time on CCTV!” Lan Tianyuan’s remark had reminded Zhu Lan—advertising was necessary to deepen public awareness of the serum.

Though Zhu Lan didn’t need to handle this personally, it would greatly help Fantasy Technology, which many saw as rustic and in need of an image boost.

“Roadside advertisements, bus stops, subway stations—all of these need coverage.”

“Boss, that much?”

Ordinary advertising was one thing, but Zhu Lan’s plan was to blanket the market, a massive expenditure.

“How much liquid capital does the company have?” Zhu Lan didn’t answer Lan Tianxin but turned to ask the finance manager, Nong Yixiang, who was attending her first Fantasy Technology meeting, having been appointed less than a month ago.

Fantasy Technology’s management often changed; previously, some managers thought Zhu Lan’s control over the company was weak and made moves. Zhu Lan was not polite—he simply let them go, and the vacancies were filled by Kong Yan’s evaluations. Those with ability rose.

“The seven national distributors have all paid half-year fees into the company account. Including previous reserves, the company has forty-three billion in liquid funds. Deducting year-end budgets, we’ll have about twenty-six billion available.” Nong Yixiang was highly capable, especially with memory—almost photographic. A Tsinghua finance graduate, only twenty-seven, she already had eight years of work experience and impressive achievements in financial investment. Though the finance role didn’t match her background, Zhu Lan valued her focus on money.

“Twenty-six billion? That’s enough!” Zhu Lan calculated and found it sufficient.

“Twenty billion: secure advertising slots from now to March next year!”

Lan Tianxin did the math and shook his head helplessly.

Zhu Lan sighed, “Start with the southern provinces’ TV stations first; hold off on the north for now.” Zhu Lan knew that twenty billion wouldn’t cover everything; just prime CCTV slots would cost five or six billion, and even money wasn’t enough—connections were needed.

(To be continued.)