Chapter 4: The poorest press conference on the entire internet, the venue was entirely borrowed.

"Drop test: ten free falls from a height of two meters, no damage to the shell, motherboard intact!"

Old Li's voice shook like a short-circuiting motor, his eyeballs practically glued to the test report.

He clutched that thin sheet of paper so hard his knuckles turned pale.

"Waterproof test: soaked for ten minutes, no signs of short-circuiting after wiping it dry!"

Old Li swallowed hard, grabbed a handful of his thinning hair, and his voice suddenly jumped an octave.

"And this battery... My God, the standby power consumption is ridiculously low."

"At full charge, the theoretical battery life can reach a staggering thirty days!"

The workshop fell silent for two seconds; even the humming of the exhaust fan became exceptionally clear.

Immediately after, Niu Dazhuang slapped his thigh hard and erupted into a howl that could have blown the roof off.

"It worked! It actually damn well worked!"

This burly man grabbed the pitch-black prototype as if he were holding a family heirloom.

He turned around and smashed it hard against the edge of the hard iron workbench.

A dull "clang" echoed.

The workbench was left with a white dent, but the heavy phone didn't even lose a chip of paint.

"Young Master, this hunk of iron is truly magical! It's tougher than a brick!"

Lu Jingming leaned against the workbench with a calm expression, his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the table.

"I provided the blueprints and set the manufacturing process; if it didn't have this effect, I'd be the one cursing."

He straightened up and turned to look at the fanatical Old Li.

"The scrap in the warehouse is enough to assemble ten thousand units, right?"

Old Li nodded repeatedly, incoherent with excitement: "Enough! It's all old stock gathering dust; if we piece it together, it's definitely enough for ten thousand units!"

"Good, get the assembly line running for me. It must be finished and in storage within three days." Lu Jingming's eyes grew sharp as he gave the order decisively.

Old Li tugged at the hem of his blue coat and rushed into the depths of the workshop, his face flushed red.

Three days later, at noon.

The scorching sun baked the asphalt road until it smoked, and the air was thick with an irritating heat.

Today was the deadline given by Brother Biao, and also the day that all the xinghai generation 1 units were fully assembled.

In the factory manager's office, Niu Dazhuang was sweating with anxiety, pacing back and forth in the room.

"Young Master, the ten thousand units are built, all neatly stacked in the warehouse."

"But we have no offline retail stores, and no advertising. Who are we going to sell these black hunks of iron to?"

Lu Jingming bit on an unlit cigarette while casually flipping through the tattered calendar on the table.

"To sell things, you obviously have to shout about them first. We'll hold a new product launch this afternoon."

Niu Dazhuang's legs went weak, and he waved his hands repeatedly with a bitter face.

"Stop joking around. Renting a venue at a decent star-rated hotel in the city center, plus lighting and sound, would cost at least tens of thousands."

"We can't even scrape together enough money to buy mung bean soup for the workers to cool off, how are we supposed to host one?"

Lu Jingming smiled, took the cigarette out of his mouth, stuffed it into his pocket, and pushed back his chair to stand up.

"Who made the rule that a product launch has to be held in a hotel?"

He walked to the window and pointed outside, directly toward the large Bolang Mobile Phone Factory next door.

"Isn't there a long-abandoned open-air plaza outside their factory grounds?"

Niu Dazhuang was stunned: "That's Bolang Mobile Phone Factory's territory. What are we going to do there?"

"Freeloading. Go, move those two largest second-hand speakers from our workshop over there."

Lu Jingming arranged the tasks with a straight face.

"Also, go to logistics and find a clean piece of white cloth to use as a projection screen, run a long extension cord, and connect the electricity from our side of the factory over there."

Niu Dazhuang listened, dumbfounded. This scheme was so brazen it could bring the Bolang Mobile Phone Factory security guards back to life from sheer anger.

Two o'clock in the afternoon, the abandoned plaza outside Bolang Mobile Phone Factory.

Under a few withered trees with yellowing leaves, a makeshift, crudely assembled stage had been set up.

The stage was pathetic; a few broken red bricks served as the base, topped with two oil-stained old wooden planks.

Behind it, a few bamboo poles propped up a faded, tattered cloth that flapped loudly whenever the wind blew.

On both sides of the stage stood a large black speaker, taller than a person.

Because they were connected with low-quality extension cords, the speakers occasionally emitted a harsh "buzzing" electrical sound.

Niu Dazhuang, wearing his work uniform, squatted by the steps, rubbing his face constantly, too embarrassed to look up at passersby.

"Young Master, this setup is just too shabby. Even the amateur acting troupes at the village entrance look more respectable than us."

Lu Jingming sat on a broken folding stool, head down, fiddling with the wired microphone in his hand.

"Don't worry about the scale of the venue; if it can broadcast our voice, it's a good stage."

As soon as he finished speaking, a harsh screech of brakes came from the street corner not far away.

A black Santana 2000 parked arrogantly at the edge of the plaza, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The car door opened, and Brother Biao, rubbing his shiny bald head, swaggered over, surrounded by a group of lackeys with dyed yellow hair.

Getting out of the car with him were several pot-bellied bosses from Huaqiangbei, as well as a few third-rate reporters carrying cameras.

These people had originally timed their arrival to go to the factory to press for debt repayment, and incidentally, to watch Lu Jingming make a fool of himself.

But finding the main gate closed, they were all attracted here by this bizarre open-air venue.

"Oh my, I was wondering what chips Young Master Lu would use to pay back the money today."

Brother Biao stood below the stage, making no effort to hide the disdain on his face, and jeered in a raspy, jarring voice.

"So, you couldn't scrape together the debt even by selling everything you own, and you ran to this wilderness to put on a monkey show?"

Beside him, a pot-bellied Boss Liu chimed in, laughing until the fat on his face shook.

"Brother Biao, you really overestimated him. With just these few broken wooden planks, even a monkey would find it too prickly to stand on!"

The lackeys cooperated perfectly, erupting into a burst of insolent laughter.

A reporter wearing black-rimmed glasses raised his camera and snapped away at the tattered screen fluttering in the wind.

"Is this the Xinghai Electronics Factory you were talking about, the one on the verge of bankruptcy?"

The reporter pursed his lips, his tone full of disdain.

"What kind of product launch is this? There isn't even a plastic chair for the media to sit on."

"Just take a few photos to turn in. I've already thought of the headline for tomorrow's front page: 'Bankrupt Young Master Goes Mad Selling Scrap Metal'."

The jeers from below grew louder and louder, drawing many passersby to stop and point.

Niu Dazhuang's eyes turned red with anger; clenching his sandbag-sized fists, he prepared to rush down and beat them up.

Lu Jingming reached out and grabbed his arm, standing up from the broken folding stool unhurriedly.

His attire today was unusual; he looked nothing like a rich second-generation heir.

Gone were the usual flashy shirts and designer leather shoes.

A well-fitted, solid black T-shirt paired with slightly faded, straight-leg blue jeans.

On his feet were a pair of clean white canvas shoes.

This outfit, the classic look of a tech giant from the future, appeared exceptionally unconventional in this era of suits and ties.

"Young Master, these bastards are clearly here to wreck the place and disgust us!" Niu Dazhuang growled through gritted teeth.

Lu Jingming brushed the dust off his pant legs, a glint of craftiness flashing in his eyes.

"What's the rush? People are rushing over to help us build hype for free."

"You couldn't find such fat sheep delivering themselves to your door even if you searched with a lantern."

He gripped the broken microphone, which was wrapped in electrical tape, with one hand and strode onto the rickety wooden stage.

His posture was upright, his steps steady, and his presence instantly drowned out the surrounding noise.

Brother Biao, who had been laughing wantonly, felt his heart skip a beat for no reason when he saw Lu Jingming's confident demeanor.

"Stop f*cking acting like a big shot!"

Brother Biao mustered his courage and roared at Lu Jingming on the stage.

"Lu Jingming, stop with all this useless mysticism. If you can't hand over that two million today, I'll clear the place and seal the factory immediately!"

Several camera lenses instantly swiveled, locking onto the young man on the stage.

Bleak flashes flickered in the scorching sun, and everyone waited to see him lose his composure and make a fool of himself.

Lu Jingming stood on the red bricks in the center of the stage, looking down at these faces, each harboring their own ulterior motives.

He slowly raised the microphone, his slender fingers tapping the grille twice.

"Bang! Bang!"

A deafening thud echoed from the two broken speakers, instantly suppressing the heckling at the scene.

A cold smile curled the corners of Lu Jingming's mouth, his gaze locked firmly on Brother Biao's stunned face.

"Since you are all so impatient to see a joke."

He tightened his grip on the microphone, and his slightly magnetic voice smashed across the venue, carried by the rough electrical current.

"Then I won't bother with pleasantries. You'd all better stand firm and hold on tight, ready to welcome a little shock from the new era, right?"